In honor of Pride Month and to commemorate the distance we have traveled over the decades, I share a chapter of my book, the Spirit’s Speak on Success. It was written my best friend, Ronnie and refers to the trials, tribulations and joys of living our young, closeted lives during the 1970s.
Day 47
Success to me was a full heart.
It was complete and unconditional love.
Love without struggle.
We struggled to be loved and to love out loud – not behind closed doors or down dark alleys.
We were a feisty generation expressing our needs and living out loud – as much as we could.
But we were also full of fear.
Fear of the unknown – fear of the known.
It wasn’t enough to hold down a good job, pave your way, live an honest life – surrounded by family – a family you loved and who loved you.
While that may have been defined as the stereotypical success story, the underlying message or underlying reality was we weren’t successful because we lived in the proverbial closet.
Always looking over our shoulders and wanting more than anything, including life itself, to fit in – to belong – to be accepted.
We were crazy kids in a candy store. When we were together – with our own – dancing to the beat of a different drummer – we felt loved. We felt connected and safe and successful. Successful because we had created a community into which we could slip away and simply be.
Simply love.
We didn’t have to lie or compromise our integrity. That was so much work. It took a lot of effort to hide – always hide.
Hide in plain sight.
That was the antithesis of success. That was sorrow.
We went crazy; we couldn’t get enough. We were like children starving for something to feed us, make us feel whole – but mostly – make us feel okay. Like it was okay to be ourselves.
We devoured that feeling when we were together in community – whether on the dance floor, at the Boat Slip, or gathered at a friend’s house doing what we did the best, love.
It was so hard to love and to have an honest love.
It kept us diminished – made us smaller than we really were. It kept us on guard and always fearful.
So success, full-out loud success – was never possible.
Oh, sure, we held the belief that someday things would change, and we had mantras like, “We’ve come a long way, baby,” but for those of us who lived through the seventies and eighties it was nowhere near enough.
Too little, too late.
I found success – true love, but I had to move clear across the country to make that happen.
The last few years of my life were blessed: a loving partner, Dan – someone with whom I could walk side by side in the sunshine without looking over my shoulder.
But I also had to witness his slow death and then, bear witness to my own.
I still don’t understand why so many of us died.
I don’t get it.
And I hope someday I will – although we don’t talk about those types of things here. I can feel a resentment or bitterness deep within about that period of time – the epidemic, which took so many of us.
[Ronnie Umile]
[Ronnie, my dear, dear friend and partner in self-discovery, and I walked side by side, cloaked in secrets and lies as we lived and loved beyond measure. And danced! Oh, did we dance – we danced to celebrate our uniqueness, and we danced to forget our suppression and our sorrow. We partied as if each day was our first, and we partied as if each day was our last. We were out of our minds when gathered together in community, for we knew we were understood and loved for who we were. Nothing more, nothing less. I have learned from co-counseling with spirit that self-expression is not only necessary but healthy. Though his bitterness comes through loud and clear, my friend is simply processing and purging his feelings so he may be made new once again. Dance on, my disco king, dance on.]
Circa 1972
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