This is Forty-Seven

Taken this morning, coffee in hand, no makeup or filters used, just me.

Forty seven is an odd number. It doesn’t yet roll off my tongue, but I’m so very grateful to be here. I have everything I need and virtually everything I want. I’m healthy, housed, and loved. I finally feel close to whole again now that I’ve stopped trying to compartmentalize or hide aspects of myself. Whether you call it openness or honesty or transparency, whatever it is, it’s working for me, for the most part. I haven’t quite figured out how to make it all backwards-compatible yet… but I am working on it.

At 47 I can finally say I am “out” — openly bisexual (or more technically pansexual but the difference between the two is subtle and I’m content if people get it “close enough”), openly polyamorous (this label is still new to me and like 47 doesn’t roll off the tongue, but once I found the word, I realized it described a side of me that was always there), and openly a labour activist (a badge I’ve not always worn well). You may not put that last one on par with the other two but I probably get more flack for that than anything else in my life.

Being out means being patient with people; it means I spend time explaining what those labels mean and why they mean something to me. It’s not difficult for me to do when people ask but it gets tricky when I am in a room where people are not as friendly to one or more of those aspects. That’s when I have to put on my advocate hat and stand up for not only myself but also for others who share those labels — and that is difficult — but at my age, it is my responsibility to try and use my less vulnerable position to make life easier for those who have not felt ready to step into the spotlight. I take that responsibility seriously so if you have questions about this stuff, just ask.