Today is a very special day. Somewhat because this week has been very ordinary in the sense of what I have come to understand as NYC living. Also, because today I will be attending my first Pride Parade — something that if you told me I would be doing this time last year, I would laugh at you. I also would assume, if you told me on June 25^th, 2022, that I would be going to a pride parade a year later, that you were trying to be a little more than just funny.  I would assume you were taking a shot at me, my masculinity, and my sexuality, somehow, and I would feel as if I had to respond. This may be a crazy way of thinking, but it is very common within our society of fragile and toxic masculinity. Not that I am that uptight and hurt by the words people use, but just that this is so rare for me in actuality. And if I am being honest, I cannot say that selling myself on going was easy. I had for so long adopted the societal norms surrounding me, calling such celebrations “taboo,” “demonic,” or even “disgusting.” When some of Alexa’s friends asked, “why I am going” or “why I want to go,” I initially froze. Well, why did you want to go? This question was so much easier to answer alone, privately, without having to worry about my answer being good or respectful. My answer then was perfectly suitable because it was my answer. So, avoiding potential deep conversations, I kept my answer to her friends’ short, saying that I would like to experience the parade, because I have never experienced one or anything like a Pride celebration before. But there was more to that answer.

And to be honest, none of it is even that wild. The summarized, quick answer is also somewhat legitimate. However, the rest of my reason coincides with our seminar discussion on moral communities, specifically focused on how I can become more hyperaware and hyperactive within such communities. The LGBTQ+ community is a community that I have always excluded myself from. I am a cis-gendered heterosexual man. Any relatives that I have who are a part of the LGBTQ+ community, live or lived very closeted lives in the terms of sexuality. Lastly, I was not even always on board of the support behind this community. But I also was not always educated, and I was once was simply young, stuck in the echo chamber of my hometown, and deemed this “sinful desire” of these people to be too much for me to sympathize with. As if my own sins, or the sins of the people in my family, friend group, or community, who were so against this movement, were not equal and possibly even more troublesome, than people identifying as LBGTQ+.

I want to touch back on the relative aspect, because that is honestly when my perspective on all of this really, really changed. By the time I got to Duke, I had adjusted to being conscious of how I treated people and what I said to people. I also had accepted the new thoughts that exploring and personalizing one’s sexuality and gender was not a crime. I thank Duke for this, but Duke was not even as large of an influence as I give them the credit for. Instead, I have to credit my late uncle, Uncle Fabian. My Uncle Fabo, as we called him, knew how to light up a room in a way that I have come to copy in my own life, by making jokes about others. Not mean jokes that a bully would tell. But truthful jokes, facial reactions, and significant sound effects to the outlandish things he heard/saw. He also knew how to take jokes and make them about himself. I loved this about him and wish that I could walk into a room that he would be in right now, just to hear what he would have to say about my hair, or my clothes. He passed away the fall of 2021, during my sophomore year. That time was dark for me. That time was also when my family became comfortable expressing to me that he was gay. Why wait this long? I understand not wanting to expose that to me at a young age. In trying to go with God’s words, much of the Southern Black population has come to place being anything other than straight as being under the jail, except for rare cases, such as my Uncle. For many members of my community, their greatest fear was a child being exposed to such lifestyles early and proclaiming themselves at a young age as “different,” as much of my community referred to non-straight or non-cisgendered people as. Nevertheless, by the time that I was a junior or senior in high school, me and my older cousin Darius had put two and two together. So why did we not let Uncle Fabian live his truth in the community we had then? Or was he doing so, just in a community that excluded me and Darius? And why? When I look back, I do not believe that my family or community handled it wrongly. Besides the religious argument, it was also important to remember that we are Black. My community knew that as Black children, we already had our back on the wall. We did not need additional reasons to be discriminated against. I’ve come to understand the situation as a necessary evil in some sort, in which exposure to the realm of sexuality and gender had to be removed to protect one from increasing the difficulty of their live, even if it was living in their truth. It is also important to consider that women were the pillar within my community, and they were determined to prove to themselves and to their men that they could raise a boy into a Man. Simply put, a Man was straight. I believe that for sometime, and even still now, this way of thinking has caused single mothers to avoid exposing their children to the spectrum of sexuality.

After Uncle Fabo’s death and all of the mourning, I thought about this circumstance for some time, and I wished I could ask him about it. Either way, his bravery and understanding that he would have to alter his own reality around his 18-year-old and 20-year-old nephews is something that I wish did not have to happen. Of course, I was too young to really voice my input on such the decision, and I obviously was too young during his life to have a seat at the table that heard about his sexuality.

So, as a way of honoring him, and as a way of becoming more hyperaware and hyperactive in my moral communities, I will be attending parts of the parade today. The same way I intentionally try to avoid bumping into people, I should intentionally try supporting people and being a cheerleader for others, even those that are different from me that I do not know. Life is too damn precious to not be understanding and there for one another. Continuing, life is too damn lonesome at times, for me to not try to be the best communal neighbor that I can be. Yeah, that can be tiring at times— worrying about how good and moral you are being toward others. However, this is worth it; we are all here together, and that deserves to be appreciated.

The aroma filled my nose instantly. It was heavy and unpleasant, yet I was intrigued. Not intrigued like a good dinner and happy hour deal, but intrigued like a dangerous curiosity, knowing something is wrong, but wanting to look into it anyway. I made my way home from work, having finished the second day of orientation at Sanctuary for Families.

After sitting through four insightful presentations, one on NY laws related to custody and visitation and one on helping clients receive public benefits, I was honestly tired. I passed by the local Krispy Kreme and remembered I had 4 donuts left in my own box in my room. That almost made me smile, if it was not for this odd smell that was hogging all of my mind’s focus.

Once I got home, I realized that this smell was the smoke of wildfires that were taking place in Canada. At first, I did not pay this any mind, and I swiped past the Instagram post that informed me. I remained inside my place relaxing the rest of the evening.

That next day when I woke up, I could tell that the smoke had got way worse. Not only could you smell it, but you could see it. The city looked the same, except now it had an orange, hazy filter on it. By now, my timeline was filled with news on what was happening. I grabbed my mask, cringing at the thought of having to put a mask back on, and headed to work. Despite the smoke smelling and looking so bad, the city barely slowed down. People were still out moving around, but everyone had subtle looks of shock and confusion on their faces.

As day three of the legal department’s orientation began at SFF, I thought to myself, why did this have to happen now? That thought did not last long, as I tried to get rid of this selfishness. After all, I had plenty of facemasks, a place to stay inside, and much more. This smoke would not affect me as much as it probably would others.

Nevertheless, the day went on. I attended a Sanctuary for Families Gala and Paddle Raising Auction on Pier Sixty, in which I volunteered. Over $300,000 was raised for Sanctuary for Families’ services and clients. I was able to attend the after party, filled with SFF staff, volunteers/interns, and the invited guests. From Seth Meyers to Al B. Sure, there were hundreds of seemingly successful people. I told myself I would network, but once the legendary DJ Flash got on the turntables, it seemed like all everyone, including myself, could do was dance. This instinctive feeling of letting go and dancing brought more joy than networking could have to me, so I am glad that this is how the after-party played out.

Leaving the event brought me back to the reality of the smokey outdoors, and I made my way home masked up.  As of now, the sky seems much clearer, and it seems as if the air quality is getting better. Although not as desirable as a sunset between skyscrapers, another spectacle has made my second week here in NYC memorable, for sure.

Discomfort did not only exist in the air I was breathing though, but also in the material I was learning. Readings that we had this week, such as Detransition Baby and Cat Person sent my mind and previous perceptions of gender, sexuality, boundaries, narcissism, and objectification into a whirlwind— all twisted up and never the same. I cannot describe the uneasiness I felt when reading parts of these works, in which it seems like every character is wrong in their own non-comparative way. The discussion for such readings was tough and personal, but that is what is needed for real change and self-growth to take place. Unlike the discomfort of the smoke, a discomfort that forced you to avoid it in shelter, the discomfort from the readings was more welcoming. Similarly to how I was looking at them, the words of the readings seemed to also be looking at me, daring me to expand beyond my previous knowledge and to dive into their world of new fixations, filled with kinks and pleasures, of which I would have a lot to learn about.

Knowing that I am not the best when it comes to properly gendering, I was hesitant to the discomfort of these readings. (Gendering is something I struggle with, despite my good-intentions). Even more so, I had never spoke about gendering and transitioning before with  people who identified as LGBTQ+, so it seemed like every word I let out was another step out on a block of a minesweeper game, just awaiting for the moment in which I would say something “cancellable”.

Cat Person was much of the same type of discussion, as I felt my self stuck between calling the main character egotistical and narcissistic, despite feeling as if she had been taken advantage of. But by who? The man whom she initiated so much with? By herself? By both? I could not decide, and trying to voice this confusion was an even harder decision. The discomfort of the readings and the discussion combined worked together much like the smoke and the mask did for me. The readings, much like the smoke, were tough, but I initially assumed them to be manageable. But once it was time for the discussion, much like it once it was time to put the face masks back on, I immediately felt the weight of the unknown on my shoulders, pressing me down.

As the days count down and Sunday gets closer, I feel the nervousness and anxiety of living and working in NYC fading away. This summer is a leap of faith, in which I hope to go through incredible growth, while also helping those around me nourish. I cannot begin to say how ready I am for the cohort awkwardness to be replaced with feelings of trust, connection, and care for each other. Likewise, I cannot wait to replace the mysterious feelings and unknowingness of my work with my summer partner with a concrete plan of action. This summer I will be working with Sanctuary for Families (SFF) as a Family Law intern, shadowing attorneys in this field and helping prep for trials and cases, through research, client engagement, and much more. I am doing this, because coming from a Southern Black family, I have been blessed to see both sides of the family spectrum— the amazing and the awful. This has helped me to understand how crucial of a role family dynamics play in the success of not only children, but also adults.

I worry about a few things, but none are really major. Firstly, I worry about adjusting to life in the city. I must make sure that the fast-pace of the city does not drain me, and I must learn to not only keep up, but to excel as this pace. This may be hard coming from a quiet town like Olive Branch, MS, where the excitement is old-styled murals being painted, but I am ready! Continuing, I worry about my position with SFF. I hope that the environment of SFF is healthy, allowing for transparency and communication from intern to supervisor. Lastly, I worry about my contributions to The Moxie Project. I worry of what will happen if my work does not match up to my thoughts on this site, in person, and so on. While these are my worries, these are also the same things I am excited about. I believe that these worries will go away once I arrive and begin to settle in, and I cannot wait to see what this summer has in store.