I woke up today with that weird feeling in my chest, the one that’s not quite worry and not quite excitement. It’s that in-between thing that sits with me when I can’t see the next step. I made coffee because that’s what I do when I don’t know what else to do, and I stood by the window, holding the mug like it might tell me what comes next.
Sometimes I think being queer means getting used to uncertainty, like it’s an old friend who shows up unannounced and sits on the couch until I remember to offer them tea. I used to chase answers, but lately I just let the questions hang out a while. It’s not bravery, just a kind of tired softness that feels almost gentle.
This morning, I noticed my reflection in the glass, barely there, but enough to remind me I’m still here, still Black, still queer, still soft in ways that feel both familiar and new. I used to want all the sharp edges smoothed out, but I’m learning there’s something honest in letting them stay. Maybe today I don’t need to fix anything. Maybe it’s enough to just be present with the small not-knowing.
I texted a friend a dumb meme and laughed alone in my kitchen, warmth spreading through me in a quiet way. It’s not clarity, but it’s something. I think about all the ways I’ve made room for myself, even when I didn’t have the map.
Right now, I’m just letting myself be held by the uncertainty. It’s awkward, but it’s real. There’s a kind of peace in not having all the answers. I think I’ll sit with that a little longer, just me, my coffee, and the soft edges of today.