WORKING TITLE: A letter from me to you, my friend, from 1993 to present

Date: June 7, 2026 (Pride Month)
Location: Cream & Amber, Hopkins 
Prompt: Identity

 

Once upon a time, we walked away from each other: I only now realize it is because you had to. The place we were, where we grew up, the circle where I felt comfortable and safe… that place was not safe for you. I didn’t see that, back then.

I stayed in this circle. Status quo, call it what you want. I didn’t have the word for it. I had the privilege to be oblivious.

And suddenly you, friend, were not in the circle with me anymore. You were suddenly very far away. I know now you were more courageous than anyone, finding yourself in the journey outside the circle. Back then, I just watched you walk away.

I wondered for a long time what had happened. I saw them Other you, and wondered who had decided that. I wondered if I was the default, and who decided what that was. And then I started to wonder who I had been listening to, and why. I started wondering why my comfort and safety and why you stepped away went hand in hand.

I called myself an ally for a while but didn’t know what that word meant, not truly. I know now that I cannot apply that word to myself until I stopped centering my own identity against the context of others.

Humans try to make sense of the world through our own eyes, but that is lonely. I know now that we – those of us who stayed in the circle – don’t have to stay there. We can step out too. We can catch up. Those of us who walked away from each other – we take steps back toward each other slowly, carefully, to understand in bits and pieces.

This world is far bigger than the little circle I left. I see you in the distance, friend, and am following your footsteps. I am discovering along the way, not who I should have been but who I always was. I see you up ahead, and I can’t wait to know you.