A Revolutionary Soft Place to Be
My upcoming book is filled with people who helped this little gay bird find his wings.
After I came out, I arrived in Armenia with an unknown future in front of me. I had no idea what I needed and had anyone specifically asked me in those days and weeks, “What do you need right now?” I would have… shrugged, I guess. Now, over a decade later, I can think of a few things I needed right after I came out:
A therapist
A stylist
A reading list filled with LGBTQ authors like James Baldwin, Josh Kilmer-Purcell, Allison Bechdel, Augusten Burroughs, Michael Cunningham, and Jennifer Finney Boylan.
A doctor who could tell me about gay sex
A dictionary or terms (I had no idea what the gender binary was, and certainly couldn’t tell you if I qualified as a bear or an otter… neither? Both?)
A safe place to be clumsy around people who would give me a soft place to land
The last one I had without knowing it, and only in writing the book have I realized how important that was for me.
When I arrived in Armenia, I landed with a group of 40 or so people committing to two years of service in Peace Corps. Another 40 or so people were already there after completing their first year of service. I shared on Instagram this week a reel of photos of some of those people. Every one of these pictures contains someone(s) who made a safe space for me when I was barely out of the closet. In the time I served with them in Peace Corps I made all kinds of silly mistakes and clumsy moves, entering so many rooms unsure of how to be – like a teenager at his first party, but over and over and over again. Some made an intentional effort to give me a soft place to be. Others didn’t know how amazing it was to have people who treated my gayness as unexceptional, just another way of being.
Here’s a quote from the first draft of my book which starts at the end of a day of sessions during our two months of pre-service training in Charentsavan:
The Assistant Director of Peace Corps Armenia was closing the training session for the day and opened up the floor to any comments or questions.
One volunteer rose from his chair... “I just want to talk about this now so everyone knows. I’m gay. I don’t mind you all knowing, but I plan on keeping this a secret from my host family and my village.”
Another volunteer stood up. “I’m also gay, and I would appreciate your help in keeping that part of my life hidden. I really don’t want it to affect my service.” Everyone looked to him with soft eyes, a communal understanding that this wasn’t easy for these two men to say. “Thanks,” he said and sat down.
I did not stand up. I didn’t have words to share yet. Before leaving Texas, I’d told my best friend I was gay. I told my parents I liked men. In the days leading up to this particular group share, I was only three people in to coming out. I couldn’t add this room of forty-seven people to the list. Not yet.
But I needed someone around me to know. Until just days ago, I’d held the truth in for my entire life. I needed the truth to stay outside my body.
A queer woman from Maine, Zoe lived in my training village with another host family. I told Zoe about coming out in Texas, about my small town, about my Christian college in the Texas desert.
After hearing all of it, listening to the stories of growing up, going to a Christian college, and coming out to my parents, she looked across the table and said, “You aren’t alone in this now.”
She looked at me, holding my gaze until she was sure I was paying attention.
“You have me,” she said. “And I know if you want to tell other volunteers, they’ll be there for you, too. And there are other gay volunteers, if you’re ever ready to tell other people.”
“Thank you,” I said. I squeezed her hands. “I don’t know if I’ll tell other volunteers yet. I’m not sure I’m ready. I know that a lot of people will be ok with it, but I don’t want it to be something people have to be ok with. I just want it to be. As normal and unremarkable as a leaf on a tree.”
“I know,” she said. “Don’t worry. You’ll know who to tell and when. This is just the beginning.”
As normal and unremarkable as a leaf on a tree. My new cohort of Peace Corps volunteers treated me like that. As a beautiful, natural thing in the world, something to occasionally look at with wonder and respect, to hold softly, and most often to let alone to grow in the sun.
It is a simple and revolutionary thing, to make gentle, welcoming space for someone newly out of the closet in a world flooded with discrimination and hate. I struggle, in fact, with how to express gratitude to the Americans I served with for this revolutionary way of being. Perhaps, I should simply end this post with simple, revolutionary words.
Thank you for changing my world.
My cohort of Peace Corps volunteers on the morning we arrived in Armenia in 2009
