My Thank You to the Queer Women Who Get Sh*t Done

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The fourth and final piece in this series. A thank you to the queer women who continue to show up, take up space, and push us to be bold.

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On Sunday, I had the honor of traveling to Pride with the intention of walking in the parade. Spoiler alert, that did not happen. While I was bummed about it for all of fifteen minutes, I was reminded that Pride was so much more than that. That same morning, while on the train, there were people who were dressed for the celebration and the train car was abuzz with the particular energy that permeates throughout the city just once a year. I engaged in my favorite activity, people watching. I noticed how everyone smiled at each other, random strangers engaged in conversation, feeling safe enough to do so due to the sea of rainbow apparel. One particular interaction caught my attention—a queer woman across from me decided, without prompting, to tell two strangers how striking they looked. Just like that — no introduction, no occasion, just the simple desire to make someone feel seen and good about themselves. She did not know these individuals but in the moment decided they needed and deserved warmth. It was a small act of kindness that I carried with me throughout one of my best days this year.

What made this day so great was the fact that nothing went according to plan. If I didn’t get brunch with my friends, I might not have missed that march but if I had participated in the march, I would not have been able to easily find my friend when she finally made it to Chelsea.  If I would not have found my friend, I would not have met two new people whose company I enjoyed immensely. If I did not enjoy the company, I would have never made it to the party that allowed me to dance away all the frustration that had built up over the course of the previous week. Do you see the thread here?  While the chain of events did not go according to plan, the night evolved into something better than I had originally scripted.

When we found ourselves gorging on tacos in the West Village at 10pm, I knew that the recipe was just right. I would love to take all the credit here; however, Sunday night didn’t happen by accident. It happened because women who looked like me and loved like me decided many years ago that they did not want to be invisible. In the words of the great Audre Lorde, “I am deliberate and afraid of nothing.” I sat with women who looked like me, laughing, carelessly wandering the streets of Manhattan, it felt like a reclamation of those words. Joy as resistance is a powerful tool and it felt good to engage in joyful activity with people whose experiences so closely mirrored my own.

So, to close this series out, I am saying thank you. This is to the queer women who are unapologetic in the space they take up, who laugh loudly, who love fiercely, and who continue to show up — for each other, for strangers on trains, for the women who came before us and the ones who will come after. Thank you for guiding me, for laughing with me, for educating me, and for battling alongside me. Because of you, I know how to take up space too. Because of you, I am deliberate and afraid of nothing.