How about the time I went “gay haven” and was so invisible that I got sat on. Not come hither, not Sit on Daddy’s lap - he like everyone else just didn’t see me. Next day I dressed like a thug and all of a sudden people noticed…and ran for cover. I agree with everything, how does one even start if one isn’t considered “worth noticing”??
It’s brutal how visibility goes from being unseen to being treated like a threat. The problem isn’t you, it’s the warped social scripts people carry into queer spaces. Always remember, worth is not something the room gets to assign.
Yes, I couldn’t agree more - esp after 2 decades in NYC. Problem is their handicaps keep me forever single (and celibate). I’m not asking to be the Queen Bee. Just one good guy, out of myriad.
As a queer and an introvert, I have spent most of my life keeping to myself and a small group of friends. When I got married, I was pulled (yes kicking and screaming) into a large group of acquaintances. Frankly, queer spaces or not, the pageantry, the forced laughter, the accusation of "being in a bad mood" because I didn't come say hi - it all set's my teeth on edge. Recently I've withdrawn back to my writing, my books, quiet evenings in a chat with a close friend: my partner is not pleased, but I feel more at peace.
He says he truly love the drama and activity of it all, but I see how much it wears on him too.
I get that, LW. Some of us find peace where the volume’s low and the masks can stay off. There’s nothing wrong with choosing quiet over performance because it’s often where we come back to ourselves.
My husband and I were living in Arizona during the first reign of the world's worst leader. I recall the tension i lived with knowing that it was unlikely we'd be able to walk our neighborhood holding hands. I was ever aware of glances and smirks and potential threats.
We moved to Australia. It's easier here to relax but I find myself looking over my shoulder and being suspicious of people way more than I want to.
That vigilance doesn’t switch off just because the environment changes. It’s the body remembering what danger felt like. Give it time, because it learns safety more slowly than the mind ever does.
For me, the joy is definitely in the boring parts. I'm still working on how visible I want to be so I am always doing the internal audit of "is it safe?" but in those moments where it is safe, I feel fully me and it took me the better part of a lifetime to get to that point. Thank you for another wonderful article. It is my pleasure to recommend you from my Substack because every week is so insightful.
Thanks for your support, Dan. Regarding those “boring” moments, for me, they are sacred. It’s quiet proof that you’ve earned your safety. Getting to a place where you can just be is the work of a lifetime, and you’re living it beautifully.
This is beautiful, Gino. My husband & I have been living on our sailboat & sailing all summer from the conservative American South to the liberal Northeast, where it got increasingly more open to two gay guys loving life, and then back again. In North Carolina now, a Trump state, we’re extra wary about whether people might understand “what we are” and punish us for it, either through excommunication or potential violence. We keep moving through these places, though, and as we talk to people we say, “actually, we’re married,” and “we’ve been together 17 years.” We brace for the faces, the potential dismay, but keep being who we are. The other day, I was talking to two ladies asking about our cat and I said, “I got her before Corey and I started dating” and I got scared, like they’d know then that we were a gay couple, and then I’d get some punishment. But it didn’t come. They just “ooooo’d” and “ahhhh’d”. Though, you’re right: my nervous system knows. And I’m rarely more serene when we’re in an isolated anchorage where no one is around to have an opinion on my truth: I’m gay, we’re married, and we couldn’t be happier.
Thank you Gino. So much to digest. I like that joy doesn't have to be something I jump up and down about. It's maybe just being treated with respect even when my guard is down. I need to learn to put it down more frequently. It's a hard habit to break to keep the mask on. Thank you Gino, as always! You inspire every day
That’s beautifully said. Letting the mask drop, even for a moment, is its own kind of joy. It’s how your body learns that safety can be real, not just rehearsed.
How about the time I went “gay haven” and was so invisible that I got sat on. Not come hither, not Sit on Daddy’s lap - he like everyone else just didn’t see me. Next day I dressed like a thug and all of a sudden people noticed…and ran for cover. I agree with everything, how does one even start if one isn’t considered “worth noticing”??
It’s brutal how visibility goes from being unseen to being treated like a threat. The problem isn’t you, it’s the warped social scripts people carry into queer spaces. Always remember, worth is not something the room gets to assign.
Yes, I couldn’t agree more - esp after 2 decades in NYC. Problem is their handicaps keep me forever single (and celibate). I’m not asking to be the Queen Bee. Just one good guy, out of myriad.
Anyway. Thanks for the response.
As a queer and an introvert, I have spent most of my life keeping to myself and a small group of friends. When I got married, I was pulled (yes kicking and screaming) into a large group of acquaintances. Frankly, queer spaces or not, the pageantry, the forced laughter, the accusation of "being in a bad mood" because I didn't come say hi - it all set's my teeth on edge. Recently I've withdrawn back to my writing, my books, quiet evenings in a chat with a close friend: my partner is not pleased, but I feel more at peace.
He says he truly love the drama and activity of it all, but I see how much it wears on him too.
Your work keeps me thinking.
I get that, LW. Some of us find peace where the volume’s low and the masks can stay off. There’s nothing wrong with choosing quiet over performance because it’s often where we come back to ourselves.
My husband and I were living in Arizona during the first reign of the world's worst leader. I recall the tension i lived with knowing that it was unlikely we'd be able to walk our neighborhood holding hands. I was ever aware of glances and smirks and potential threats.
We moved to Australia. It's easier here to relax but I find myself looking over my shoulder and being suspicious of people way more than I want to.
That vigilance doesn’t switch off just because the environment changes. It’s the body remembering what danger felt like. Give it time, because it learns safety more slowly than the mind ever does.
For me, the joy is definitely in the boring parts. I'm still working on how visible I want to be so I am always doing the internal audit of "is it safe?" but in those moments where it is safe, I feel fully me and it took me the better part of a lifetime to get to that point. Thank you for another wonderful article. It is my pleasure to recommend you from my Substack because every week is so insightful.
Thanks for your support, Dan. Regarding those “boring” moments, for me, they are sacred. It’s quiet proof that you’ve earned your safety. Getting to a place where you can just be is the work of a lifetime, and you’re living it beautifully.
This is beautiful, Gino. My husband & I have been living on our sailboat & sailing all summer from the conservative American South to the liberal Northeast, where it got increasingly more open to two gay guys loving life, and then back again. In North Carolina now, a Trump state, we’re extra wary about whether people might understand “what we are” and punish us for it, either through excommunication or potential violence. We keep moving through these places, though, and as we talk to people we say, “actually, we’re married,” and “we’ve been together 17 years.” We brace for the faces, the potential dismay, but keep being who we are. The other day, I was talking to two ladies asking about our cat and I said, “I got her before Corey and I started dating” and I got scared, like they’d know then that we were a gay couple, and then I’d get some punishment. But it didn’t come. They just “ooooo’d” and “ahhhh’d”. Though, you’re right: my nervous system knows. And I’m rarely more serene when we’re in an isolated anchorage where no one is around to have an opinion on my truth: I’m gay, we’re married, and we couldn’t be happier.
That’s a powerful image. The calm you describe at anchor says everything about what real safety costs and how precious it is when you finally find it.
Thank you Gino. So much to digest. I like that joy doesn't have to be something I jump up and down about. It's maybe just being treated with respect even when my guard is down. I need to learn to put it down more frequently. It's a hard habit to break to keep the mask on. Thank you Gino, as always! You inspire every day
That’s beautifully said. Letting the mask drop, even for a moment, is its own kind of joy. It’s how your body learns that safety can be real, not just rehearsed.
Thank you, Gino❤️❤️