Why it Matters (Pt. 2)

When I could receive internet connection, I remember spending time reading the posts of someone I had met at camp four years earlier.  His writing expressed vulnerability; of being honest with himself, and others.  He wrote on coming out, his struggles with faith (by-the-way he was originally on track for seminary) -- a lot of nuances that were uncomfortably open and "shocking" to innocent me at the time.  At first, I thought, "That will never be my life".  Yet, his writings gave me a different perspective. They allowed me  fanciful thoughts of a different life that could be possible.

Freedom.

Being yanked out of Peace Corps service threw me downstream without a paddle.  I had little to my name, shoulders burdened by loss, confusion, and doubt, and no particular place to go.  So, I did as any good gold-miner would do, and headed for Oregon.  I began to dig a new life; a new identity.  I discovered a few diamonds amidst a lot of coal; friends who expanded my world and opened my eyes to new bubbles of existence.  They didn't know my past, though I did divulge some, but helped me discover who I was, and what I could become.  I stayed up reeeeeally late to go out with coworkers and play 'dare or dare'. I went naked hiking/sunbathing with Alex, Travis, and their friends.  I went on biking adventures with Megan and Justin, and listened to Jacob's intellectual rants about philosophy, art, and music.  I, for the first time, witnessed a committed, loving [gay] partnership, up-close and for the first time through Chet and Craig.  I went on dates. I had my first kisses. I met a boy, who, inadvertently, showed me what it feels like to fall for someone.

Love.

It's 2015.  A week ago, a ruling was given that again changes the possibilities and the potential course of my life.  I've pondered endlessly about the sacrifices people have made before me to make, what I will someday get to enjoy, a reality.  It's a different life then I was expecting, but it is a good one.  When I asked myself, "Why should I continue to write?"  I think back to that lost, broken and confused, twenty-something in Africa, reading years-old blogposts from someone that I met one time.  I remember what it meant to hear someone's vulnerability and be able to relate. To find hope.  So, if my words can help just one person on their way to the happiness, the pride, and freedom that I have found in being alive, then that's why

It matters.