Finding belonging by looking close in.
On Pride Month, Audhd and belonging.
Quiet pride.
I find pride month entirely overwhelming and for the longest time I thought that meant I wasn’t queer enough.
I don’t want to wear sparkle pants and march through the streets yelling. (ok, for anyone that knows me, you will know this to be lies, I just want to do it on my own terms, alone, not with thousands of people).
Could be the Audhd?
At the heart of it, I didn’t understand where I fit in the queer community. I wasn’t sure if I was even allowed to march down the street in sparkly hot pants yelling things (let’s be honest, I’ve never been to a pride march I know it’s much more creative and diverse than hot pants and yelling, it just feels loud and scary and I’ve always hated my legs).
I was shocked when someone asked me to be a guest on a queer podcast. Pride through the ages.
“You want me? Are you sure? Am I queer enough for that? I don’t even wear pastel colours”.
Yes. They wanted me and yes I was and am queer enough. To realise this fact it too an Atlantic coastline, a caterpillar, a magnifying glass and some gentle curiosity for me to truly understand it.
Last year during pride, on a beach in Dunfanaghy Ireland I attended a 2-day queer nature workshop with he ever wonderful Lucy We meandered at sea snail pace through sand dunes where the softest grass managed to sway elegantly in buffeting coastal winds. We squelched though tidal flats and salt marshes crouching down to peer into puddles of sea water that revealed tracks of birds, crabs and other unnameable creatures who created art with their movement.
We looked close in.
We savoured the pop and salt of sea vegetables and learned about the orgiastic queerness of eels, who are asexual most of their lives until it’s time to mate then travel to one particular place for a massive spawning event (eel pride maybe?). Female deers grow antlers, penguins have same sex life long partners ships, the list goes on.
The workshop closed with some contemplative time, I chose a spot in the dunes and nestled into the grass feeling held and protected.
I watched clouds and waves merge between blades.
The whole world a pulsing mass of queerness.
Nothing straight.
Nothing as it seems from a distance.
Everything alive, throbbing, generative, unique.
We gathered together after our sit spots, wide eyed and full of miracle.
We shared of our experience. I felt so blessed to be among a group of nature nerds who want to stand out in the rain and talk about genderless eels, forage sea vegetables and listen to the world, so alive around us. This is my queerness, this is where I belong, this is how I celebrate pride.
THIS is how I celebrate pride. It was actually a revelation.
I AM QUEER ENOUGH.
The workshop finished and folks started filtering out, someone pulled out a magnifying glass like a fucking hero, and we suddenly had access to a whole world of detail, so close in. Belly to the sand, our foreheads pressed together in awe as a caterpillar cocooned themselves between two blades of grass, their whole-body rippling with the effort, hairs darting in all directions, fluro green and orange burned our eyeballs, stegosaurus-esqe ridges peaked like dark mountains from their colourful body. This little fella, weaving a home in which to liquify themselves into imaginary cells that will entirely transform their reality, their body and their capacity to move through landscape. And we had the utter privilege to witness this moment, squeal with delight and become completely engrossed in the process.
After a lifetime, or minutes we looked up and the 20 or so people in the workshop were gone, 3 of us remained laying in the sand thrilled to the marrow to experience this exquisite insight - real time.
That’s when I knew I was queer enough.
Soaking wet from driving rains, shivering cold, salt and awe on my lips.
That’s when I knew I was queer enough.
Standing on the coastline my ancestors sailed away from never to see again, to board a sturdy cocoon that would sail across the ocean and transform their lives forever.
Transform the way they moved through the world (they didn’t turn to goo and grow wings though, which I grateful for because I like being alive and if my ancestors turned into butterflies I mean, cool, but I like being human.)
Human I am.
Queer I am.
Audhd I am.
Proud of all of these things I am, in my own quiet way, with people who stop mid-sentence to take in a sunrise and cannot be contained by boundaries or binaries.
My ancestors were butterflies.
The question was never am I queer enough?
The question is where do I find a sense of belonging and do I trust it?
The answer. I really do.
Happy Pride.
