This is my experience. Maybe some of you will recognize it, to different degrees.
I’ve said that to be gay is to take the temperature of every room you enter. By “room” I mean group of strangers, in a room or not. It’s looking around for any visible signs of others like you (and if you have gaydar as terrible as mine, I really mean VISIBLE signs). If you see those signs, you watch for how others react or if it’s just “inside information.” It’s listening for key words and phrases that may give clues to the attitudes present.
I suppose almost anyone who has been “othered” does this. It’s easier for some than others. I can imagine anyone with more melanin than me walks into an all-white room and puts some sort of guard up until there are signs they can relax—or that they need to get the hell out of there. As a white cis man who passes enough for straight to be hit on by women now and then (ah passing privilege!) I’m possibly in less danger than my melanated friends. (One straight friend has told me I pass until I start talking. It was unclear whether he thought I “sound gay” or if it’s just my tendency to go on and on about modern dance, given an opening.)
But perhaps Star Wars fans do this, too? Listen for cues that’s it’s okay to quote the films? I wouldn’t know, I’m not one of them, but I hope they would feel safe saying “It’s a trap!” around me and not mean it literally.
Or is it just me? You tell me. What are your “othering” traits? When and where do you feel unsafe when someone finds out that one thing about you that puts you in physical danger, or if not that, then raises the awkwardness around you?
Maybe you have the confidence to not ever feel the awkwardness and the danger. (Then you’re not like me.)
I know I’m lucky (see passing privilege above), but it affects my thinking and planning. For example, I’d like to move out of the Big City and into a smaller town again. I grew up in a rural community and something about aging makes me want to return to something like that. But is it safe? It’s a lot of research on “rural communities that are safe for queers.” Then I hate how I stereotype rural communities, even though I know them first hand—or knew one 30 years ago. And, I remind myself, it’s not as if gay bashing crimes don’t take place in the Big City.
I spoke with my spiritual director a few months ago about this desire, framing it as wanting to end up somewhere that felt like home (which the Big City does not). We talked about what are markers of “home” and one of them was this question of safety, of taking the temperature of a room, a gathering, a community. He’s also a gay man who has found a small town wherein to retire with his husband and they seem very happy. Then I wonder if it helps if to have a spouse or if it helps to be single?
Maybe I’m just an anxious mess.
I can’t draw a straight line from what Patty wrote last time to these lines I’m typing, but I know, through over a week of writing and scratching out and writing again, that there’s a connection. One of you will probably find it.
Also, here’s a short story for some recommended reading. It sort of fits the theme here.