A Year Of Sharing Being Queer
Reminiscing + Celebrating + Planning + Thanking
This is Sitting Queerly, a newsletter about the late blooming queer experience and the lofty goal of opening up conversations and celebrating those who embrace their full selves.
A month ago, I went to lunch with one of the few queer friends that live in my town as well as a mutual friend who was visiting. I and the in-town friend have known each other for years prior to coming out but have since become closer, sharing our journeys and dishing on local drama.
Our conversation wasn’t anything special; we talked about the shitshow that was the first days of the second term of The Dear Leader, the deafening cognitive dissonance of queer folk who support him in one of the online spaces both of us share and the latest about our boyfriends (or lack thereof).
But at one point, he just looked me in the eyes and said, “you are not the same person I knew two years ago. And it’s been a joy to watch you become who you are.”
Two years of being queer. To be cliche, it feels like the longest and the shortest two years of my life. At times, it’s hard to remember the terror and relief I felt when I finally acknowledged to myself that I am queer and always was queer. The anxiety of determining who to share this part of myself with, if anybody at all. The insatiable drive to understand what this meant for me and my life.
I have experienced a lot of love, gratitude, camaraderie, ecstasy and satisfaction in these past two years. There’s also been heartsickness, depression, anger, anxiety and sorrow, for reasons about and not about my queerness. The list of firsts I’ve notched on my heart is miles long. Not all of those notches are for milestones or events that I am proud or happy to recall but many are. Some of them are for things as simple as attending a Pride event as a queer man instead of as an ally, looking in a mirror and not hating what I see, telling my children who I truly am. Others are for feelings and sensations and connections that I never permitted myself because I had let the desires of others dictate who I was.
Initially, I wrote about all of this in the closed online groups I searched for in my bid to find support and solace as I came out. The men in these groups seemed to respond positively to what I shared, said it validated what they were experiencing, gave them insight on what to do in their own situations, just as what they shared did the same for me.
Then, a year ago I decided to take it further: to publish my writing about this transformation for anyone to see.
Me: Selfish tangent: I need you to tell me it’s a bad idea for me to start a Substack.
Mark: It's a bad idea for you to start a Substack
Me: I agree. But I’m still thinking about it.
There were a lot of reasons why I shouldn’t. Professionally it could be disastrous, as I live in a conservative community and it could impact my ability to find work at a time I was (and still am) in desperate need of it. It could endanger my relationship with my wife, especially as I explored parts of myself without her. It could sunder relationships with people in my life should I share it with them or they discover it on their own. It could put yet another source of anxiety upon me as I worked to bring the chaos in my life, related to or separate from my queerness, under control.
I did it anyway.
I honestly don’t know what I expected from starting Sitting Queerly. I admit part of me was excited at the prospect of people actually wanting to read what I had to say about being a late-blooming queer cis man, if not actually paying to do so. But I had no illusions that this would be a financially lucrative undertaking. And deep down, despite the praise and support I had received from others online, part of me feared that no one would read, no one would react, no one would comment. That this would strictly be a vanity project.
That’s not what happened, though. People subscribed and/or followed, they “liked,” they commented. My introductory post broke 100 views—more than I expected—and I broke 250 on a post just a month later. After an initial burst of subscribers driven by people already familiar with my journey, my tally of readers inched upward for the first five or so months. Then
decided to recommend Sitting Queerly and subscriptions began increasing exponentially, leading me to hit 100 before my Substack six month-aversary, convincing me to launch paid subscriptions. Others joined Clint in recommending my writing—, , , —and now I have more than 500 people choosing to read whatever flows out of my fingertips each week.Finding an audience for my voice hasn’t been the sole benefit of Sitting Queerly to me. Along with the aforementioned ‘Stackers,
,, , , , , and so many others have shown me glimpses of their worlds and experiences and I am richer for it. I’ve even managed to reconnect with some folks who I knew in my prior life and thus develop a new appreciation for those evolving relationships.So…what’s next? If the past two years have taught me anything, the Universe abhors a plan. I do have things in mind. Obviously continuing to share my queer journey and all the twists and turns that will inevitably include. I’ve specifically been wanting to share the art I’ve created throughout my life that was inspired by it.
But, to be honest, I’m getting tired of talking about myself. There are plenty of other folk out there who have great stories to tell, too. I want to have more queer conversations, such as what I did a while back with my friends Mark and Rich or my more recent collaboration with Aris. I want to share the stories of other late-blooming queer folk, either in conversation with them or by publishing their own writing, be it funny recollections or deep introspections about how they’ve gotten to where they are.
To that end, I have a brief five-question survey that I hope y’all will complete. The last question is optional but if you’re interested to writing for Sitting Queerly or being interviewed by me, you can leave your email address so I can connect with you. I promise I don’t bite. Well, not on the first date, anyway. I will select two free subscribers from the list of those completing the survey to gift a one-year subscription, meaning you’ll get a handmade item from me.
I feel like this space is going to be sorely needed—for others if not just for me—in the coming years as the arc of history feels to be bending backwards. Becoming a paid subscriber1 can help me preserve it, take off some of the pressure of trying to figure out how to make ends meet as my family and I continue to adjust to my now having a job that pays 40% what I was making before. Thank you to my nine paid subscribers—I cannot begin to express how much your support has truly helped over the past six months.
Thank you for reading. I hope you stick around. Just as my friend who said it’s been a joy to watch me become who I am, it’s been a joy to watch this little newsletter/blog become what it is. And I can’t help but feel excited about what is still to come.
You can learn more about what I send to paid subscribers on my About page.
Congrats! Can't wait to see where Sitting Queerly goes next!
Congratulations on a year of amazing growth, Ty!