Being a lesbian is weird.
Not because it bucks societal norms. Not because every big company not named Subaru seems to flee at the idea of you. And not because you have a few religious extremists shouting that your five-year plan had better include burning in hell for all eternity. (I’m from the desert; I can handle a dry heat.)
Being a lesbian is weird because you’re born a minority without being born into that community. In all likelihood, you didn’t grow up in a neighborhood of LGBTQ families with the token straight family on the corner. And itap not like you see your community on the street because, contrary to what some may think, your sexuality and gender identity aren’t necessarily worn on the outside.
I realized I was a lesbian the summer before my junior year of high school — which, I should add, was an all-girl Catholic school in Phoenix. At that point, I had only ever met two out gay people.
I was coming to terms with the idea that I was part of this community and would, you know, actually have appreciated being comforted by said community. But instead, I was sitting there Googling “Where are the lesbians?” without particularly useful search results.
Of course, I did eventually find an LGBTQ community in my hometown. (Itap amazing what college and being able to drink at bars can do.) But then I moved. And now in Denver, I’m once again Googling “Where are the lesbians?”
So in some ways, I’m a baby gay again. I’m looking for and exploring the multifaceted community in Denver. And, quite frankly, this has to be done publicly because 𱹱DzԱneeds to find the LGBTQ community — whether they’re someone who thinks they’ve never met a queer person or they’re stifling sobs from under the covers because they feel so alone.
There’s so much to our local community, whether itap painstakingly applying makeup as you put on drag; crying in church pews because you finally found one that accepts you; sneaking down into Rainbow Alley because thatap where all the gay kids are; drinking whiskey at the last remaining lesbian bar; marching down to the Capitol to testify; or crossing your fingers that your health insurance will cover your hormone treatments.
And I’d be remiss not to mention that the LGBTQ community in Colorado has the habit of sending shock waves across the nation. (For example, the , and who demanded to be recognized as her proper gender at school.)
I tried to explore many elements of the queer community with these profiles, but admittedly itap hard to cover them all when your community’s full acronym is LGBTQIAP+ (for intersexual, asexual, pansexual and more). And, yes, I use the term queer. I know far too many young people who have reclaimed the word as their identity, so it would be wrong not to use it.
There was one worry shared by all of the people I talked to: The queer community has been thrust into uncertain times. People are afraid. But the queers aren’t backing down. In fact, we’re becoming bolder, louder and gay-er.
And on June 17 and 18, the queers will take to the streets of Denver for the annual PrideFest. They’ll be watching a couple get married Sunday morning on a float during the parade. They’ll be looking at local artist Lonnie Hanzon’s “Shrine to Humanity,” a tribute to the designer of the pride flag. And they’ll be dancing to Grammy Award winner Jennifer Holliday.
And if you’re a young person feeling isolated in this world, you may finally be able to find your community there without the help of Google — and, hey, I hear it will be even gayer this year.
