Beyond the Bubble - Guest Post

I pulled onto the lonely highway in western Cache valley, set my sights on the horizon, and let my foot fall heavy on the accelerator as Kelly Clarkson sang “Breakaway” at full blast. In the early light of that August morning there was hardly another soul on the road. The sun was breaking hard and bright over the mountains behind me. And as the reality of my packed car hit me, I couldn't help but laugh with glee. I was leaving. I was finally free. That night I pulled into my friends’ driveway in central Seattle, and after unloading my things and spending some time with my hosts, I fell into a deep sleep in my new home.

It’s been almost five months now. Every once in a while I get a glimpse, a reminder of my life back in Utah, and I realize that I've already forgotten how different things were. And in that moment I thank God for Seattle. When I put my life in Provo side by side with my life in Seattle, the difference is stark. Perhaps the most obvious difference is the lack of secrecy in my life here. Seattle is a special city, though I’m sure most metropolitan areas share this to some degree. Here, the people share a common, low-maintenance attitude: as long as you’re not a jerk, we don’t have a problem with you. As I became acquainted with my classmates, being gay and from Mormon Utah were both very poignant things for me to claim. Every one of my classmates was warm and accepting. These things didn't change who I was to them. They were simply “flavorings” on my personality.

I’ll admit, I went into a bit of an identity crisis in the first couple of months when being gay and Mormon wasn't something I could cling to anymore. As those identifiers lost their potency, all that was left was being “Nick." I don’t think I've ever had an opportunity quite like this where I was granted such an extensive freedom to determine what that meant. At first, it was intimidating. Then, it was exciting. Now, it is freeing. I don’t have to cling to “gay” or “post-Mormon.” I don’t have to cling to anything to fit. I am me, and I am in a place where that is enough for people.

Having been in Seattle for election season, I got to see a whole new world. Signs like “College Republicans: You’re not alone!” or “Capitalism isn't working! Socialism is the answer” told me that I wasn't in Kansas (or Provo!) anymore. I was able to vote in a state that went Blue for the first time in my life. And I was able to see the numbers come in as my fellow Washingtonians voted to include me and my love into the law and into daily life. The passing of Referendum 74 was very moving for me. And the campaign, seeing the green “Yes on 74!” signs everywhere, was amazing. For the first time in my life my neighbors were actively working to include me and my love, me as-is. The peace and inclusion I feel is something I did not get in Utah.

Dating was also different. I found that boys here have less internal angst than in Utah, and they don’t feel pressure to cling to stereotypes. They feel free and comfortable being open about themselves, no matter who they are. It was quite the experience to explore Capitol Hill, the gay district where rainbow flags are hung over doorways, and to see pairs of eyes following me every now and again. As you might imagine, it was a great confidence boost!

Most satisfying, though, was walking hand in hand with my date through Pike’s Place on the pier. Instead of glares and stares, people would approach us and tell us how cute we were. We would hear people whisper about how adorable it was to see us. That kind of subtle acceptance and valuing of my relationship was more rewarding than I expected.

I have been in a relationship for almost four months now. I found a good Christian boy who views spirituality and religion like I do, who is comfortable with himself, and who has no apprehension about taking my hand in the grocery store or in church as we recite the Lord’s prayer. In comparison the little subtleties become so stark.

I think that the most powerful difference, though, is the way Seattle has allowed me to love and accept myself as I am. Even in places like USGA where I was free to be authentic about my sexuality, there was always this sense of rebellion, of swimming upstream. Things have finally settled here in the Pacific Northwest, and the naysayers don’t have the same emotional power over me like they used to. I can finally just be me, and that’s enough.

BYU, Provo, and USGA will always hold a special place in my heart. USGA was the safe space that allowed me to come out of my gay shell and stretch my wings a bit. But I am also grateful to have left, to have stood at the edge of the cliff, and leaped, just to see how far I can fly. I hope the same for everyone in USGA.

-Nick Norman-

Inclusion

Alright, people.  I've noticed something recently.  There tends to be a certain kind of voice that gets heard and it's the loud ones.  These voices tend to belong to people that are more passionate, and on the extremes of issues.  Well I'm more of a "Jesus said love everyone" kinda person, and my personality is such that I don't like stepping on toes, so I tend to be quiet.  Well I don't feel like I should be quiet about some things any more, so here goes.

 So there are a lot of people that say that being gay is wrong.  I'm pretty sure that at this point we can all agree that it is not (except for the crazies), because one does not choose to have feelings of same-sex attraction, just as one does not choose to have feelings of opposite-sex attraction.  Nothing is wrong with attraction, no matter who it is to.

Where it seems that people start to differ dramatically is when you ask them what the "right" course of action is.  This is where I've been told I have a unique perspective.

The right choice for you is the one that will personally bring you the most happiness throughout your life.

I will fight for your right to have the future that you choose.  Whether that be in a mixed-orientation marriage, a same-sex marriage, something in between, or if you choose to live a celibate life (more power to you, because I don't think I could ever have that kind of will power).  What we often overlook when we are focusing on fighting for the "right" thing is that we're actually all fighting for the same thing.  We are all fighting for our right to happiness. We need to fight for that same right for others, whether or not we believe it is our right choice.  We need to fight for others to have the right to their happiness too.  To not just fight for ourselves, but to fight for each other, together...just imagine how strong we could be.

~Bridey J.

Boxes

I was talking with a friend not too long ago about her reluctance to come out.  She said that she doesn't think she's ready to be put in box of what people think she is, or what they think she should be if she comes out as a lesbian.  I almost immediately wanted to go on about how amazing it's been for me since I came out to the world (literally), because it has given me so much room to just be myself.  I no longer feel like I'm lying to people or pretending to be something I'm not.  When I don't have to worry so much about what people think I am or think I should be it allows me to be what ever I want, which is just me.  But you know what?  Just because I have found this new freedom, doesn't mean that it's right for everyone to do the same thing I did (and certainly not the same way I did it).

After thinking about it for a few days, I have to say I understand her fear.  For the longest time I was afraid to call my self a lesbian.  I would always phrase it that I was "attracted to women".  I told myself that it was because that was easier for people to handle or understand than "I'm gay!"  Later on I realized it was because I was afraid that if I called myself a Lesbian then people would think I was lying if I ever dated a boy.  If they thought I might be lying about my orientation, how legitimate would my pain still be to them?  I was afraid they would think I was lying about that too.




On the other hand, I really did once have a roommate tell me, after many months of being out to her and becoming close friends, that if I had come out to her as lesbian (instead of same-sex attracted) she might not have given me the chance to get to know me the way she did.  For her the term Lesbian or Gay came with a lot of baggage.  We were roommates over the year that I really came in to myself and finally became comfortable with who Bridey really is, and not just in a gay way.  Through our friendship I was able to show her that labeling oneself as gay or lesbian (or any other letter of the ever expanding acronym for non cis-heterosexuals) didn't change a person for the worse, or even for the better.  That being said, not labeling yourself as anything doesn't change you either.

I personally believe that labels are a way to belong and not feel lost.  To be able to say "I am this thing that a lot of other people are".  Putting yourself in a box where there are a lot of other people can feel safe, and make you feel not so secluded or alone.  It should be for yourself and no one else.  It's to help you figure out who you are and finding a place you feel you belong.  When other people start to use this safe place to restrict them from imagining you complexly, that's when boxes become a problem.

Boxes, both metaphorical and cardboard, are for organizing things.  The way our minds work, it is easier to put ourselves and others in boxes, or to label, stereotype, or categorize them.  But the individual should always supersede what's written on the boxes.  The individual is ever changing through time.  Boxes can be entered, left, and redefined multiple times during one life.  We need to learn to not define people, including ourselves, by the boxes they may frequent.

~Bridey J.