HE/THEY: A QUEER JOURNEY

The process of creating art is an extremely individualistic one. There is no one way into creating. As a dancer and dance maker, when I create, it most often is based on my own life experiences. My dance is the dance of my life. It is my means of healing, understanding, and speaking when words fail.

As a queer person, my identity, my life’s journey, has been impacted greatly by my queerness. My voice is that of a queer person, and in turn my creation is inherently queer. Though it may not be the story of my coming out, or a dance related directly to my struggles or successes in queerness, there is no way that my work can be void of my queer experiences. These experiences are so deeply rooted to my core that there is no way around it. This then means, given the social climate that we are currently living in, that my creations are inherently in some sense a form of activism. I, whether intentionally or not, speak out about the experiences of a queer person. I may speak only for myself, but I am a queer voice, speaking out in a world that strives to silence me.

In this work, I will be dissecting my own journey and discovering further the ways in which these truths work in my life.

THE HISTORY:

In order to understand who and where I am now, I have to start with the history of me. I grew up in small town Texas, about 45 minutes south of Houston. I went to a fairly normal public school—as normal as public school can be in small town country—until high school. I began my dance journey at age 8. I fell evermore in love with dance every time I stepped in the studio. By the time I was 14, I knew my future was dance. I auditioned for the High School for Performing and Visual Arts in downtown Houston, Texas. This was my awakening. The point where I realized that the person, I always thought I had to be did not matter. I could be the person I wished to be, and the journey began.

From the time that I was a child, like many others, I knew that something was “different.” I was not like the other boys. I did not want to play Power Rangers at recess with all the other boys, I wanted to play “house” with all the girls. I wanted Polly Pockets and Bratz Dolls for Christmas, not Transformers or Legos. My affinity for the feminine would not leave my mind. With no knowledge of what it meant to be gay in my 9-year-old mind, I just assumed that meant that I wanted to be a girl. The only world in which I saw myself being “normal,” was one where I was female. My logic was that if I were a girl then my feminine qualities and my love for feminine things like fashion, dolls, and dance would not be of issue. I would pray to God every night that when I woke in the morning, I would be a girl, but of course it never worked.

 As I said, I always knew something was “different,” as one could see above. I like to explain this feeling of “always knowing” as this: It is like running full speed ahead at a brick wall. You can always see it coming, but never know the truth of it until you run face first into its unwavering surface… I remember the day when I ran face first into that wall. It was the summer of 2011, the summer before I started middle school. I was home alone watching Glee, when I heard the word “gay” for the first time— well, the first time I heard it and it made sense, or “stuck.” It was like an epiphany. I remember standing in the middle of my living room and saying out loud to myself “that’s me.” At that moment though, I had no idea of the connotations or life experiences that came with being gay, so I was not filled yet with the impending dread of that fact. I was quite content actually. I finally had a word to describe why I was the way I was. I did not feel so “weird”. I felt secure knowing that there were other people like me. This feeling of security did not last long though. Beginning middle school soon showed me the struggle to come.

My feminine ways often got me into trouble. I was bullied to no end. Middle school was hell. I would get in the car after school almost every day and just cry to my mother. The boys were malicious. Why do you swing your hips like that when you walk? Why do you sound like that? Are you a girl or a boy? Are you gay? *insert f slur* It was relentless. Not a day went by when someone did call me gay or make fun of my hair or my clothes or my voice.

Because of this, I kept my discovery to myself. I did not come out. I did not tell anyone, not even hint at the fact that I might be gay— or so I though… I did not do as well hiding my affinity for the feminine as I though. I did not want to give the bullies more ground to stand on and prove them right. I always hated that coming out would mean that all these people who bullied me for being gay—even though I was not out—would be proven right.

Now queue the sadness. I had never seen a positive portrayal of “the gay man” before. They were all so flamboyant and, in your face, and I was always told that that was wrong— “I’m okay with gay people.. but why do they have to be so in your face about it?” So, I suppressed my truth even harder, for even longer. I hated myself for years. I would pray every night that it would all just go away. I would always ask God “Why me?” I went to really dark places that I wish to never go back to. All the while suffering alone, because I was afraid to say the words out loud, “I’m gay.”

It was not until I reached high school that I finally had the courage to come out. I knew I was going to a place where my differences would be celebrated, and I could finally live as truly myself. The second Tuesday of freshman year of high school was the day I finally did the thing. I woke up that morning and got ready for school just as usual, and when I left, I places a note on the counter. It was short, sweet and to the point. It read:

Mom and Dad,

It has been a long time coming, but I’m ready to tell you. I’m gay.

My parents were all love and support. I got the classic “We have always known, but never cared.”

Back in those high school days, I thought I had reached the end of that journey though. I was gay and that was that. Boy was I wrong. To this day nearly 3 years later, I still cannot tell you who I am. He, They, Gay? All of it? All I know is that my queer journey is far from over, and I don’t even think that — or mind if— any answers will ever be found.

THE NOW:

I exist in two worlds. One with my family and friends, and most (emphasis on the most) dance settings. The one where I can be as queer as I want and be unapologetically me. The other... The one with everyone else. The TCU campus, the grocery store, restaurants, bars, malls, everywhere pretty much. This is the world where I hide who I am. Maybe it’s out of fear. Maybe it’s out of protection. Either way I hide who I am. Do I look too gay? Do I walk too gay? Avoid talking as much as possible, you don’t want to sound gay. Not a single piece of clothing I wear or word I say is not thought about. It is all a careful process of crafting this image. An image that is not truly me.

Currently, I am working to bring forth the unapologetic Jeremy to the world. Stop hiding. Stop apologizing. Stop being shameful for being who I am. Now it is much easier to preach this on paper than to enact it into my everyday life. I just keep trying to remind myself that the only one I hurt when I hide myself is me.

It comes in little steps. Wear that pink jacket today. Buy those pants from the women’s section. Tell someone your pronouns. It is definitely not all of those in a day, but one at a time. I am seeing the ways in which I am afraid, but extremely elated when I conquer those fears. I am also seeing how much happier it is making me. I am more able to live in the moment. My brain sometimes is so clouded with thinking about how people are going to see me, that I cannot focus on the joys right in front of me. Do I regret my lack of being fully present in the past? Absolutely. I cannot change that, but you can bet your bottom dollar that I am trying my damned hardest not to miss out on any more of life’s greatest moments.

THE DANCE:  

Now we can finally to move on the the dance, and how all of this experience informs my life as a dancer and dance maker.

For me, my life is my dance, and my dance is my life. I draw my inspiration for creating from the world around me, and more specifically how I exist in it. The dichotomy of the two bubbles that I exist in is often where I start. There is a certain mental health journey that I have been on that directly correlates with my queer journey. All the anxiety and depression that has arisen from the queer journey is usually where the inspiration comes from. I use dance to process these feelings and find closure and happiness. So while these feelings inspire the dance, it is the queer journey that invoked these feelings, meaning that the dance is not overtly about being queer, but inherently is about being queer.

I know that was a lot of words, and in the simplest form it is this:

queer journey—>feelings—>create dance

The dance is created about the feelings, not the queer journey, but as I said, the queer journey invoked the feelings, so the work is in some way a nod to the queer journey.

This then too means that the dance is a form of activism. While many large strides have been made in the fight for equality for the queer community, there is still so much hate and homophobia in this world. Even though my work is not crafted to be used as activism, I think it is. It brings to light the experiences of a queer person, and there are many people who want to quiet those voices. Keep them from saying something. Keep them from changing the world.

This revelation of my creations is fairly new, so I do not have much more to say on it at this moment. I am excited though to see where this takes me. Ultimately, I am a dancer and a queer person and anytime I can make life better for my peers in the same boat, I am going to do it. Maybe my dance will become more overtly a form of activism. Who knows what the future holds? All I know is the journey is not over yet, and going forward, it is going to be damn hard to shut me up. 

-JAG