"Pride and Authenticity" (Image & Text Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
"The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are."
~Carl Jung
June has arrived once again, bringing with it Pride Month.
Every year I see the rainbow flags, the celebrations, the parades, and the stories. And every year I find myself reflecting not so much on politics or culture, but on something far more personal—the simple courage required to be who we are.
I came out in the mid-1970s.
For many people today, it may be difficult to imagine what that was like. I had been raised in a deeply conservative religious environment. One of my closest friends was a preacher's kid. I attended an evangelical college. The messages I heard about homosexuality were rarely kind and never affirming.
Yet while I was losing my faith in the rigid religious sense, I was beginning to find something else.
I was beginning to find myself.
It was not an easy journey. There were false starts and moments of retreat. I ventured cautiously into a world I knew almost nothing about. Sometimes I was excited. Sometimes I was intimidated. Sometimes I was frightened. I even sought out counseling, hoping someone could help me sort through the confusion and fear.
Then came a winter night I have never forgotten.
I could not sleep.
Outside my window, snow drifted silently through the darkness. The world seemed cold and uncertain. As I stared into the falling snow, I found myself confronting the question I had been avoiding for years.
What if I simply told the truth?
What if I stopped fighting myself?
At some point during that long night, I made a decision.
The exact words still make me smile:
"I might go to hell for this, but at least I would have a good time—and be honestly me before I did."
It was hardly a theological masterpiece.
But it was honest.
And it was enough.
Looking back now, I realize that moment was not really about being gay. It was about choosing authenticity over fear. It was about deciding that a life honestly lived was better than a life spent hiding.
I have never looked back.
Life has not always been easy. There have been disappointments, heartbreaks, losses, and setbacks. No life escapes those things.
But there has also been extraordinary love.
There have been friendships that have endured for more than fifty years. There has been chosen family.
There have been adventures, laughter, tears, celebrations, and quiet moments of belonging. There have been people who saw me exactly as I was and loved me anyway.
Or perhaps more accurately, loved me because I was exactly who I was.
Today my faith looks different than it did when I was young. It is less about doctrines and certainty and more about spirit, kindness, wonder, and connection. I no longer worry about the questions that once kept me awake at night.
My soul rests easy.
When I think about Pride Month now, I think about that young man staring out a window at falling snow, wondering whether he dared to be himself.
I wish I could tell him what lay ahead.
I would tell him about the friends he had not yet met.
I would tell him about the family he would choose and who would choose him in return.
I would tell him about the joy waiting beyond the fear.
Most of all, I would tell him this:
The bravest thing you will ever do is become yourself.
And it will be worth it.
Every single day.
Happy Pride Month.
~Wylddane
~Carl Jung
June has arrived once again, bringing with it Pride Month.
Every year I see the rainbow flags, the celebrations, the parades, and the stories. And every year I find myself reflecting not so much on politics or culture, but on something far more personal—the simple courage required to be who we are.
I came out in the mid-1970s.
For many people today, it may be difficult to imagine what that was like. I had been raised in a deeply conservative religious environment. One of my closest friends was a preacher's kid. I attended an evangelical college. The messages I heard about homosexuality were rarely kind and never affirming.
Yet while I was losing my faith in the rigid religious sense, I was beginning to find something else.
I was beginning to find myself.
It was not an easy journey. There were false starts and moments of retreat. I ventured cautiously into a world I knew almost nothing about. Sometimes I was excited. Sometimes I was intimidated. Sometimes I was frightened. I even sought out counseling, hoping someone could help me sort through the confusion and fear.
Then came a winter night I have never forgotten.
I could not sleep.
Outside my window, snow drifted silently through the darkness. The world seemed cold and uncertain. As I stared into the falling snow, I found myself confronting the question I had been avoiding for years.
What if I simply told the truth?
What if I stopped fighting myself?
At some point during that long night, I made a decision.
The exact words still make me smile:
"I might go to hell for this, but at least I would have a good time—and be honestly me before I did."
It was hardly a theological masterpiece.
But it was honest.
And it was enough.
Looking back now, I realize that moment was not really about being gay. It was about choosing authenticity over fear. It was about deciding that a life honestly lived was better than a life spent hiding.
I have never looked back.
Life has not always been easy. There have been disappointments, heartbreaks, losses, and setbacks. No life escapes those things.
But there has also been extraordinary love.
There have been friendships that have endured for more than fifty years. There has been chosen family.
There have been adventures, laughter, tears, celebrations, and quiet moments of belonging. There have been people who saw me exactly as I was and loved me anyway.
Or perhaps more accurately, loved me because I was exactly who I was.
Today my faith looks different than it did when I was young. It is less about doctrines and certainty and more about spirit, kindness, wonder, and connection. I no longer worry about the questions that once kept me awake at night.
My soul rests easy.
When I think about Pride Month now, I think about that young man staring out a window at falling snow, wondering whether he dared to be himself.
I wish I could tell him what lay ahead.
I would tell him about the friends he had not yet met.
I would tell him about the family he would choose and who would choose him in return.
I would tell him about the joy waiting beyond the fear.
Most of all, I would tell him this:
The bravest thing you will ever do is become yourself.
And it will be worth it.
Every single day.
Happy Pride Month.
~Wylddane
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