In the Name of Pride

Sometimes God acts as my psychotherapist. She asks gently nudging questions and gets me to think about things that I wouldn’t otherwise have been thinking about. It’s not that these questions lead to earth-shattering inner revelations but sometimes it’s nice to keep nibbling at an aspect until I figure it out.

This week she was goading me about things I do in the name of pride, but for things that I’m not specifically proud of. The impetus was St. Patrick’s day being just around the corner, but we also discussed Gay Pride events. Both of these are things in which I join in the celebration, but they’re not actually things I’m proud of, in that they are not things that I accomplished. I was born with an Irish heritage and while I don’t know if I was actually born Gay, I do know that it was not something I ever chose, it just turned out to be who I am.

So I’m not proud of being these things, but being these things, I’m proud of things that have been accomplished by these groups. Not everything of course, but enough.

But as we kept pushing at the edges of the subject I figured out something else: Life is hard enough that we need to take the time to celebrate whenever we can. So really I just want to party, and if being Irish or being Gay is a reason to party, then hell yeah I’m proud.

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