Today is the last day of June which is a perfect time for reflection. Pride month is coming to a close, and I can’t help but think what it means — to me, and to everyone who celebrates. I remember my first Pride — Portland, Oregon, around 1998. It was a warm June day, and I stood on the grassy hills near the Rose Garden, still “out-ish” and trying to navigate what it meant to be gay in the real world. I didn’t know much, but I knew this: I was happy. I felt free. For the first time, I belonged.
No one I knew was there — no family to hide from, no coworkers to dodge—and that anonymity gave me space to breathe. I smiled, I danced, and I soared. People lounged on the hill, laughing, talking, listening to music, living openly. It felt like nothing else mattered. We were celebrating ourselves, and that was enough.
I never saw the actual parade, but I did make it to my first gay bar, Embers. I’d walked by before, but this was the first time I stepped inside—not just physically, but emotionally. It felt like crossing a threshold into something real and true.
A Quarter Century Out — Loving Who I Am
Now, all these years later, Pride means something different. I’ve been out for a quarter of a century. I’ve lived, grown, stumbled, and started again. I tell my husband all the time—I love being gay. It’s not all of who I am, but it’s a part of me I’m deeply proud of.
Back then, Pride was about freedom. It was about being able to hold hands, kiss, dance, and drink with a boyfriend without fear, without being attacked, ridiculed, or shamed. I had enough of that to last a lifetime. Pride gave me a space to feel safe, to feel seen, and to connect with others who just got it.
How Pride Has Evolved for Me
Over the years, I’ve evolved. The world has, too, in some ways. Pride is still joyful, still defiant, still necessary. But now it’s also quieter for me—more reflective. Sometimes it’s about brunch with friends, donating to queer youth orgs, or just texting someone “I’m proud of you.”
When Pride Felt Different
I live in Chicago now and the last big Pride I went to was the Chicago Pride in 2019 (sort of). I remember it clearly. I wasn’t even part of the parade or at a party — I was working. The restaurant where I was working hosted its annual private party, thrown by a straight woman. It was over-the-top — filled with alcohol, drugs, and a kind of chaotic energy that felt miles away from what Pride once meant to me. It was more of a spectacle than a celebration, while outside, the parade marched on, but inside, it felt like something had shifted.
That tranquil feeling I once had — that sense of freedom and belonging — felt drowned out by noise. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good party, but the energy felt less joyful, more excessive. Somewhere along the way, Pride started to feel different. It became louder, more chaotic, more performative. Less about celebrating who we are or once were, and more about proving something. Maybe that’s what’s needed right now. Or maybe it’s just not my version of Pride anymore.
What Pride Means to Me Now
Because the truth is, Pride means different things to different people — and that’s okay. For some, it’s a protest. For others, it’s joy. For me, now, it lives in the quiet moments — in how I love, in the way I live, and the life I’ve built. That’s what Pride means to me.
