The sun rose and I flew to the birds

When I was first craving words to describe my queer identity, I was obsessed with birds.

The birds didn't need words and I didn't want them either. I was working in the engine room onboard a research ship, and we wouldn't return to land for thirty to fifty days at a time. As I struggled to break from the ideas of myself as man that I had adopted over the course of my young life I fell down Google holes trying to find a way to present my body to the world. I longed to dissolve into salt-entrained air with the albatrosses.

On my twenty-second birthday, I got up before sunrise in the middle of the ocean. It was a full year after I'd been disowned and my first birthday completely alone. I thought I was supposed to be a man, but all I could remember of myself were strange and uncomfortable sensations. I was filled with homesickness for solid knowing and easily communicated identifiers. I sat at the desk in my cabin to journal and stare at the black pre-dawn outside the porthole.

Looking back, the advice I'd give myself:

You can be a bird! Speak up when it is natural, or quietly murmur through different versions of yourself. Invent the words you need to describe your own body. Find refuge on a ship in the middle of the ocean when you need it. When it is time you will be ready to return to land.

For me, it was useful and powerful to find words like agender, asexual, flex-sexual, genderqueer. But now I recognize that these labels don't have to fit perfectly or describe my identity at all moments. Words are just words, and people are magical beings that will never be totally encapsulated by them. You don't have to find the perfect words to describe your queerness. While they are useful tools, sometimes they change over time or don't capture your identity and that is okay.

I cried without knowing exactly why. I took my glasses off and buried my face into folded elbows. There were no sobs, just tears and emptiness. Tears of sadness, tears of joy, and tears for convoluted, distended boyhood. I felt like a bird a hundred nautical miles from shore.

The best piece of advice I've received:

You, your story, your words, your voice are important. The way you perceive yourself, the way you communicate yourself, the way you talk about your past experiences are valid. You can speak it to yourself. You can say it out loud. You can write it down or talk about it with your friends. We are all excited to hear what you have to say.

I lifted my head to gaze out of the dark porthole. Through glistening eyes I saw the beginning of light beyond it. I remembered the future; that is what we all are striving for. I took a deep breath. There was no need to be afraid. I was not a boy. I was not a man. I was just me. The orb of the sun poked its head with glorious shades of white, salmon, fuschia, and bloody red. The ocean surrounding the boat was bright and full as it reflected the mirror sky.

10 years from now:

A group of young people loafs in a field with birds. It is mid-afternoon when the sky is brighter and hotter than any other time of day. They are queer and laughing. They don't have to feel alone or be afraid of their words. They are loud, proud, and together. One of the young people brought a bag of breadcrumbs, and they periodically dip their hand into it, scatter with a loose motion, and smile as the birds waddle and squak towards them.

I dream of a future where every young queer person is supported, heard, and encouraged. I dream of a future filled with young queer joy instead of confusion, discomfort, and trauma. I know it is possible.

As the pink light stretched into yellow from the horizon, I made my way out on deck. The wind was cold and raw on my face, but gentle. I looked straight at the sun, which burned so I diverted my eyes. I looked at the lone sea bird darting towards and away from the ship's railing. I realized I can be whatever I am. I can just be.

I whispered. All I could see was gold. I shouted.

The words of who I am might change over time, but I can still whisper, yell, moan, cry out, confide them however I need to fly forward. The future is not dark, but bright and colorful. We #RiseInPride, use our voices, and speak the brightest futures we imagine into existence.