Beneath the Stars: Learning to Live Out Loud

I never knew that magical moments could come from a place, could come in the smallest ways. I always thought they had to come in grand moments—weddings, births, long exotic vacations, walking into the most magical place on earth. But this past week, my perception of that changed in a big way. I learned a place could be filled with magical moments. And I learned that magical moments could happen with the most unexpected people. 

My best friend and I, kind of on the spur of the moment, booked a short trip to Fire Island. I’d never gone there before, and any time I get to spend with Tym is time I look forward to. I expected it to be a typical beach vacation—sun, swimming, laughs, pictures, good albeit overpriced food, probably a horror movie at night, and then falling asleep in a comfy hotel bed. But I was wrong. Being on the ferry, hearing the enthusiasm in Tym’s voice as he pointed out where we were going, feeling the sea water in my face, the blasting wind in my hair, I had a feeling deep in my soul that this would be different. And I was right. I took a deep breath. “There’s no going back now,” I whispered as I grabbed my suitcase and followed my best friend off the ferry. 

As we walked into Fire Island and took the usual selfies in front of the signs welcoming us, I noticed a change in my best friend. He seemed more relaxed, the Manhattan edge in him softened, his smile gentler, his voice softer, and story upon story fell from his lips, both as tour guide and personal. He told me of his deep connection to Fire Island, what it meant to him, and I was drawn in by the emotion and sincerity of his words. It seemed as though every corner of the island held a memory, an anecdote and I eagerly drank in his words. I had never had a connection to a place like he had to where we were standing, I had never felt strong ties to anything, actually, and there was almost something magical about seeing this place through my best friend’s eyes. Almost visualizing and experiencing the power of seeing two men holding hands in public for the first time. 

And remembered the first time I had seen two gay men, and the impact they had on shaping my world view. I was four or five when they moved in next door, and I liked them immediately. They were funny, kind, and liked me. They let me play with their dog and cats, and would talk to me about an ideal world on their front steps. They let me come in when I was home alone and scared. They showed me ways of painting and let me experience art. They explained gently that they were together, that they loved each other, like my dad and mom did when I asked why they lived together. They explained being gay in a way I could understand. They also told me I couldn’t tell people they were gay because bad things would happen to them. My mom always told me not to keep secrets but this secret felt, for a reason I couldn’t explain, right to keep. And I promised, and I kept that promise. I loved them in my own five year old way, and I think they loved me too, and I wanted them to be safe.

One day they both got sick. I would bring them weeds from the ground and ask them when they’d get better. They had stopped giving me hugs or high fives. They wouldn’t let me eat over there any more. And they gently explained there was no getting better—but they promised I was still safe because I wasn’t gay. But that’s when people began to talk—someone had outed them. Fred lost his teaching job, and my mom stopped letting me hang out with them because they were perverse, deviants, pedophiles grooming me. My mom was nice to their faces but ripped them apart in private. They never hurt me, they never would. I was scared of a lot in my life, but never Fred and Wayne. They taught me things, and liked to spend time with me.

I never knew what happened to them. One day they just left—mom didn’t let me even say goodbye. Part of me at five years old hated her for that. My friends, who never minded if my ball went in their yard, who showed me things from their travels, talked to me about philosophy and art, who cared for me when my parents left for hours on end and I was scared. I have thought about googling them, but I don’t want to know the inevitable—that they died of AIDS, as I later learned they had. 

When Tym was speaking about his first experience of seeing two men holding hands on Fire Island, I thought of them for the first time in years. And the first time I had ever met gay men and what they meant to me. I thought about telling my best friend, but I couldn’t quite formulate the words. The power of the experiences were there. And I kept those memories in my brain as Tym continued to speak and share, it made me feel more in tuned to what he was saying. Like there was some odd shared experience, but still wildly different. 

As we walked around, and saw the friendliness of everyone around me, I noticed something significant—no one cared about anyone else. And I don’t mean that offensively. I mean no one cared how anyone lived their lives. There was a freedom I had never before experienced. At home, as a transman, I still don’t feel free to be myself. I always feel as though I need to hide. I’ve faced a lot of discrimination from within my own family–refusal to use my correct, chosen name and correct gender, refusal to use the pronouns I desire. Within my own school district where I teach, the need to constantly explain myself, my chosen honorific of Mx., explain what trans is. At home, there is much discrimination in beaches and swimming areas. I always have to cover up, even though I’m wearing Trans Tape to bind my breasts. 

On Fire Island, it was completely different. There were naked men and women on beaches, men wearing leather and very little else. People speaking to people in all sorts of dress or undress and no one batting an eye. During drag BINGO, Tym was able to introduce me to his friends using my preferred pronouns and correct name, and no one questioned him or gave me a strange look, or a look of confusion. My pronouns, my identity was accepted in a way it was not accepted elsewhere. 

When Tym and I were walking along the beach from Cherry Grove to the Pines, I took off my swim shirt, and for the first time, fully felt like a man. I had the sun on my bare chest and back, and when I looked over, I realized I could be like Tym. I could walk around the same way he was. I told him that, and he grinned. “Raise your arms, you’re liberated!” I don’t think he quite grasped what that moment meant to me. I always knew he accepted me for me, he wouldn’t be the best friend I’ve got otherwise. But in that moment, he saw me, he seemed to see my struggles and he acknowledged them. He acknowledged me as one of the guys, and that meant the world to me.

It’s strange how such a little thing can make such a huge impact–a magic moment as it were. I was able to fully express myself and allow other people, including my best friend, to see me as I want to be seen–to see myself. And he did. And so did other people. For the first time since coming out, I didn’t have to hide in public–I was authentic. And that, to quote Tym, was the most liberating experience. 

When we got to the Canteen at the Pines, Tym was talking to another gay man, a physician who also expressed that Fire Island was a safe place for him. Given his profession, even in New York City which is fairly liberal, he never felt like he could fully be himself. Fire Island was a haven for him too. And then I listened more intently to Tym’s story, and it dawned on me that this place, the island on which we sat, had a theme that was universal. It was a place queer people did not have to hide. They could live authentically. Listening to Tym and the doctor and realizing that I was sitting at a place to eat with a shirt on by choice, not by societal expectations, I found myself starting to cry. 

The thing I love about Tym is he instinctively understands me, almost knows what I’m thinking sometimes, and as he watched me wipe my eyes from behind my sunglasses, he favored me with the most genuine smile I’ve ever seen. “I’m glad,” he said gently, “I’m glad we could come here, and I’m glad this place means as much to you as it does to me.” He didn’t offer a hug, as I think he realized I needed to sit in that moment, to feel the true weight of the place, the true weight of my own hidden life melt away, and to sit in the absolute incredible feeling of being able to fully be, even for the most fleeting of moments, me. And what a powerful experience that was. 

Seeing stars on a beach in Fire Island was one of the most transformative experiences of my life. Real stars that fill the night sky and twinkle high above you. The stars that make you feel so big and so small, the stars that form themselves into constellations that tell a story older than Earth itself. Stars that seem to attract the natural world, wake up the nocturnal animals and watch them as they frolic along the beach, their only light is the one from the stars themselves. 

Tym and I went walking, after spending a ton of time talking and eating ice cream, and we wandered upon the beach. It was then I looked up, and grabbed his arm. “Tym! There are stars!” And there were; millions of them. They were scattered across the night sky, filling it, twinkling high above. “They really blink?” I asked my best friend. “I thought that was just a lie.” 

“They twinkle,” he responded softly. “And they’re millions of years old.”

"I’ve never seen stars before. I mean I’ve seen them, but I never saw a sky full of them. We never travelled to any place where there wasn’t a ton of light pollution.”

“You had to see them in Indiana, in the fields. I loved just looking up at them. There were more stars than this.” 

I gazed at him in awe for a minute. I had always wanted to see a sky like he described. But as I kept looking up, I kept seeing these twinkling little balls of fire and light and my amazement continued to grow. I never felt so big, and yet so small. For the first time in my life, I realized that the universe really was bigger than I was. I felt the weight of millions of years, of ancestors that I never met and their stories. I felt that I was so apart from everything, but then so connected. And as I stared up at them, I swore I heard the laughter of the Little Prince, reminding me that the person I am is special, unique, and is worthy of being on this earth. 

“Hey look,” Tym said at length. He pointed to a cluster of stars above me. “That’s a constellation. It’s the Big Dipper. See its bowl and handle?” 

Joy instantly washed over me. The only time I had ever seen a constellation was in the globe my Uncle John had bought me years ago, which filled my entire room with stars. I used to spend hours with it, looking at the different constellations, learning their names, and wishing for a life that was different from my own. 

“Are you serious? I’ve never seen a constellation before.” 

He laughed. “Now you have. And let’s see. I know Orion’s belt is somewhere. It’s three stars, one is brighter. Let’s look.” 

We peered at the sky, and in that moment, I saw movement in the darkness. Just out of the corner of my eye. 

“Tym’s something’s moving in the darkness.” 

“There’re little mice, it’s okay.” 

I saw a large bushy tail type thing. “Tym, there’s something moving in the darkness.” 

“It’s okay,” he said again, still searching for Orion’s belt in the millions of stars above us. 

“Tym!” I shined the light in front of him, and saw a small grey and orange fox looking back at us, my phone light reflecting in his large moon eyes. I won’t hesitate to admit that I jumped behind my best friend, both in awe and terror of the animal in front of me. 

“You go that way,” Tym said to the fox, “just walk slowly in the other direction. That’s a fox,” he said as an afterthought. “Let’s keep looking for Orion.” 

After controlling my fear, I began to think about the Fox in The Little Prince. He was one of the most important characters who taught the Little Prince things like the value of true friendship, the importance of self acceptance and non-judgemental acceptance of others, how to see beauty with your heart, and the responsibility you have for your own life choices. I had both heard the laughter of the Little Prince and I had seen the Fox at the same moment. And a sense of calm came over me. 

I had a profound realization–I was starting to understand the person I am. I understood that I had finally found my chosen family–I had finally found the best friend I’ve got standing next to me on the beach and I had found the best wife as well–both of whom understand, on a deeper level than they both realize, the lessons of the Fox and the Stars. I realized that in moments of sadness I could call upon my chosen family but especially these two people, and look at the stars in order to recall my own uniqueness, the self love I owed myself and use all of those resources to find my way out of even the darkest despair. In that moment, I allowed the tears I didn’t quite understand, to fall, hidden in the darkness. 

“Look,” Tym said, pointing to the sky. “There it is, Orion’s belt. See the three stars? And then follow, there’s his head.” The theme of my thoughts continued on, Orion was a constellation that meant strength, power, pride and skill. I followed his finger and did indeed see it. I grinned. “That’s so cool,” I said, not knowing what else to say. 

We stayed for a few more moments, and then we mutually left the beach. I took one last look at the stars, and strained to hear the laughter of The Little Prince. I think, somewhere deep inside me, I did. I couldn’t really find the words to explain all of my thoughts to my best friend, but I made a rough attempt. I think he knew, on some level, what I was trying to say, because he smiled and raised his hands, gesturing towards the entire island. “Well, there you go.”

When we finally boarded the ferry to head home in the warm light of the sun, I felt extreme sadness but I also felt a significant sense of hope and pride. While on Fire Island, I lived fully as my authentic self and I realized I could tap into the lessons I learned through those magical moments at home when in doubt and I could always recall the person I was on the island.  

Sitting beside Tym on the Ferry, feeling the wind in my hair, I felt stronger and more confident than I ever had. At that moment, I realized that was the magic of Fire Island. It is a place filled with magic moments and collective memories at every turn. A place whose lessons are readily available if you only listen between the sound of the waves, the laughter and music from the Ice Palace, between the warm tone of your best friend’s voice and the welcoming words of others. If you listen between all of these things, and if you look at the stars laughing gently from a little prince light years away, it is possible to find your authentic self. I know because I lived it–on Fire Island, for the first time ever, I found Kitt Anthony Blessing.