Seattle Pride

I had an amazing experience this past weekend but since then, I’ve been hesitant to write about it. While it is a bit more personal than the normal tone of my blog, I realized that I would be doing more of a disservice by not talking. I know that older generations don’t feel comfortable putting these kinds of details out in public, but I’ve grown up in an era where transparency of one’s personal life is socially acceptable among my peers. This type of communication helps build and facilitate our community. I also have realized that I write on this blog more for myself than for any reader (sorry folks!); as I look through the archived posts, approaching 250 entries, I feel so fortunate to have documentation of my formative years as a young adult. So not writing this post would only leave behind a dishonest representation of my life.

Some might be asking now, why not just keep your own private journal? Because, perhaps naïvely, I have this hope that somewhere out in the vast world wide web, there is someone who connects with my writing- perhaps by having a shared experience or by living vicariously through a new one. As someone who is part of a couple minority groups, I know the relief of reading something and thinking, “oh thank god, you too? I though I was the only one.”

By not writing about something that is important to me only keeps the doors of dialogue further shut. And if there’s something we desperately need more of in the world, it’s people that live honestly with themselves and others. I’ll try to do my best.

This past weekend, I went to my first Pride celebration. Seattle goes all out, a whole week of events, and Sunday is the climax with its Pride Parade and Festival at the Seattle Center (just below the Space Needle). I had plans to meet up with a friend from U of M in downtown but because I didn’t want to drive by myself (ie pay for gas myself) I posted a carpool ad on Craigslist. After numerous responses, I ended up bringing along a 19 year old, female-to-male transgendered, and his friend, the LGBTA coordinator at the local university. Having just moved to Bellingham, I thought it would be a fun way to meet some other people in the gay community.

Sunday was the first really hot day of summer, just peaking above 90, with a cloudless bright blue sky. You could just feel the excitement of people finally shedding the remaining chill of our unseasonably cool spring. My friend had saved us a spot on the curb towards the end of the parade route and it was fortunately in the shade. The parade itself lasted over 3 hours, with 200 different floats and groups marching (well, dancing as was often the case). Last year, the celebration brought in 200,000 people into the city. Every part of the spectrum was represented- from the gay Christian groups to the local municipal workers to the leather and bondage groups to drag queens to ethnic groups to sport teams to major corporations. Even the governor of Washington, the first ever to participate in a pride parade, rode in a convertible and waved to the excited crowds. By the end of it all, and three hours had never gone so fast, I was so proud of the diversity of my community. In our normal day-to-day lives, each of us might stand out in the crowd, but when we are gathered together and everyone is out of the ordinary, everything becomes normal and accepted.

The highlight of the day came after the parade, when the crowds walked over to the Seattle Center. By now, everyone was hot and hungry and antsy from standing up for three hours. My friends and I walked passed the vendors selling designer underwear, passed political groups getting people registered to vote, passed the main music stage and headed directly towards the food court. Having eaten barely anything all day, a hot gyro and cool cucumber sauce on a perfect summer day never tasted so good. We settled onto the outer edge of the International Fountain, which appeared to be the heart of the festivities. Gay boys are a lot like 4 year olds I’ve come to conclude; they just like to dance around in their underwear in a giant fountain. Everyone—male, female, gay, straight, large, skinny, old, young, even a couple people in wheelchairs—was there, complete strangers dancing with each other. As I looked around, myself sopping wet and sunbathing on the warm bricks, I couldn’t help but notice how happy people were. It might have been the weather, but I suspect we were in good spirits because we could simply be ourselves. No judgment, no looking over one’s shoulder- just equality through diversity.


I was glowing on the drive back. It was potent mix of sunshine, dancing, Ethiopian food for dinner, and now with the setting sun over the Washington landscape I realized I hadn’t felt this content and happy in a very long time (this is why this post had to be written. How could I edit out this positive experience?). While there could have been additional things to have made the day even better—like being there with a boyfriend or having all my college friends there to celebrate with me—I was more than satisfied knowing that I now live in a region that is open and accepting, that there are others like myself and for at least one day a year, we can come together and be honest with ourselves.

And then the reality of Monday hit and work was the last place I wanted to be. Why couldn’t Pride last all the time? Why do I feel like a 35 year-old straight male at my office job? Just how honest am I with myself and my happiness? I love my job and its opportunities to grow professionally, but it was a stark contrast to Sunday’s celebrations.

And because I’m a workaholic, it’s easy to define myself by my work (admittedly, not a healthy habit). I’m so thankful for Pride because it has started to shake off that definition to reveal something more true to self. I’m finding myself clinging to the memories of Sunday- trying to feel the sun against my wet skin, feel the bass rhythm resonating in my chest, feel the contentment wash over my relaxed shoulders on the drive home. But each passing day blurs those memories and I’m realizing that one day of Pride a year isn’t enough, that these types of experiences need to happen on a regular basis for my mental health. In college, it was easy to be part of a gay community- on my own and in the “real world,” I now have to make a more deliberate effort.

That means taking risks and stepping outside the comfort zone of my apartment and office. But not taking risks is simply not an option. So here I go, onwards into adulthood, a bit more gayer than before…