Friday I went to see the new Ghostbusters flick. While it’s absolutely fantastic (seriously, I loved it; if this had been the original I would have been obsessed with the movies as a kid instead of thinking they were boring), what made my brain start churning was something I saw before the movie began. The trailer for Florence Foster Jenkins (WHICH I’M TOTALLY GOING TO SEE). Specifically the end of the trailer.
Every voice deserves to be heard.
And it hit me like a ton of bricks.
So much of my life is a pursuit of acknowledgment. I write to be read. I perform to be seen.
I don’t want to be famous. I don’t want to be rich. I don’t want to be well known.
I want to be heard.
Living within my complexities it’s almost funny. At the surface level, so many people see a cis white man and so what they assume of me is that I am heard, I am heeded, I am believed. I open my mouth to speak in feminist or activist circles and note the eye rolls. I find my input readily discarded in many instances (and note that I’m often correct in my assessments or predicted outcomes); not always, but often enough. It is believed that I am heard enough because people who look like me so often are. In reality, I speak when I am sure and those same complexities of who I am means that I am so rarely sure. I’m unsure of whether it’s my place to speak, I’m unsure of whether I’ll be heard, I’m unsure of whether I’m right (even in situations where I have solid expertise).
My queerness, my transness, even my Ashkenaz background and mental differences inform this.
I don’t know. Maybe it’s silly and self-indulgent, but I do think this is my main motivation right now. To be heard.
EDIT TO ADD: And that it’s my blogaversary just makes this even more poignant.