I debate, often, to myself over whether or not to display my photography. I take up issues that woc are rarely represented in the places I go, events I shoot, and affairs I attend. I think much of that debate is internally stunting, because, in the Midwest, there isn’t much diversity, PERIOD. Or at least, not visually or outwardly.

My shrinking bank of energy keeps saying, “Take what you can get. Take what you can get.” And I decided to post my photos of the Pride Alive Rally and Parade that took place in my city over the weekend. The energy was high, the turnout was…better than previous years, I guess you can say. I offered a lift to two strangers on the sidewalk who looked like they were going to melt in the sun as they were strategizing their transportion. As we talked about what brought us to the event that day, he suddenly began making self-depracating jokes about his obesity. At a red light, I stopped my car, turned and looked into his face. He looked backed into mine and something clicked. Loudly.

Movements bring us together. We may struggle with representation, we may struggle with difference. But I concluded that I have spent much of my life wanting things differently than how they actually were, and I’ve missed opportunities to connect with people because of much of my solitary ruminating and pragmatic wishlists.

My movement is with womyn of color. His may be something else entirely, but we found each other that day and we drew laughter, brief connection, and relief in our converation. I stand and am proud to be Brown and alive. And while the flying colors of the Pride day didn’t represent what my exact struggles are, the oppression that digs its heal into our throats is the same: the anti-difference, the indifference, and discrimination against the marginalized. I am proud to be standing, fighting, for equality. I am proud.