I’d like to say that I’ve grown these past 365 days — longer hair, maybe a better fashion sense and a steadier hand doing my lipstick. To most people, growth is some combination of these things, something you only realize once you’ve grown tall: to look down at your roots and realize, “Would you look at that? I’ve lived and laughed and cried and formed new bark, new branches, new leaves; I’ve risen those few meters above the ground.” But I’ve found that I haven’t truly grown — at least, not in the way that matters.

Here’s the full story: I started my column to talk about being in the LGBTQ+ community, to write where I have a platform and will be heard. To be honest, I’m not sure how much my column even gets read — how many people flip to the Opinions section each issue and read that small sidebar on page eight. But as I wrote, I realized that to me, my column isn’t really about the readers (sorry), but more about myself. It’s like yelling into the void and expecting absolutely nothing back, because I don’t even get the validation of retweets or likes or comments when my words are printed on a grey, thin newspaper. So when I write, I write for myself.

What I’m trying to say is that I’m not this super-moral, perfect person who gets to call out anyone I see fit for being homophobic or transphobic or whatever. I’ve realized that my column is kind of a way for me to call out myself: for buying into the myth that media representation of gay men is just more interesting than lesbians, for being a bystander to transphobia, for being stupid with my mouth and running it everywhere. The truth is, in these ways, I’m still stunted. And, reflecting on myself now, these are all my choices. My actions, which I have to consciously change.

In an ideal world, I would have grown in the way I advocated for in my columns. But I didn’t want to acknowledge my faults and realize that I do have to make those conscious decisions: to watch those lesbian films I have bookmarked but forgotten, to call out my transphobic “friend,” to keep my mouth shut. I can’t promise to make those changes immediately, to turn into a braver, kinder version of myself — I’m only human. But I can promise that I will try, and little by little, centimeter by centimeter, see myself rise from the ground.

My New Year’s Resolution: I will grow.

Curate, ut valeatis,
Iphis