Growing older without growing quiet

Radicalism does not expire with age.

I used to be louder.

At eighteen, I helped start an ACT UP chapter in rural Indiana and protested across the country. In my twenties, I organized rallies and led protests throughout the state. At thirty-two, I launched a radical queer blog that angered people daily, and I did not worry about who it offended. I said what needed to be said because silence felt more dangerous than backlash.

Over time, that changed.

I moved abroad and built a comfortable life in a pleasant neighborhood. I began writing travel stories instead of protest manifestos. I started getting invited to things. My edges softened, and the shift happened so gradually that I barely noticed it.

That is the trap.