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Current Curiosities
[Reading] The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion [Listening] The Essential (Dixie) Chicks [Watching] Carnival of Souls Gyro to Hero: Grandma Gum I grew up without grandfathers, which may have been a blessing as both were abusive alcoholics. And after the age of six, I had one grandma. My paternal grandmother, an exceptionally mean Norwegian woman, died from Parkinson's disease when I was in first grade. She lived four houses away from my maternal Greek grandmother, Grandma Gum, in Moorhead, MN. Her name is actually Caroline, but she always had chewing gum in her pockets ready to share with her grandchildren. I believe my older sister, prior to my birth, coined this nickname, which has stuck for more than 40 years, and which my nieces and nephews, her great grandchildren, still call her today. Grandma Gum was born in 1929 in the Little Italy neighborhood of Dilworth, MN. Her father, Nikolas, immigrated alone from Corfu as a teenager. He was a short man with a bushy mustache. Great Grandpa Nick, my middle namesake, worked in the icehouse for the Great Northern Railroad. When not working he cultivated a large vegetable garden in the plot next door and grew carnations in coffee cans placed in every window of the house. He smoked a pipe and imported olive oil from Italy before it was fashionable. (The chair he rested on under a tree where he smoked his pipe currently sits in my living room.) Grandma Gum's mother, Susie, whose family immigrated a generation or two earlier, grew up on a farm and often pulled the plow when there were no animals around to help. She quilted and canned and served as a bonded mail carrier. Great Grandma Susie was a tough, yet deeply caring woman. (She died shortly before I was born.) Grandma Gum was one of nine surviving children. Susie and Nick had a set of twins who died soon after birth and were buried in the same cemetery their parents eventually would be. The twins were separated, one on the Protestant and one on the Catholic side of the graveyard. Susie was a Lutheran and Nick a lapsed Greek Orthodox. I believe Susie married Nick to escape her life on the farm. That is not to say their marriage wasn't a happy one. Honestly, I do not know. Only they knew for sure. During our weekly Sunday morning telephone calls, Grandma Gum often remarks to this day how strict her father was. Nick ruled the house with a leather belt or wooden spoon, whichever was closer at hand. In high school, Grandma Gum and her older sisters were not allowed to date, but her brothers and younger sister were. Isn't that the way it goes? Parents lighten up over time with their younger children (writes the baby of my own family). Theirs was a tough house in which to grow up. Anyway, Grandma Gum graduated from Dilworth High School and took a job at Herbst Department Store in Downtown Fargo, ND. She married her husband in order to leave her parent's home, much like Great Grandma Susie had done. Her new husband served in the Army during and shortly after the Korean War. Together, they had four children. My mom, their third child, was born on a base in Nuremberg, Germany. Their family moved from base to base, from Germany to Kansas and back to Minnesota. He was an abusive alcoholic, and eventually, Grandma Gum divorced him to protect herself and her children. Now, she was a single mom, raising four kids in the 1960s. In order to provide for her family, Grandma Gum matriculated into Dakota Business College. (Now defunct, you can still see the school's ghost sign on the corner of 8th Street and Main Avenue in Fargo.) She could not afford the tuition on her department store salary, so she cleaned the administrator's home in exchange for classes. She worked full-time, attended school, and raised four children without help. Grandma Gum is the reason I went to college (well, that and my parent's Boomer logic that you needed a college degree in order to be successful). She was the only one of her siblings to attend college. Grandma Gum's grit, problem solving, and hustle have had a significant impact on my life. As I mentioned earlier, I grew up without grandfathers — both dying from complications of their respective alcoholisms long before I was born. In her own way, Grandma Gum was both grandma and grandpa. Some of my favorite memories are of her picking me up from Packerland Preschool or South Elementary in West Fargo, ND, driving across the Red River into Moorhead to craft or project — and bond. She had a large backyard with apple and plum trees, lilac hedges, lily of the valley transplanted from her mother's house, and a substantial vegetable garden like her father. She and I would weed and push-mow, prune trees and bushes. We'd work on home projects together with me handing her specific tools from the metal toolbox. Many of the tools belonged to Great Grandpa Nick and had been modified for his small, arthritic hands. We'd paint siding and trim and once installed carpet. I learned how to jerry-rig furniture and other household items with what she calls MacGyver tape. Grandma Gum filled the void left by addiction and abuse and instilled in me a kind of gentle, determined masculinity. She was the one family member I did not worry about coming out to when I finally chose to more fully, more openly be myself at age 25. To paraphrase Miley Cyrus, with Grandma Gum I got the best of both worlds. She is a grandmother after all. She taught me how to sew and knit. Together we made a quilt out of old bluejeans that I still keep in my car (at her advising) in case I ever get stuck on the road during Minnesota's frigid winters. We baked — peanut butter blossoms, fudge, zucchini bread (one loaf with chocolate chips for me and one without for her). We built furniture for my Barbies and Ninja Turtles. We spent a lot of time in her craft room, my favorite room in her house, which had thick orange and brown shag carpet. I cannot tell you how many times a lost sewing needle lying in wait among the tufts slid into the side of my bare foot. To this day, I avoid high-pile carpeting at all costs. While we baked or worked on projects, Grandma Gum would put a tape into the VCR (after The Young and the Restless finished, of course). It would be one of two movies: Sister Act or Fried Green Tomatoes. We'd sing along with Whoopi and her gang of white nuns while crafting. But of the two movies, we'd return more often to Fried Green Tomatoes and cook. She loves to fry food in olive oil, just like her father. We'd fry green tomatoes when in season or zucchini, which was more abundant throughout the summer. While I didn't realize it as a child, this movie is hella queer and also shaped my way of being in the world. Fried Green Tomatoes tells the story of two stealth queer women, who after much hardship finally end up together, opening the Whistle Stop Cafe, where they cook and bake for their community — and barbecue an occasional Klansman. The secret's in the sauce! (My sincere apologies if that spoils an over thirty-year-old movie and an even older novel for you.) I do not know if Grandma Gum realized how queer our favorite movie was. I could ask her during our next telephone call or visit because at 96, even with fading eyesight, she's still feisty and living on her own kitty-corner from my parents' house in West Fargo. I like to think Grandma Gum knew I was different as a child, maybe not queer per se, but she actively supported me and my curiosities. I like to think we rewatched Fried Green Tomatoes because she saw something in the movie that she also saw in me, even if she didn't have the words for it. I like to think that when the inevitable happens, I will always be able to find her among Smokey Lonesome and Sipsey and Big George and Ruth and Idgie in the frames of our favorite movie. It's vital for queer and trans children to have at least one adult in their lives who sees them, who listens to what's being said and left unsaid, who supports them as they navigate their emerging identities. And at nearly forty years old, Grandma Gum continues to be that person for me, as I navigate the precariousness of being a queer professional in the Upper Midwest. Sometimes her advice feels wildly dated, but she means well and relies on her own experiences as a woman surviving the workplace at a time when workplaces weren't built for women, especially women with children. (Workplaces still aren't equipped to support women — or queer and trans people.) Her intention has always been to support and protect me. And for that I am forever grateful. Grandma Gum is my hero — or gyro if you're feeling feisty. Thank you very much for your time. If you have recommendations or curiosities, please fill out this nifty contact form. Sending y’all supportive, well-caffeinated vibes, Creighton Today’s Pen(cil): Moonman Wancai Mini 2.0 [Fountain Pen] | Monteverde Capri Blue [Ink]
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Current Curiosities
[Reading] The Allure of Elsewhere: A Memoir of Going Solo by Karen Babine [Listening] Houseplant's Houseparty Double LP [Watching] The Real Housewives of New York Seasons 5-10 On Pencils and Rhythmic Hands Today is National Mechanical Pencil Day. As an adult, I often use wood pencils for their cedar scent and line variability, but growing up, I loved the precise point of a mechanical pencil. In elementary school, I worked hard to control my shaky hands (essential tremor). My hands had a rhythm all their own. My hands rhythmed before lunch or after recess, when I was tired or wired. (My hands in this moment are rhythmically moving across my keyboard because I'm slightly over-caffienated.) My handy rhythm is most visible when holding mugs of coffee or something for someone else to read — or when writing. My handwriting was wobbly and unsure, which is challenging for a young perfectionist. A few times I cried angry tears in kindergarten because my hands were shaking and my printing looked impatient, wild, rushed. I only wrote with wood pencils, usually the sports ones put out by Mead every back-to-school season. (I always hoped for a Minnesota Twins pencil in the pack, but rarely found one.) But as the graphite dulled, my handwriting became worse and my frustration rose. One day, my piano teacher, who wrote notes on my scores in Bic mechanical pencils, handed me one and told me to keep it with my piano books. I loved that pencil: the fine, consistent line, that click. On our next family trip to Target, I begged for a package of Bics and got one — black barrels with multicolor clips. Immediately, I began practicing my handwriting with the new Bics, finding that smaller lettering, tighter hand movements improved my writing, giving me more confidence. (This would become an issue later when a high school biology teacher threatened to fail me if I kept using my precise, though small, handwriting. But as a very stubborn Greek, I won the standoff and earned an A.) Cursive, too, with its smooth, connected letters gave me more control over my writing and my hands. As a college educator, every time I lent a book to a student for research, they'd remark on the size and precision of my marginal notes. So tiny! So neat! How can you read it?! God, I love students, especially first-year college students while they still possess wonder and curiosity before the mechanisms of Higher Education and capitalism grind it out of them. Some students will hold onto to these attributes, but you won't find them in the Business School. (I said what I said.) My handwriting is mine, something I've worked very hard on — it's deeply personal. My rhythmically shaky hands are mine, too. (Any other Elder Millennials hearing Jewel at this point in the essay?) And with mechanical pencils I learned discipline and control. Later with wood pencils, I relearned to let go, rediscovering the freedom of imperfection (more on that later). Anyway, in no particular order, here are a few of my favorite mechanical pencils:
Thank you very much for your time. If you have recommendations or curiosities, please fill out this nifty contact form. Sending y’all supportive, well-caffeinated vibes, Creighton Today’s Pen(cil): Cross Bailey Light [Fountain Pen] | Colorverse USA Sky Tinted Waters [Ink] Current Curiosities
[Reading] Marsha: The Joy and Defiance of Marsha P. Johnson by Tourmaline [Listening] Beyoncé's Cowboy Carter [Watching] Bravo's The Valley Natasha "Ariadne" Romanoff Outside of taking a group of Indians into Medicine campers to see the midnight showing of The Avengers (2012), I had never seen a Marvel movie. I tend to be very picky about science fiction and fantasy — as in, if it's Star Wars, I'm not interested. Fast-forward to 2020 and the COVID-19 pandemic (and lots of free time). In August 2020, I accepted a position in the Center for Community & Civic Engagement at Carleton College and moved to hella rural Northfield, Minnesota. (The slogan for Northfield is Cows, Colleges, and Community. Uff da.) I didn't know anyone in town, save a handful of my new colleagues. Carleton, to its credit, was navigating the pandemic cautiously, so when I started my new position as Student Experience Manager, I worked from my kitchen table in my one-bedroom apartment in an old Arts and Crafts style house on the St. Olaf College side of town. (Scandinavian Sharks and Jets, baby!) When not Zooming into team meetings or one-on-one virtual coffees, I searched for activities to complement long walks with Diego Dog through our neighborhood. During one of these walks, I remembered laughing uncontrollably with my grad school friend and fellow camp counselor Maggie (a truly stellar human) at the scene where the Hulk picks up Loki, swinging him side to side into the cement floor of Stark Tower near the end of The Avengers. In fact, Maggie and I used to send each other this GIF back and forth for years when students at our respective universities asked silly questions. (Sometimes educators need gallows humor in order to reach the end of the semester.) Reflecting on the Hulk GIF, I decided to watch everything the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) had to offer. All I needed was the internet and Disney+. Luckily, I had both. So on a cloudy afternoon after my last virtual meeting of the day, I began working my way through the MCU in order of theatrical release, starting with Iron Man (2008). I've never been a comic book reader, so each character and every plot was new to me. While I find Tony Stark insufferable, I powered through Iron Man II, where I found my curiosity piqued by Scarlett Johansson's Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow). She started a through line, acted as a kind of MCU guide for me. Aside from Captain America (and! that! ass!), I had not found any of the other Avengers particularly interesting, but Black Widow deeply fascinated me — her darkness just below the surface, her sense of justice, her loyalty. As I worked my way through the MCU, I loved watching Black Widow pop into individual Avenger's movies and every team movie. What I realized is Black Widow, while not having her own standalone movie until after her death in Avengers: Endgame (2019), was stitching together the individual stories of her fellow Avengers. Natasha brings Iron Man and Hawkeye into Nick Fury's fold. She works closely with Captain America in his original trilogy. And she learns how to manage and care for Bruce Banner and his alter-ego the Hulk. As she collects allies, Black Widow leads viewers (or at least this one) through the complicated, labyrinthine plots that when woven together construct the MCU much like Ariadne and her red thread lead Theseus through King Minos's labyrinth (created by Daedalus) to save the Athenian sacrifices from the monstrous Minotaur. Sidequest: Growing Up Greek-ish My whole life I've loved Greek mythology, which I suppose is not all that different from comic books and superheroes. My family comes from the island of Corfu. According to legend, the original inhabitants of the island, the Phaeacians, sprung out of the blood and sea foam, the result of Cronus gelding his father Uranus with a sickle. The sickle is said to be buried under the island, which is why it's sickle-shaped. With such primordial ancestry, I often joke about being the descendant of Titans. As a child, my favorite myths were Daedalus and Icarus (I really wanted to fly), Heracles (what's not to love — muscles and queerness???), Medusa (I'm with her!), and of course, Theseus and the Minotaur. (This was before I realized what a dick Theseus actually is.) As a child with anxiety, the labyrinth represented the unknown, with the prospect of danger lurking around every turn, the potential to be lost forever. Knowing that Ariadne provided Theseus a red thread, a guide to navigate the labyrinth safely, provided a small sense of security — if Theseus could manage navigating the unknown, then so could I. Ariadne's thread, along with Daedalus's ingenuity and Heracles's grit, lessened my anxiety and instilled in me a drive to face challenges with creative problem solving. Focus! Find the Thread! In Iron Man 2, Natasha Romanoff joins Stark Industries on orders from Nick Fury as Pepper Pots' assistant. Fury reveals Natasha works for S.H.I.E.L.D. (so many periods!) and Romanoff and Happy Hogan team up to find Vanko, the Big Bad funded by a squirrelly Justin Hammer. (While I love Sam Rockwell, even his smooth dance moves can't save Iron Man II for me.) Natasha outperforms Happy (obvi) as she topples goon after goon and hacks into Hammer's system to aid Iron Man's final battle with Vanko. This is our MCU introduction to the Black Widow. She works from the fringes, supporting her teammates as they fight bullish Big Bads to win the day. Next in The Avengers, Black Widow, again on orders from Nick Fury, locates and recruits Bruce Banner to join the newly reactivated Avengers Initiative. Captain America, Iron Man, and Bruce Banner join her on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s cloaked sky fortress. (Sometimes, I cannot believe I'm typing words and phrases like sky fortress. It all sounds so silly.) Natasha interrogates and outsmarts Loki and saves her old friend Hawkeye from Loki's mind control. During the final battle over New York City (renters insurance must be astronomical!), Natasha again uses her brilliance and badassery to reprogram the portal to stop Loki's army, allowing Iron Man to redirect a nuclear missile, seemingly sacrificing himself [eye roll]. In these first two Black Widow outings, not only do we see Natasha fighting alongside her male colleagues to save the planet, but we also witness Natasha guiding her male colleagues through the chaos, supporting the collective defeat of their monsters. Then in Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Natasha initiates events by speeding up to Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson (another favorite character) in a sports car. Later while rescuing hostages held on a ship, she yet again hacks into the system, another web of information needed to move the plot forward. (I realize I'm conflating spiders and webs and threads and the MCU with labyrinth, but this slippage is interesting.) Natasha uses her ability to see, to sense the world around her (like a spider feeling silk vibrations) in order to guide Steve through a maze-like shopping mall, secret military installation, and compromised S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. She deftly detangles recursive webs of secret identities and misinformation to, again, win the day against Hydra's Alexander Pierce and Fascism 2.0. (Uff da, The Winter Soldier feels very 2025.) And the team gains an Icarus of sorts in the form of Sam Wilson's Falcon! (Yes, I know there's already an Ikaris in The Eternals.) Admittedly, I don't care for Avengers: Age of Ultron. It's hella bleak. (Is this our AI future???) In an interesting move, Natasha is captured and her Ariadne is replaced temporarily by Agent Maria Hill (and Fury), as Hill traces Ultron's movements and directs the team to Sokovia to destroy Ultron and his AI goons. It seems Black Widow's narrative thread is to be present, as she negotiates her feelings and culpability in what has occurred in the past and what's currently happening in Sokovia. Her relationship with the Hulk continues to grow, well, before you know what happens. Age of Ultron represents the midpoint in Natasha's narrative trajectory, bringing her low before the events of Civil War, Infinity War, and Endgame. Black Widow's presence is our thread. Next in Captain America: Civil War, Natasha tries to keep her team stitched together through the fraught Sokovia Accords, at first siding with the politicians and a shellshocked and reactionary Iron Man, but then aiding Captain America and Bucky Barnes (double swoon) to escape the Berlin airport in order to unravel Zemo's plan to frame the Winter Solider for killing the King of Wakanda and destroy the Avenger's team unity in to avenge his family's accidental deaths in Zokovia. I love this movie so much. (And Spider-Man's lil tukhus could challenge Captain America's bum for superherioc bottom supreme.) Then in Avengers: Infinity War, Black Widow arrives with Captain America nearly an hour into the movie. These two make such a great team! In a brief yet touching moment, Natasha reunites with Bruce Banner for the first time since the end of Age of Ultron. Black Widow fights alongside the other Earth-bound Avengers in Wakanda to protect Vision, as the Mind Stone is removed from his forehead. In a pre-Barbie-esque scene, Natasha fights alongside Okoye and Wanda Maximoff to take out Proxima Midnight (an image echoed and expanded in Endgame's final battle, though with Black Widow notably absent). In the words of my beloved Spice Girls, GIRL POWER! And finally in Endgame, Natasha leads what's left of the Avengers after Nick Fury and others vanish when Thanos snaps his Infinity Stone-encrusted fingers. It's worth noting, Black Widow leads, while many of the surviving male Avengers on Earth are either MIA or crumbling under the weight of the Blip's aftermath. Natasha and Steve Rogers coordinate the plan of attack to bring back half the universe and destroy Thanos and the stones. In one of the most moving scenes in the Infinity Saga, Black Widow and Hawkeye wrestle over who will sacrifice themselves to secure the Soul Stone from its guardian, a spectral Red Skull. Clint and Natasha hang from a repelling rope. Again, here's an image of a spider hanging from silk, though Clint is the one attached to the rope with Black Widow hanging onto him. Natasha lets go, saving Hawkeye for his family, obtaining the Soul Stone for the Avengers, and irrevocably sacrificing herself in the process. Natasha's sacrifice in Endgame is arguably more meaningful than Tony's snap of his fingers. (Fight me.) Black Widow pays Red Skull's price for the Soul Stone in the hope that her death leads to an Avengers' victory, resurrecting trillions of beings. Rebellions are built on hope after all. (I know, wrong franchise.) Tony, on the other hand, knows (with a nod from Doctor Strange) his bejeweled gauntlet will return half of the universe to life and eliminate Thanos, his henchmen and army of death. Tony knows. Natasha hopes. I realize my analogy is probably (definitely) forced. But for me, Black Widow acts as a kind of MCU pedagogy. Natasha gives structure to this unwieldy franchise by leading viewers (okay, me) from movie to movie, creating a web of growing superheroic connections. Natasha is a steadfast presence, and often she's the calm, level-headed Avenger while the men measure their, umm, powers. Finally, in her solo movie, Black Widow, we witness Natasha hand off her MCU thread to Yelena, who plays a similar narrative role, as she dips in and out of movies and series stitching together a new Avengers team. Only a family of Widows could achieve such a feat! Twice. And I'm looking forward to this new maze of entangled MCU stories led by Florence Pugh. Curiously, as of writing this post, Disney+ does not feature Black Widow in their MCU character collections. I'm fully caught up on everything MCU, except The Thunderbolts* and The Fantastic Four: First Steps. I enjoyed Captain America: Brave New World, as I'm just happy to revisit characters and exist in this universe. (This is also my approach to Star Wars.) And so far, Ironheart's first three episodes are stellar! For what it's worth, here are my favorite parts of the MCU:
If you're interested in Greek mythology, check out Let's Talk About Myths, Baby! and Natalie Haynes Stands Up for the Classics. Thank you very much for your time. If you have recommendations or curiosities, please fill out this nifty contact form. Sending y’all supportive, well-caffeinated vibes, Creighton Today’s Pen(cil): TWSBI Go [Fountain Pen] | Colorverse Cat Ink (No. 22) Glistening [Ink] Current Curiosities
[Reading] One Day, Everyone Will Have Always Been Against This by Omar El Akkad [Listening] The back catalog of Let's Talk About Myths, Baby [Watching] The Mortician on HBOMax Trainings, Transitions, and Maps In 2022, as a learning partner for a hella conservative construction company, I was sent to Salt Lake City to become a mindset workshop facilitator. My professional objective was to bring this training back to the organization and share its capitalist gospel with internal teams and external project partners. (The workshop seemed to be heavily influenced by Mormonism in ways I cannot fully articulate. Also, the training lacked any discussion of difference or inclusion in the workplace.) I was excited to travel to Salt Lake, home of the newest Real Housewives franchise, and experience the heart of Mormon culture, which I'd only encountered through Big Love and Nightly News reports on the church's anti-LGBTQ+ doctrine. My personal objective during off-training hours was to become a Harriet the Spy-style anthropologist to better understand these new Bravo women. However, I never actually got the chance because the training was in the northern suburbs far from iconic locations like Beauty Lab + Laser (and the parking lot where it happened!). Anyway, on the first day of the workshop, we were asked by the charismatic facilitator (who looked like the dad from 7th Heaven or a sober Pete Hegseth) to introduce ourselves one by one. Half of the participants came from the same Utah-based anti-LGBTQ+ Christian counseling organization. When it was my turn, I mentioned my corporate role and company, and then pointedly said I'm a freelance LGBTQ+ inclusion and professional development consultant while looking each of them in the eye. I've spent much of my life making myself small for the comfort of the cishets (including at the company sending me to this particular training) and I was not going to tolerate cishet nonsense in this collaborative learning space. As I mentioned in the last post, I will speak up to a fault particularly to support and advocate for queer and trans folks. Others introduced themselves: mapmakers, programmers, social workers, more corporate trainers. I listened with interest and noted who might be fun to have lunch with. Though to be honest, this introvert was exhausted after making my small queer stand during introductions and wanted to sit by myself in the sun. (It had been a frigid March in Minnesota, and honestly, I was happy to be by myself several states away from my corporate colleagues.) When we broke for lunch, I grabbed my catering box and headed outside away from everyone else to recharge. As I ate, my gaze shifted from the nearby mountains to Instagram and back again. Quietly, one of my classmates approached and asked if she could sit with me. She was curious about my consulting work. I mentioned the cancer center where I facilitated a customized Safe Zone for medical providers and shared some of the difficulties leading LGBTQ+ Programs at a conservative land-grant university (a story for another day). She was curious and asked many questions about queer and trans experiences. In turn, I asked about her work as a cartographer because as a former postcolonial scholar I'm fascinated by maps with their encoded histories, shifting borders, and changing place names. It was a great conversation. Then she became quiet. I asked if she was okay, and she responded that her teenager had recently come out as transgender. She was struggling with what this meant for the child she knew and their new gender identity and expression. She wanted her teen to know she loved and supported them, but at the same time, she wasn't sure how to navigate this change. Mostly, I listened, though I asked the occasional question. Sometimes folks just need space to be heard where they can work safely through their thoughts. As with many parents of queer and trans children, she was struggling to reconcile the person she thought she knew with this seemingly new person. I stressed that her child was still her child, that they are the same person whom she's always loved. But now, they were comfortable sharing their whole self with her. And this was evidence she had created a loving and supportive parent-child relationship. This didn't quite convince her, so I switched tactics. I love a good metaphor, especially in learning spaces when grappling with challenging or abstract ideas. My new cartographer friend was from a European country, whose name and borders had changed over the centuries due to shifting empires and war. I analogized the land as the person her child is (and has always been) and the changing borders and place names as the transition. The land and the people are still the same, only the descriptions we use have changed. As a mapmaker, this made sense to her — thank Hermes! She planned to use my ham-handed metaphor when she spoke with her parents to help them become more comfortable with her teenager's gender identity. I was honored she felt comfortable sharing her story with me and happy to help her navigate this new terrain. This is why speaking up, advocating is so important — it lets folks know who you are and where you stand and that you are (potentially) a safe person to talk to. Our lunchtime conversation brought me back to life after a dull morning seated in that workshop in a way silence, sunshine, and mountain views may not have. Over the next four days, powered by thin conference coffee, I asked blunt questions about inclusion and highlighted the importance of difference in the workplace much to the annoyance of the facilitator and the gathered anti-LGBTQ+ counselors. I never heard how my new mapmaking friend's conversations with her child and parents went after she returned home. Occasionally, I think about our lunchtime conversation and wonder, but then I remember I was present in the moment and that's what matters. This experience reminded me of why I'm drawn to the work I do: teaching, coaching, community engagement. I'm built to support others on their journeys, which often means I never actually see the journey's end, but that is the work. Put another, hella clichéd way, I may help to plant the seeds, but very rarely do I get to see them bloom, but that again is the work. So I will continue on my own journey being a happy little gardener, supporting the growth and success of queer and trans folks (and the occasional ally) — while weeding out bigots. Thank you very much for your time. If you have recommendations or curiosities, please fill out this nifty contact form. Sending y’all supportive, well-caffeinated vibes, Creighton Today's Pen(cil): TWSBI ECO-T [Fountain Pen] | Sailor Shikiori Souten [Ink] |
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