(Sorry. Another repurposed social media post.)

Even though I’ve pretty much been “out” (sometimes quite obnoxiously so) since I was about 17, there are a few people who have accused me of “not being gay enough” over the years. I assume it’s because I dress like a slob, because I like indie rock bands more than I like dance music, or because my personal obsessions often tend to be more geeky than “fabulous.” It bothers me that their definition of what a gay person can or should be is so narrow and limited.

My apparent gay culture deficiency notwithstanding, I have NEVER had much patience for closets or “passing.” I have always shuddered anytime someone said “I never would’ve guessed you were gay” as if that were some kind of compliment. (Clue: It’s not.) The fact that I don’t identify with the entire marketing campaign does not mean I am not happy with who I am.

This article addresses the issue of “passing” among Jewish people, but there are some significant lessons here for newly complacent LGBTQ people as well. Make no mistake about it. This is NOT the time for staying silent, for “passing”, or for staying in the closet. The next few years are maybe the most important time in recent history to be EXACTLY who you are, and also to assert both YOUR right to be that person and the rights of everyone ELSE in the room to do so as well. And if it makes some people uncomfortable? Tough.

Stopped by Loblaws (or Zehr’s, which is the Niagara Falls branding thereof) for my last minute stock-up, and found that everything I needed was on sale by some miracle. Uneventful border crossing, followed by one last book binge in Niagara Falls NY. Then came the three-hour drive to Cleveland, where I’m spending the night. No exploring for me tonight. I got Chinese takeout, and I’m going to sit here eating it and reading one of my three trillion new books. As luck would have it, I appear not to be getting sick like I thought I was yesterday.

I was in kind of of a post-election funk most of the morning (sort like everyone I know, not to mention the entire population of Canada) so I drove across the river to Gatineau, which allowed me to feel like I was in even more of a foreign country. Back to Ottawa for lunch and some exploration in Westboro and another stroll around By Ward Market. Meatloaf and pie in a diner, followed by “The Wrong Man” (the Hitchcock film, not the one we just elected) at the ByTowne Cnema, a 70-year-old theater that just happened to be right next door to my hotel. I was feeling better by the end of the day.

The less said about the American election today the better. I spent the day in the warm, fuzzy embrace of the Canadian capital. Roamed around the Glebe, hit a few bookstores, took a very long stroll downtown by Parliament and by Library and Archives Canada, and had a lovely dinner at a Thai place on Bank Street. I swore I wasn’t going to watch the election returns, preferring to wake up on Wednesday with the outcome set, one way or another. That plan didn’t work, alas…

I present this photo of me as a 17-year-old premature smoker (though smoking at 17 was legal in North Carolina at the time) in observance of the fact that I quit smoking thirteen years ago today.

I don’t miss it. That’s interesting, because a lot of people do.I guess I’m just one of the lucky ones; the thought of smoking a cigarette now is actually pretty repulsive to me, and I can’t even stand to be around other people when they smoke.

My strategy was as follows:

1. Stop smoking inside the house. This cut down my consumption pretty drastically and forced me to think about every cigarette I smoked.
2. Choose a specific “quit date” and observe it.
3. Use a little of the nicotine gum (though I only remember buying two or three boxes).

After a few months of unpleasantness, everything was fine. I lived through it.

You can too. It may be harder for you. It may be easier. Either way, it will be worth it.

Two weeks from today might be a good choice.