Coming out, 10 years later

It's a beautiful Friday morning here on Fire Island. I just ran on the beach from Ocean Beach to Atlantique, and I am enjoying my first cup of coffee while listening to NPR. And so begins the 10th anniversary of my coming out.

Things have obviously changed from that dreary Sunday morning in May 2001 that I acknowledged who I am for the first time while writing in my journal at the Bristol Laundromat in Bristol, New Hampshire. I am nearly 30-years-old, I am able to share my life with a wonderful man, I am an uncle and I am blessed to have the opportunity to work on one of the world's most beautiful beaches. I am largely comfortable with who I have become.

As a journalist who covers LGBT issues, the so-called Coming Out Industry largely bores me. The past few months, however, have reminded me time and time again that acknowledging one's sexual orientation and/or gender identity and expression can sometimes carry great personal risk. I remain forever grateful to those family and friends who continue to accept me as the gay man I am.

Coming out , a personal reflection

From earlier this morning...

It’s shortly after 6 a.m. in Ocean Beach. The birds are chirping. Dawn has broken over the beach, and I am sitting in the porch of our cottage here on Surf Road eating Greek yogurt with blackberries and blueberries, drinking black coffee and listening to NPR. Just another Thursday morning, except for the fact today marks nine years since I came out of the closet.

May 27, 2001, remains one of the most defining days of my life, but I honestly forgot about it until I was about halfway across the bay on the ferry to Ocean Beach last night. Deadlines, my super’s funeral on Tuesday and buying groceries and packing for Fire Island all contributed to this initial oversight. Is this progress?

On that rainy Sunday morning in the laundromat in Bristol, New Hampshire, I had no idea I would eventually live in New York City, make the majority of my livelihood through LGBT media and even manage a newspaper on Fire Island. As a 28-year-old gay man, my sexual orientation is simply a part of what defines me as a person. Paradoxically, however, the bulk of my reportage revolves around sexual orientation and gender identity and expression. Is this progress?

Personal and even professional progress comes to those who find the courage to acknowledge who they are, but I am reminded almost every day this act of liberation often comes with risk. Jorge Steven López Mercado’s brutal murder last November in Puerto Rico, bloggers in the Middle East, Uganda and other countries who risk their freedom and potentially more to report on LGBT issues in their homelands and even local DJs who still think it is funny to make anti-gay jokes on the radio are among the myriad of things that remind me of the need to publicly acknowledge who you are. I remain tremendously fortunate and grateful to the people in my life who accept me as a gay man, but progress will only take place when everyone who is brave enough to acknowledge who they are receive the love, respect and most importantly acceptance they deserve.

Seven years and counting

Life is often marked by personal and professional milestones and today marks seven years since I came out to myself. I made that fateful decision while waiting for my clothes to dry at a laundromat in Bristol, New Hampshire. It was a cool and rainy May morning, and I had just completed an intense leadership development program sponsored by my alma mater, the University of New Hampshire. I had come to the realization during the five day program that I needed to acknowledge what I had long suspected and come clean -- for a lack of a better categorization -- to myself. One of my group's co-facilitators, who remains one of my best friends, followed a similar path the year before, and his guidance remains an immense source of strength and inspiration. I came out to myself as a bisexual man via my journal, but the rest is... well... history...

Coming out remains a life-changing decision for the arguable vast majority of LGBT people in this country and around the world. One of the more hurtful things that came out as a result of my experience was a gay man at UNH who rather arrogantly tried to convince me of my own personal internalized homophobia in order to potentially justify his own self-imposed superiority complex. I was 19, but words, as they say, truly hurt and it took me a long time to eventually move beyond them. But coming out truly transformed my life. I was finally honest with myself, and the process put me onto the path which eventually brought me to New York, to Fire Island and to this craft we call journalism. What a truly magnificent ride it has been!

Boston and the family

It's a beautiful Monday afternoon as I sit outside Quincy Market in Boston having lunch between meetings. I brought my cats to my parents' house in New Hampshire on Friday, and the University of New Hampshire inducted me into its Diversity Hall of Fame in Durham on Saturday. I head back to Brooklyn tomorrow morning, but I leave here with additional piece of mind after coming out to my Aunt Cheryl last night.

This process is a long and often difficult one for many LGBT people in this country and around the world. Many people who have come out to their friends and especially family arguably take their acceptance and support for granted. I have felt particularly drawn to my aunt since I met her a few years ago. She is a very cosmopolitan woman with friends from a variety of diverse backgrounds. My cousins equally embrace this diversity, and it felt almost mandatory to talk about my sexual orientation last night. My aunt and I were talking as she was preparing dinner. My cousin came in and joked my grandmother would diapprove of both of our lifestyles. We all laughed, and that was the end of it. No dramatic speech. No awkward attempts to explain why I like men. It was a simple 10 second conversation that gave me additional peace of mind before we sat down for salmon, sausages and steak. It was a wonderful evening with the family.

Late Night Thoughts on the Downtown 1 Train

The trip from 207th Street to 14th Street on the downtown 1 train at 3 a.m. is often mercilessly long. I fortunately caught it within two minutes of arriving at the station after leaving the Escandalo Nights party in Inwood very early this morning, but I inevitably had nearly 45 minutes to think as I struggled to stay awake on the nearly empty train.

The reality that I have yet to come out to my grandmother consumed my mind as the train slowly traveled downtown. She is a conservative, bigoted and overtly homophobic Roman Catholic widow who lives in Southwest Florida. This reality obviously poses a number of potentially critical questions and concerns for me: What would happen if I formally came out to her? How would she react? Would she speak with me again? Millions of LGBT people around the world inherently face these questions as they consider coming out to various loved ones. And they face the consequences for better or for worse.

I've had conversations about this possibility with my mother, and the response has been less than enthusiastic. It seems rather ridiculous to say to her son that she doesn't want your grandmother to love you less than she does already. Indeed. The temporary solace comes in the fact I see her once a year at most, but the obvious issue remains that I am not 100 percent honest about who I am as an openly gay man who feels proud of this gift. Nothing in live is ever black or white. There are always shades of gray that tend to complicate our not so perfect world... and unfortunately this fact is one that muddied my thoughts during the long trek back to Bushwick at 3 a.m.

The Post-Coming Out Era?

Have we, as LGBT Americans, finally reached a point where pink historians can definitely declare a post-coming out era? This question is one which I have repeatedly pondered over recent weeks as the result of numerous conversations with friends, sources and other contacts across the country. Los Angeles Times columnist Gregory Rodriguez appears to examine the same question in a column published in today's edition. So have we embarked upon a new era?

Perhaps. My roommate Ben came out to his New Jersey classmates before he could legally drive a car. Other sources have told me there is no such thing as coming out among those under 18. I came out in May 2001 upon completion of my freshman year at the University of New Hampshire. I was 19. The experience truly changed my life. LGBT people, for better or worse, have become much more visible since 2001 through "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy," the legalization of marriage for same-sex couples in Massachusetts in 2004, former New Jersey Gov. James E. McGreevey's scandalized coming out the same year and a litany of other high-profile events. Many LGBT people in New York, West Hollywood, San Francisco, the South End and other LGBT meccas may yawn at these developments. But Rodriguez correctly pointed out in his column that 45 states (or 49 depending upon one's perspective) have laws on the books which bar marriage (or full marriage) for gay and lesbian couples. Some may live in the post-coming out era. But millions upon millions of LGBT people are across the country still yearn for the chance to come out of the closet and be who they are.

Coming Out: A Personal Story

New York City remains a relative easy place to live as an openly gay man. The vast majority of elected officials support their gay constituents, hundreds of clubs, bars and restaurants cater to gay New Yorkers in neighborhoods across the city and most New Yorkers accept gay men as another facet of their city's rich diversity. Yet it is naive to think every gay man is fortunate enough to live in a city where difference is celebrated as a strength.

It has been nearly six years since I first came out to myself in a small town laundromat in Central New Hampshire. The experience remains a defining moment in my life because of the support I received from my friends, my community and most importantly my family. My mother brought up this obvious fact during one of our almost daily phone calls last night. Her brother who lives in South Texas is the first person on a list in his community to receive a kidney transplant. I was elated to hear this news but my mother suddenly interjected my uncle respects me despite my sexual orientation. I paused for a second because she caught me off guard. A sense of happiness [and relief] soon followed and I am almost certain my mother could see me beaming on the other end of the phone.

I rarely think about how my sexual orientation differentiates me from other people any more because New York continues to provide me with the space to live as how I want to live. My uncle and the vast majority of my family will probably never fully understand why I am attracted to people of the same-sex. I will most likely never understand the reasons for my sexual orientation either. But I am truly blessed to have a family who accepts their son, their nephew, their brother and their cousin without condition. I am truly blessed.