Finding myself at the book store…
When I was a kid, I was always in search of a book—one that would describe me, or at least one that had similarities with which I could relate. I remember the overwhelming joy I felt when I found a few paragraphs about sexuality in the famous, although denounced in its time, Our Bodies, Ourselves. I was 12.
As a teenager, I would frequent the local bookstore and wander around the entire store until I finally got the nerve to peek at the “Gay & Lesbian” section. It was tucked into a back corner, ostensibly hidden. But as one of its regular, curious observers, I always felt exposed and conspicuously in the spotlight when I dared to look. It felt as if just standing there, staring at the names of book titles, would somehow “make me gay.”
This was before the Internet gained popularity and we could find connections within seconds via Google. A time when, in the US South, people were regularly harassed, lost their jobs, or much worse, just for being their true selves. (This time seems too similar to things happening now...but that is another story.) I was afraid of who I was…and what that meant.
Despite how much embarrassment and shame I felt soaking in those “Gay & Lesbian” book titles, I always longed for my next trip to the bookstore…each time, hoping that somehow I would find some explanation for how I felt deep inside. Validation for my desires. Celebration of my sexuality.
Fast-forward 25+ years….I recently found myself in a bookstore in old Boystown in Chicago. When I walked into the room and saw thousands of books lining shelf after shelf, I was overcome by emotion and the tears began to flow. There was an entire room dedicated to queerness. I spent hours carefully reading titles, pausing to read a back cover or intro paragraph every now and then.
It's hard to describe the euphoria I experienced in my body while I was there. I felt seen and validated, and celebrated in my queerness. And I felt so hopeful for the younger folks who may not have to secretly search for stories that reflect their own experience. And I felt a deep sense of grief for my younger self who so deeply craved acceptance and needed to know they were not alone. It’s amazing how much can shift when we feel truly seen.
Happy Pride Month!