Dandelions in the Wind

[Author’s note: The following post is about an Andrea Gibson poem, which can be seen/heard here.]

To anyone who has ever wanted to die: I have been told sometimes the most healing thing we can do is remind ourselves over and over and over other people feel this too // The tomorrow that has come and gone, and it has not gotten better // When you’re half finished writing that letter to your mother that says I swear to God I tried.

Andrea Gibson performed at UNC last week, and it was fantastic. I’ve been a big fan of her spoken word for a while now, but hearing her speak in person was an entirely different experience. As I’ve said before, Andrea’s words usually make so much more sense than the ones in my own head—feeling the energy of those words echo in a room full of people was one of the coolest experiences of my life thus far. One of the best parts of Andrea’s work is that she truly speaks from the heart and addresses issues that most people feel more comfortable just ignoring. This is one of Andrea’s newest poems, and she performed it last week at UNC. Out of the 10-15 poems that she performed, this one moved my heart the most.

You are not weak just because your heart feels so heavy // I have never met a heavy heart that wasn’t a phone booth with a red cape inside // Some people will never understand the kind of super power it takes for some people to just face the day.

These words. There’s something really beautiful about a heavy heart—it’s a testament to love and pain and living. I don’t really know how to express how much admiration I have for people who have the strength to face the day.

What I know about living is that pain is never just ours.

I think it’s easier for us to believe that pain is a solitary experience. We can hide away in our own troubles and ignore everyone around us. Because letting other people in, that’s the scary part. That’s the part that takes strength and bravery when we feel as though we have nothing else to give.

Here we are, together at the window, aching for it to all get better // But knowing there is a chance, our hearts may have only just skinned their knees // Knowing there is a chance, the worst thing might still be coming // Let me say right now for the record, I’m still gonna be here—asking this world to dance.

As great as the “It Get’s Better” campaign was in terms of opening up dialogue, I don’t think it necessarily sent the right message. Yes, one day your life will be better. But, one day, it might be worse too. And that’s okay, because that’s life. What we need to be saying is that we are here, wearing our red capes, making it through it all together. We, taking in this life together, will make it better.

The only thing we have to gain in staying is each other // My god, that is plenty // My god, that is enough // My god, that is so so much.

Finding Myself

[Editor's note: Yesterday, Duke and Duke Med issued a statement of support for This Wonderful Community. Read more here, if you wish. But definitely read more below for an incredibly powerful blog post!]

If you asked me at the beginning of my Duke career to tell you who I was, I probably would have given you a really superficial answer. You see, what I would have said then would have referred to what I did rather than who I was. I say this, because looking back on it, I was very lost as a person and very unsure of what it meant to be confident in my identity. Coming out of high school, I allowed my identity to be defined by what my family, friends, and environment expected of me. Looking at my life now, it seems as though I have nothing left of what I used to deem important—sports, religion, school activities, etc. In writing this, I feel as though I should mourn the ‘identity’ that I seem to have lost—but I don’t. You see, it was never my identity to begin with. And in realizing that over the past three and a half years, I feel as though the value of what I have gained entirely outweighs whatever I may have given up.

I suppose to begin answering the question of who I am, I need to first explain how I came to realize that I needed to define my identity for myself. While I go back and forth between not wanting to be labeled first and foremost by this one aspect of my identity but then also realizing that it is very central to who I am, I think that I have come to accept that my identity as a queer woman has been the driving force of my identity development. I began to question my sexuality late in high school, but it wasn’t until my sophomore year at Duke that I was ready to fully admit it to myself. My biggest struggles adjusting to life as a college student ultimately stemmed from the major questions that I was dealing with internally—questions that absolutely made it extremely difficult to define who I was or who I wanted to be. The inner conflict that I experienced over those first two years affected everything from the friendships I formed to the activities I chose to get involved with on campus. Unfortunately, those decisions that I made out of fear or confusion were not fulfilling and led me to be relatively unhappy or discontent with my life.

My dissatisfaction with the way I was living my life continued to grow until I reached the point when I knew I had to make a change—there literally was no alternative. So I made a decision which I think will probably be one of the most crucial and life-altering decisions that I will ever make. Since I felt as though I could not get over my fear in order to come out at Duke, or more generally in an environment where there were people who knew me, I decided to study abroad. But, I made myself promise to take active steps towards coming out and affirming my identity. I sat on a beach a week after I arrived in my new temporary home and said to myself, “Okay. You’ve flown across an entire ocean to get away from everything you know. Start from scratch and figure out who the hell you are.”

So I did. I started taking very big, very scary, steps towards affirming my identity. I went to LGBT events held by the university I was studying at, I met new friends and didn’t let them assume that I was straight, I cut off all my hair (something I had been dying to do, but was too afraid that it would ‘out’ me), and I even pursued a relationship with a woman. Within a few weeks, or perhaps even days, of starting to take these steps I felt like a completely different person. I woke up happy. I lived every day to its fullest, and enjoyed it. And most importantly, I felt a huge sense of confidence in myself. I finally felt like Logan, a person who knows who she is and who shares that person with the rest of the world. I felt like a person of worth.

These are feelings that I really had never experienced before. I think it’s important to note that I don’t think coming out in itself was what made me happy. More, I believe that in denying my queer identity, I also had to hide other parts of me. Accepting and affirming my sexuality has allowed me to reveal and develop so many other really fantastic parts of my personality: I feel comfortable and confident in expressing all of me, not just bits and pieces.

So who am I? I am a queer woman. More importantly, I am funny and love nothing more than making people laugh. I am passionate: I want to be an advocate for transgender youth who often receive little to no support from their family or friends. I am social, and would now almost always choose spending time with friends over being alone (which would have been a crazy thought for me a few years ago). I am intelligent, and I finally feel confident enough to engage in conversations that challenge my thinking. I am strong—nothing like the weak person who didn’t have the strength or courage to take charge of her own life.

Who I am will surely continue to change. I’ve learned through my time at Duke that I should and must be an active participant in my own life. It’s up to me to create and live a life that I am proud of, and if I’m not satisfied, it’s up to me to make a change.