An Open Love Letter to My Community

Dear Friends, Family, and Loved Ones:

I received a hateful and spiteful letter in the U.S. mail the other day from an anonymous writer that reads my FB and blog and lives in St. Louis. I sat with the letter for several days. At first it made me angry, and then it made me feel ashamed, and now I hold it for what it is: a sad, hurt, angry, self-loathing attempt by someone to offload their own feelings of inadequacy on others. The only thing I truly have to say to you is that I hope you find the love, healing, grace, and peace that you seem to not have in your life in this moment. You deserve it.

The one point in the letter, though, that truly made my eyebrows raise was when I was accused of, and I am paraphrasing, loving my friends, boyfriend, community too much (or as anonymous said...when I am in love the whole word has to hear about)....acting as if you are all superstars, phenomenal, the best people ever. Please note I was not accused of putting down the friends, family, and loves of others only that I loved you all too much and too publicly and without the appropriate amount of humility and self-effacement.

Guilty.

Let's start off with something simple. Nico, I love you. But you already knew that. And you know why. You are French and stoic, so I won't embarrass you by listing why exactly you have captured my heart. I love you. Now get back to saving the world from itself.

But that's not all, I love so many other people: David, Kenyon, Rodrigo, Jennifer, Nubia, Chad, Jenna, JT, Umberto, Pookie, Tasha, RJ, Bebe, Amber, Jay, Collette, Susan, Rocki, and so on and so forth and on and on and on and on. Guess what? There is no lack of love to be given or accepted. I love you all, my community, my friends, many of my former boyfriends, some folks that are no longer on this earth. I love you. Thank you for all that you have given me and for the times you have allowed me to be of service to you in friendship.

To my family, my brothers and sisters, my Dad, my Mom, my step-Mom, my nieces and nephews, my godson, cousins, family of choice, family of origin, I love you. Thank you for holding me, raising me, growing with me, and giving me the gift of your love.

To my political family, especially Paula Austin, thank you for building with me, checking my ass when it needed to be checked and DOING IT WITH love and compassion (shout out to Irma and Lolan), and to those that have helped me understand what it means to be a feminist, a radical, a man, privileged as well as oppressed, and the responsibilities that come with access. Thank you. I will continue to fuck up and I know that you will hold me down and hold me correct when need be. Thank you.  I love you.

To the poets and writers of the world, I love you, keep sharing your stories and your truths....we all need them. To my ancestors: Black, White, Anishinaabe (LCO Band of Ojibwe where my Mother is an enrolled member as are all of my relatives of the last generation), and Puerto Rican...thank you....your work and breath made my life possible. I love you.

And to those that have offered up their less than loving critique, thank you for giving me a gift to see myself, my work, and my place in the world as distinct from how you live yours. I will continue to celebrate my life with love, my community with love, my work with love, my family with love, and even those that believe I am nothing more than the basest of their perceptions, I love you too.

Thank you to you all. One love.

Love,
Brandon

The Burden and Blessing Of Truth

Two days ago I wrote what was perhaps my most difficult blog entry. I take that back. It was unequivocally the hardest thing I have ever written and published. Though I was desperately terrified, I hit the post button, closed my eyes, gritted my teeth and waiting for the inevitable feedback.

I was ready for anger, outrange, condemnation, a lack of understanding, and some support.

What I recieved was an amazing outpouring of love, support, understanding, compassion, and connection. The truth I spoke allowed so many others to send me private emails sharing that yes, they too had gone through something similar. People that I have known for a short time and others I have known for years came out as positive and shared pieces of their stories. Straight friends, queer friends, childhood friends, new friends, old friends, anonymous readers, and many others shared how I have touched their lives, how my stories have touched them, and how, though they may not have experienced what I have it still resonated with them.

I have to tell you a story about a woman I know named Marge.

Marge and I worked together during the time I described in my last blog posting. Marge and I were always friendly to one another, but though we worked in the same department our jobs did not overlap and it was rare that we had much interaction (even though we sat with only one cubicle in between us). Marge is a good woman that came from corporate America. I knew she was a Republican (there was running joke that Marge and our boss were the only two Republicans on a staff of almost 100 people). She was always polite, but I never really got to know her. What I did know was surface. Last night, she reached out to me via Facebook and said some very moving and beautiful things about my writing. She said that she was happy that I had found love and a way to express my gift. She was deeply compassionate and very caring, and after our conversation I went to my partner and said that I hadn't realized until speaking with Marge last night that I had deep preconceived notions of who would be touched by my story and how.

I misjudged Marge, which means I have misjudged so many people. If a white, straight, suburban corporate woman...about as opposite demographically from my own identity as one can get can connect with what I write and how I write it, then I have to seriously examn further my own assumptions and prejudices. Marge, you taught me a deeply valuable and welcome lesson last night. I thank you for your compassion, your honesty, and the support you demonstrated. Thank you, I hope I can return the favor sometime.

When I write these blog entries and tell my stories, I always hope that by sharing them I can visit them more closely, look at the experiences more deeply, and take away something from them that I may have missed while in the moment of the events. Last night, through Marge, and through so many others that shared their thoughts, hopes, sadnesses, and joys, I have been able to do that. It is an honor to have readers as wonderful and engaged as all of you are. You are a gift to me, and I value you greatly. You sustain me with your honesty and with the stories that you reflect back to me, and I appreciate you for it.

You humble me again and again. Thank you.