A lamp post rises skyward, holding both light and history. Draped below it, a flag—vivid in its colors, unapologetic in its presence—flutters against a summer sky. It is not just fabric. It is not merely decoration. It is a declaration.

Each June, Pride Month arrives not as a novelty, but as a necessary reminder: we are here. We have always been here. And we are not going away.
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To live authentically in this world—especially in the face of hatred, erasure, and misunderstanding—is an act of courage. Pride is more than parades and festivities. It is a deep affirmation of self. It is the ability to stand tall in your own skin and say: This is who I am. I am enough.

To accept oneself is to step into the fullness of being human. Not a curated version for safety or approval, but the whole, radiant truth. That kind of self-acceptance radiates outward, inviting others to do the same. And when people live openly and truthfully, the world changes—one life at a time.

The journey to this moment has been long and layered. The shadows of Stonewall still flicker across our collective memory. The aching grief of the AIDS epidemic remains etched in hearts and histories. We have marched. We have danced. We have buried friends. We have married. We have held hands in joy and in protest. We have come out—to families, to communities, to ourselves. Through tears and celebration, we have witnessed the arc of history bend—however slowly—toward justice and love.

In the early days, the gathering places were often hidden, controlled, coded. Twin City gin joints lit by neon but marked by fear. Then came the open arms and bright streets of San Francisco—its rainbow crosswalks and painted murals a kind of sanctuary. And now, for many, a quieter chapter: a peaceful life in the woods, where reflection grows like wildflowers and gratitude arrives with the morning sun.

We remember because we must. Not only for ourselves, but for the generations still to come. Young people just learning the language of love and identity need to know: you are not alone. You are beautiful. You are worthy. Your truth is not a burden—it is your brilliance.

Yes, there are voices that still seek to silence, laws that try to erase, forces that thrive on fear. But against them stand countless lives, lived openly and honestly, shining like the light atop that streetlamp. We are not going backward. We are not hiding. And we are never going away.

Dr. Wayne Dyer once said, “An attitude of gratitude allows us to adopt the radical humility that’s very persuasive in helping others connect with the Spirit that unites us all.” In that spirit, Pride becomes more than a celebration—it becomes a sacred honoring. Of all who came before. Of all who are still here. Of all who are yet to bloom.

To live in gratitude is to remember: even in struggle, there is beauty. Even in silence, a song. Even in the darkest hour, a light still shines.

And so we raise our flags—bold, brilliant, brave. Not just for ourselves. But for the promise of a world where everyone can be exactly who they are: fully human, wholly seen, deeply loved.
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"I am human, and nothing human can be alien to me."  ~Maya Angelou

~Wylddane



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San Francisco, June 28

The fog had lifted by late morning, revealing the sun-drenched, rainbow-draped streets of the Castro. Pride flags fluttered from every window, crosswalks blazed with color, and the neighborhood pulsed with music, laughter, and the unmistakable scent of freedom.

Jake, Sam, Billy, Dominic, Hal, and Mike tumbled out of their B&B on 17th Street—an old Victorian with creaky floors, floral wallpaper, and a kindly lesbian couple named Linda and Sharon who ran it with military precision and bottomless mimosas.

“We’ve only been in San Francisco twelve hours,” Billy said, adjusting his sunglasses, “and I’ve already cried twice, flirted with a drag queen named Drought-Tolerant Dahlia, and been offered glitter in a tube.”

Sam grinned. “Welcome to Pride.”

They started their crawl at The Lookout, perched above Market Street with its breezy balcony and panoramic people-watching. They sipped pineapple jalapeño margaritas while cheering on dancers in harnesses and body glitter below.

“This place is like a caffeinated gay bird sanctuary,” Hal observed, watching as a man in a Speedo and angel wings flitted past.

Next up: Beaux, where the music was louder, the lights more strobe-heavy, and the go-go boys defied gravity and basic physics. Mike, normally reserved, found himself pulled into a dance circle by a man in thigh-high boots and a mesh shirt.

“Oh god,” Mike laughed breathlessly, “I’ve peaked. This is it. Everything after this is downhill.”

Jake leaned in toward Sam. “Not downhill. Just... down Castro Street.”

By the time they made it to Badlands, things had gotten delightfully fuzzy. Billy and Dominic were deep in an earnest debate over whether Cher or Madonna had contributed more to queer culture. Someone handed them matching rainbow fans. Hal disappeared briefly and returned with a temporary tattoo that read “Yas Queen” across his forearm.

As the sun began to slip toward the horizon, they wandered down to The Mix on 18th Street—a low-key, unpretentious neighborhood bar nestled between a taqueria and a vintage bookstore.

Inside, it was dark and cozy, the kind of place where the jukebox still mattered and nobody judged your drink order. The boys grabbed beers and took turns playing pool while Stevie Nicks crooned through the speakers. Out back, the patio was strung with fairy lights and the smell of grilled burgers wafted through the warm evening air.

Jake nursed a beer while leaning against Sam, their knees touching under the picnic table. “Tomorrow’s the big day,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” Sam said, eyes soft. “But this—today—this is kind of perfect.”

Nearby, Billy was trying to explain Wisconsin-style Old Fashioneds to a bartender who clearly did not believe in muddled fruit. Hal had befriended a pug named Harvey Milkshake. Mike and Dominic were laughing over photos from the day, all arms-around-shoulders and flushed with joy.

A cheer rose from inside as someone sank the eight ball. Music throbbed faintly beneath the sounds of chatter and clinking glasses.

Jake looked around the table at his friends—his chosen family. They were sweaty and slightly sunburned, a little buzzed, and totally alive.

“We should do this every year,” Dominic said, to no one in particular.

“We will,” Jake replied. “Even if we’re old and grumpy and wearing orthopedic rainbow sandals.”

Sam laughed. “Speak for yourself. I’m going to age like RuPaul.”

Another round arrived. Someone made a toast—nonsensical and heartfelt. They clinked glasses again, the way they had in Milwaukee just weeks before.

But this night was different. This was Pride in its wildest, freest, most joyful form.

Tomorrow they would march in the parade. They would wave flags and shout until their voices cracked. They would remember the history, honor the fight, and celebrate the beauty of love in all its forms.

But tonight?

Tonight they were simply together.
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And that was everything.

~Wylddane

This image—bright with color, movement, joy—captures the very spirit of Pride. Hands held, smiles wide, bodies swaying to a rhythm born of freedom and love. It is a simple moment, but one that reverberates with the energy of generations. This is what Pride looks like. And this is what Pride feels like.

We have always been here. From ancient times to modern cities, we have loved, lived, danced, dreamed, and survived. In the shadows and in the spotlight, through silence and celebration. And we will always be here. Our existence is not a trend. Our lives are not a debate. Our love is not a phase. We are part of the human family—radiant, resilient, real—and we claim our right to live and love fully.

We are awesome.

Pride Month is a celebration of that awesomeness. Of the beauty and strength found in simply being who we are. As Laverne Cox once said, “Who you are is beautiful and amazing.” Those words ring true now more than ever. Because in a world that so often tries to define us, box us in, or erase us—we rise. Proud. Bold. Joyful.

It hasn’t always been this way. There was a time when just being ourselves could cost us everything—our jobs, our homes, our families, even our lives. The journey from Stonewall to today has been one of courage and fire. Of standing up when it was dangerous. Of loving when it was forbidden. Of marching forward when it was easier to stay silent.

And still—there are forces today that would drag us backwards. Voices of hate that whisper, shout, and legislate against our right to exist. But we will not go quietly. We will not shrink or hide. We know who we are—and we know that we belong. As Harvey Milk so powerfully reminded us, “Hope will never be silent.”

So let’s dance in the streets and laugh with our friends. Let’s hold hands with the ones we love. Let’s wave our flags high and wide. Let’s celebrate this beautiful tapestry of identities, expressions, and stories that make up the LGBTQ+ community.

But let us also pause—to remember those who came before us, who walked so we could run. And to vow that those who come after us will find an even better world—a kinder world—because of what we do now.

Happy Pride Month.
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You are beautiful.
You are worthy.
You are loved.
You are awesome.
🏳️‍🌈💃🕺

“To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.”
— Ralph Waldo Emerson

~Wylddane