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  • Flying Forward: Let’s Talk About the Flag Controversy

    Flying Forward: Let’s Talk About the Flag Controversy

    A few days ago, the Star Tribune published an article titled “Not a ‘Greater Minnesota’ flag? Detroit Lakes latest city to refuse flying state flag.” It covered the growing number of cities. These cities—including Hastings and Detroit Lakes—are opting not to raise Minnesota’s new state flag.

    I followed the redesign process with cautious optimism. I found the piece frustrating. Not everyone needs to love the new flag. However, so much of the conversation continues to miss the point.

    This is what I had to say in the Star Tribune comments:

    I understand the desire to honor history and the comfort of the familiar. While some believe the previous flag honored our past, others saw it as a symbol of racism. Another fact is the old Minnesota flag was frequently confused with others because it lacked distinction as it was just the state seal on a blue background. I don’t love the new design, and I do think there’s room for improvement, but the old flag wasn’t serving us well. One clear advantage of the new flag is that it can actually be recognized as Minnesota’s something the previous design failed to do. Change is uncomfortable, but it’s also an opportunity. It has given us the ability to have a conversation. If people feel passionately about changing the flag again take the initiative to make it happen.

    A New Emblem for a New Era

    Minnesota’s new state flag was officially adopted on May 11, 2024. It replaced the blue banner bearing the state seal. This banner had flown in one form or another since 1957. Its design lineage goes back to 1893.

    The new flag features a deep blue field symbolizing the night sky. A light blue curve represents Minnesota’s lakes and rivers. An eight-pointed star evokes the state motto, L’Étoile du Nord (“The Star of the North”).

    Looking Back: A Brief History of the Flag

    For the first 35 years of statehood, Minnesota had no official state flag.

    1983

    That changed in 1893 when the Auxiliary Board sponsored the creation of an official flag. The design selected came from Amelia Hyde Center, a Minneapolis artist and leather worker. This original flag featured a white front and blue reverse, which made it expensive and less durable.

    1957

    In 1957, Minnesota redesigned the flag to have a blue field on both sides. This change simplified production. They updated the floral elements for botanical accuracy. They replaced the original moccasin flowers with pink-and-white lady’s slippers. The pink-and-white lady’s slippers are the official state flower.

    1983

    The flag saw another redesign in 1983. Designers lightened the blue. They also updated the seal to include imagery such as the Mississippi River, St. Anthony Falls, and pine trees. This reflects the state’s natural heritage.

    Over time, the 1983 flag drew criticism. It was seen as overly complex and visually confusing. It resembled other state flags that simply feature a seal on a blue background. Critics also raised concerns about the symbolism of the seal, which some viewed as a representation of Manifest Destiny.

    Design Debates and Grassroots Alternatives

    Minnesota’s flag redesign hasn’t been without controversy or creative alternatives. In 1957, Representative John Tracy Anderson and Major General Joseph E. Nelson proposed a star-based flag with red, white, and blue tribands, though it was rejected by the legislature.

    More recently, the North Star Flag was created in 1988 by Lee Herold and Reverend William Becker. It gained grassroots support with its meaningful colors. Its simple and distinctive design also contributed to its popularity. While never officially adopted, the North Star Flag has remained a beloved unofficial symbol. It was even presented to the redesign commission in 2023.

    The Redesign Process

    The push for a new flag gained official momentum starting in 2021. A Wayzata High School student approached State Senator Ann Johnson Stewart with the idea.

    This led to legislation establishing the State Emblems Redesign Commission in 2023. The commission is charged with proposing new designs that reflect Minnesota’s shared history, resources, and diverse communities. It explicitly prohibits symbols that represent only a single group.

    The commission includes representatives from Indigenous, African Heritage, Latino, and Asian-Pacific communities, as well as members of the general public. The commission presented a new flag design after careful deliberation and public input. The legislature adopted this design on May 11, 2024.

    The Refusals and Reactions

    Some People Love It

    As with any change, the new flag has its fans. Many appreciate that the design is clean, modern, and—most importantly—distinctly Minnesota. The new flag doesn’t just look nice on paper. It’s practical and recognizable. It is also far less likely to be confused with any other state’s banner. For decades, people saw a blue flag with a complicated seal. Few could identify it. Now, Minnesota finally has a flag that can stand on its own.

    Some People Don’t

    But of course, not everyone loves the new flag. Some cities, like Detroit Lakes and Hastings, have refused to fly it. Critics often cite nostalgia for the old flag and a desire to honor the past.

    Others see the old flag’s imagery as a reflection of Minnesota’s history. They acknowledge its warts and all. They worry that the new flag erases or sanitizes that story.

    Some also point out that the new flag isn’t perfect and could be improved. And that’s fair—no flag is flawless, and every design involves compromises. The truth is, flags are symbols, and symbols carry different meanings for different people.

    My Take

    I understand the desire to honor history and the comfort of the familiar. While some believe the previous flag honored our past, others saw it as a symbol of racism. Another fact is the old Minnesota flag was frequently confused with others. It lacked distinction because it was just the state seal on a blue background.

    I don’t love the new design. I do think there’s room for improvement. However, the old flag wasn’t serving us well.

    One clear advantage of the new flag is that it can actually be recognized as Minnesota’s. The previous design failed to achieve this. Change is uncomfortable, but it’s also an opportunity. It has given us the ability to have a conversation.

    Flags Aren’t Sacred. They’re Evolving.

    Plenty of iconic flags have undergone change:

    • The U.S. flag has changed 27 times.
    • Canada didn’t adopt its maple leaf until 1965.
    • South Africa’s current flag, widely recognized today, was finalized in days.

    Designs come and go, but the values we attach to them can deepen over time.

    Discomfort is an Invitation

    As I wrote before in my Star Tribune comment:

    “Change is uncomfortable, but it’s also an opportunity. It has given us the ability to have a conversation.”

    Don’t like the flag? Great. Say so. Offer your vision. Start a petition. Participate in the next redesign cycle. But don’t opt out of the conversation entirely.

    Because flags don’t just represent where we’ve been. They shape how we see where we’re going.

    Minnesota is big enough to hold multiple truths. To love parts of the past while acknowledging its harms. To critique a design without discarding what it stands for. To fly a flag that looks forward, not just backward.

    If you don’t feel represented by the new flag—make your voice heard. But don’t assume that refusing to fly it is the same as standing for something noble. Sometimes, progress looks like a banner that’s unfamiliar. Sometimes, unity starts with a little discomfort.

    And sometimes, the bravest thing a flag can do is change.

  • Not a Fan of the Man But Like the Plan

    Not a Fan of the Man But Like the Plan

    Why Elon Musk’s “America Party” Could Shake Up U.S. Politics

    I am a big fan of Elon Musk. Let’s just get that out of the way up front.

    His contributions and support in the past of President Trump have been problematic. His handling of public infrastructure and social programs has also caused concern.

    Additionally, he casually toys with systems people actually depend on, both in the U.S. and around the world. These actions have done real harm. That’s not a small thing. And it’s part of why I approach anything he does with a healthy dose of skepticism.

    But then he threw a wrench into American politics yesterday by announcing his new America Party. Whether you love him or hate him, you have to admit it’s a bold move. Even if you mostly just wish he’d stay in his lane, it’s a bold move. One that’s already sparking debate, and it’s definitely got me thinking too.

    I may not be a fan of the man, but I like the plan. It’s not his plan specifically, at least not yet. It’s the bigger idea.

    This country deserves more than two political parties playing tug-of-war with our future. This moment prompted me to reflect on our history. I considered the role third parties have played in shaping American democracy. They could still play an important part.

    We Weren’t Always Just Red and Blue

    American political history has always been a bit messier than the red-vs-blue binary we’ve come to expect. The U.S. used to have vibrant (and sometimes downright bizarre) political alternatives. Some shaped the nation. Others burned fast and weird.

    Here’s a quick tour through notable political parties that once stirred the pot:

    Party NameYears ActiveNotable For
    Federalist Party1790s–1820sThe original pro-central government party; Hamilton’s legacy.
    Democratic-Republican Party1790s–1820sJefferson and Madison’s vision; states’ rights-focused.
    Whig Party1830s–1850sAnti-Jackson coalition; produced four presidents.
    Know-Nothing Party1850sNativist, anti-immigration movement.
    Free Soil Party1848–1854Opposed slavery’s expansion.
    Progressive Party (Bull Moose)1912Teddy Roosevelt’s breakaway reform movement.
    Socialist Party of AmericaEarly 1900sPushed labor rights; Debs ran for president from prison.
    States’ Rights Democratic Party (Dixiecrats)1948Segregationist Southern breakaway group.
    American Independent Party1968–presentGeorge Wallace’s ultra-conservative party.
    Reform Party1995–presentRoss Perot’s fiscally conservative, anti-corruption effort.
    Green Party1984–presentEnvironment, peace, and social justice.
    Libertarian Party1971–presentSmall government, civil liberties, and personal freedom.

    Want to go deeper? Full list on Wikipedia

    What Elon Musk Just Did

    As reported by The Guardian, Fox News, and CNBC:

    • Musk launched the America Party via X (formerly Twitter), saying it would reclaim power for the people.
    • Framed it as a response to the “uniparty” — a dig at both Democrats and Republicans.
    • Criticized Trump’s $3.3 trillion spending bill.
    • Declared he would target 2–3 Senate seats and 8–10 House seats, not the presidency (yet).
    • Claimed the party would represent the “80% in the middle.”
    • A poll on X showed 65% support — but no voter verification.

    Why a Third Party Could Be a Good Thing

    • Centrists feel homeless. Millions of voters don’t feel represented by either major party.
    • Accountability improves. A strong third voice can hold both sides in check.
    • Elections could get real. Ranked-choice voting and open primaries could gain traction.
    • New ideas. Politics could become about solutions, not just brand loyalty.

    But… There Are Some Big Problems

    • Ballot access nightmares. Every state has its own rules and deadlines.
    • No ground game. Musk has no party infrastructure or grassroots support.
    • Spoiler effect. Could split votes and backfire — especially in tight races.
    • Brand confusion. What does the “America Party” even stand for?

    Even If It Fails, It Sends a Message

    If nothing else, the America Party proves there’s a real hunger for something new. Maybe Musk’s version fizzles — but maybe it opens the door for better third-party efforts in the future.

    Perhaps it encourages changes to ballot access laws. These changes would help minority parties, such as the Green and Libertarian Parties, gain access to local, state, and federal races.

    More choices.
    More voices.
    More ideas.
    More democracy.

    Join the Conversation

    Where do you stand on this? I want to hear from you:

    • Could a serious third party get your vote?
    • Do you think Musk’s money makes this a real threat or is this just political cosplay?
    • Which defunct party do you wish was still around?
    • If you could create a party what would it’s name be and what would you stand for?

    Drop your thoughts in the comments — I’ll be reading.

    Sources and Further Reading

  • Independence for Whom? Reflecting on the Fourth of July in 2025

    Independence for Whom? Reflecting on the Fourth of July in 2025

    It’s the Fourth of July, 2025. Across the country, grills are sizzling, boats are cruising, and coolers are cracking open. The night skies will soon erupt in fireworks. For most Americans, this holiday means freedom, family, and summer fun.

    But I’ve gotten older. Our country has grown louder, more divided, and frankly, more dangerous. And lately, a question keeps echoing in my mind: What does the Fourth of July really mean anymore?

    A Brief History of Independence

    Let’s start with what this day is supposed to commemorate. On July 4, 1776, the Continental Congress adopted the Declaration of Independence. This bold move declared the thirteen colonies free from British rule. It rejected tyranny and laid the foundation for a self-governed nation.

    We still cling to the ideals of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. But here’s the truth: those rights weren’t originally meant for everyone.

    A Revolution That Wasn’t for Everyone

    The Founding Fathers declared that “all men are created equal” while holding others in chains. The government claimed to defend liberty. Yet, it stole land from Indigenous people. It silenced women. It also excluded poor, disabled, and queer individuals from public life.

    In reality, the revolution granted freedom only to a privileged few.

    The story of America since 1776 has been long and painful. It shows a struggle to expand that freedom. The aim has been to include the people left out. The abolition of slavery was not handed down. Women’s suffrage and the Civil Rights Movement were not freely given. The Stonewall Riots and the Americans with Disabilities Act were claimed through struggle. People fought for them alongside those who rose up.

    They were won by those who refused to be erased.

    I write and advocate from within the LGBTQIA and disability communities. For many of us, the fight still isn’t over.

    The Ongoing Attacks on LGBTQ+ Rights…Especially Trans Youth

    Across the country, we’re seeing a coordinated assault on LGBTQ+ rights, particularly targeting transgender individuals. And it’s not happening in shadows—it’s happening in full public view.

    Much of this legislation focuses on minors, stripping away access to gender-affirming care under the false banner of “protection.” But let’s be honest: this isn’t about safety. It’s about political control. It’s about fear. It’s about forcing children to live in bodies and identities that cause them pain.

    Most trans youth seeking care are not undergoing surgeries. They’re being prescribed puberty blockers—safe, reversible treatments that offer something simple and profound: time. Time to think, to grow, to become.

    Instead of trusting doctors or supporting parents, lawmakers are imposing one-size-fits-all mandates on children they’ve never met.

    What happened to freedom?
    What happened to parental rights?
    What happened to that “small government” so many once held sacred?

    35 Years Since the ADA

    This year marks 35 years since the Americans with Disabilities Act was signed into law. It’s a landmark civil rights achievement that changed the legal landscape for millions. I was just finishing kindergarten in 1990. I had no idea then how deeply the ADA would shape my path—or how far we’d still have to go.

    Because the fight didn’t end in 1990.

    If you need a refresher on how we got here, here’s a brief history of the ADA. It still matters. A lot.

    As someone who belongs to both the disabled and LGBTQ+ communities, these issues aren’t abstract to me. They’re personal. They’re real. They’re urgent.

    Even with the ADA in place, accessibility remains inconsistent. Healthcare is broken. Now, under the current Trump administration, programs that support disabled people are under attack.

    These aren’t luxuries. They’re lifelines.

    Today, crucial programs for people with disabilities face funding cuts. Leaders are trying to balance the books. This comes after giving massive tax breaks to billionaires and corporations. Their choice? Slash services for the most vulnerable among us.

    What We Teach And What We Erase

    We say we value freedom, but we whitewash our history to make it more comfortable.

    We teach about the Declaration of Independence. We give a brief nod to the Civil Rights Movement. But what about the Stonewall riots? What about the 504 Sit-In, where disabled activists occupied a federal building for nearly a month?

    Why do we erase the truths that make us uncomfortable?

    Some states are now passing laws that allow parents to pull their kids from school activities that mention LGBTQ+ families. A picture book about two dads becomes “controversial.”

    Look—I support the right of families to hold personal beliefs. I also believe education should prepare kids for the real world. It’s a world full of diverse people, relationships, and identities.

    Pretending they don’t exist doesn’t protect kids. It confuses them. It primes them to respond with fear—or hate—when they meet someone different.

    Independence in a Nation Built by Immigrants

    We are a nation of immigrants. But you wouldn’t know it from today’s political discourse.

    Let me be clear: I support deporting people who commit serious crimes after entering illegally. That’s not controversial—it’s common sense.

    But millions of immigrants—many undocumented—are holding up the scaffolding of our daily lives. They’re working in fields, hotels, kitchens, janitorial services. Jobs many Americans scorn—while depending on them.

    And instead of treating these workers with dignity, we vilify them. We build walls and cages. We pass policies that dehumanize.

    Meanwhile, billionaires and corporations are shielded from taxes, oversight, and even basic accountability.

    The Boiling Pot We Refuse to Notice

    The average American is being played.

    We’re told to fear immigrants. Disabled people. Trans youth. Anyone “different.” We argue among ourselves. Meanwhile, lawmakers pass legislation that benefits the ultra-wealthy and large corporations. This leaves the rest of us scrambling.

    Social safety nets are unraveling.
    Corporate profits are protected, while food assistance, Medicaid, and disability programs are slashed.

    It’s like the old frog metaphor:
    If you slowly turn up the heat, the frog won’t notice it’s boiling.

    That’s where we are as a country.
    And the water’s getting hotter.

    Final Thoughts

    So what does the Fourth of July mean anymore?

    For me, it’s not fireworks or flags. It’s the chance to remember that the dream of freedom isn’t finished. It’s unfinished business.

    The work of building a more inclusive, just, and fair country belongs to us now.

    Not just today—but every day.

  • Cheers to Clarity: What Grief, Generational Patterns, and a Non-Alcoholic IPA Taught Me About Choice

    Cheers to Clarity: What Grief, Generational Patterns, and a Non-Alcoholic IPA Taught Me About Choice

    Author’s Note:
    This began as a casual Facebook post. It was just me, a can of non-alcoholic beer, and a quiet summer evening on the patio. But the more I sat with it, the more I realized this moment wasn’t casual at all. It was part of a larger story about grief, generational patterns, and learning to choose—really choose—what supports me best. Sometimes that looks like a cold drink. Sometimes it looks like not having one. And sometimes, it looks like sitting still with what hurts, and making a mindful choice anyway.

    A Quiet Evening, A Different Kind of Cold One

    It’s a quiet evening on the patio. The sun’s fading out slow and golden, and I’m sitting with a cold one in hand.

    But not that kind of cold one.

    This one’s a Free Wave Hazy IPA from Athletic Brewing Company. Non-alcoholic, but every bit as satisfying as the real deal. Bright. Citrusy. Complex. It hits all the right notes—just without the mental fog or emotional whiplash.

    These days, before I drink anything alcoholic, I pause. I check in with myself. And I ask a question that’s become surprisingly important:
    Why do I want this?
    Is it for the taste? To unwind? Or… am I trying to dull something I don’t want to feel?

    When Grief Shatters

    After Dempsey passed in the summer of 2022, something in me broke.

    Not just cracked—shattered.

    He wasn’t just a dog. He was my service dog. My companion. My lifeline. Dempsey was the one creature on this earth I could trust completely. I trusted him with my safety and with my disability. I relied on him with the quiet parts of me that don’t always have words.

    Grief wasn’t kind. It wasn’t poetic. It was heavy and raw and relentless. And in the middle of it, I found myself craving alcohol. It wasn’t to celebrate or relax, but to feel less.

    Less pain.
    Less loss.
    Less of that deep, marrow-level heartbreak that doesn’t let up just because the world keeps spinning.

    But I knew that craving. I knew its edges. And I knew where it could lead.

    Because I come from a family with a history of alcohol misuse. Even though the people I love found their way to sobriety, those patterns still echo. That kind of history doesn’t disappear. Instead, it lingers in the background. It shapes how you respond to stress, grief, and loss. Even if you never pick up a bottle, you still inherit the instincts.

    So when I felt that whisper—Just one drink. Just take the edge off—I recognized it. Not just as a moment of grief, but as part of a longer story. A story I want to write differently.

    Choosing Wisely: The Power of Options

    That’s where drinks like this come in. That’s why I sing the praises of Athletic Brewing like they’re saving lives. Sometimes, having a non-alcoholic option helps me stay sober in spirit. It is not just about alcohol content. It helps me stay grounded. Stay honest.

    And let’s be clear: I’m not anti-alcohol. I’ll still have a drink now and then. But the rule I’ve made for myself is simple—if there’s even a fraction of hesitation, even a 0.00001% chance that I’m reaching for it to numb instead of enjoy, I choose something else.

    That isn’t weakness. That’s wisdom. That’s clarity. That’s care.

    Even now, Surley is by my side. My mental health is better supported. There is more stability and joy woven into my days. Still, those urges whisper sometimes. That itch still sneaks in.
    And when it does, I don’t shame it. I meet it with honesty.
    I ask the question again. Why do I want this?
    And if I’m not sure, I choose the option that keeps me rooted.

    My Choices, My Rules

    You might think all this sounds excessive. Or overly cautious. Or dramatic.

    That’s okay.

    You’re not living my grief. You’re not carrying my history. You’re not holding my DNA or my memories or my triggers. I am.

    These are my choices. My rules. My safety nets. Built not just to keep me upright, but to keep me honest with myself.

    So tonight, I raise a glass—a cold one, sure, but one that supports the life I want. The healing I’ve worked for. The clarity I’ve chosen.

    Cheers. 🧡🍻
    To grief. To growth. To generational healing.

    If you’ve been affected by grief, loss, or struggles with alcohol, you’re not alone. Feel free to share your story or thoughts in the comments below. Let’s support each other with compassion and understanding.

  • Always Becoming

    Always Becoming

    A Pride Month Reflection

    I had written the meat of this post over a month ago but hadn’t published it yet. The reason I’ve been sitting on it is simple.

    I was nervous.

    I know I’ve shared a lot of my life here. However, there are some things I’m still working through with my therapist. Even at my age, I’m learning there’s always more to discover about yourself.

    Pride Month is nearing its end. The Twin Cities Pride Festival is upon us. It feels like the right time to share. Pride is often associated with the LGBTQ+ community. However, I believe it’s for anyone who has ever struggled to find themselves. It is also for those who now live in their authenticity.

    Pride isn’t just about rainbows, parades, or a single community. It’s about the courage it takes to live authentically, no matter how long the journey. It’s about the quiet moments of realization. It’s about the words we finally find for ourselves. It’s about the love we give and receive along the way.

    Whether you’re part of the LGBTQ+ community or simply someone learning to live more fully as yourself your story matters. You matter. And I hope, like me, you’ll keep becoming.

    A Journey Through Identity, Writing, and Self-Discovery

    In the recent months I’ve learned more about myself than I expected. Therapy has helped me feel more comfortable exploring who I am. Having family and friends who listen without judgment has made a huge difference.

    Writing has opened the door even further. It’s allowed me to think about things on a deeper level, to connect dots I hadn’t known were there. And through that process, I’ve started to see myself more clearly.

    Childhood & Disability

    As a child growing up in a small Minnesota hometown, I quickly learned that I didn’t quite fit. Disability was rarely visible, and the world around me wasn’t designed for bodies like mine. Navigating that space taught me resilience and adaptability. I became skilled at adjusting—at molding myself to fit into places that hadn’t anticipated my presence. I bent without breaking.

    But I wasn’t just molding to fit into the world—I was also molding to meet my family’s expectations. I performed the version of myself that felt safe and acceptable. That pressure, though quieter, was heavier. It was about survival. And sometimes, it came at the cost of my authenticity.

    What I didn’t realize at the time was how deeply these early experiences would shape my understanding of self. Learning to adapt to a world that wasn’t built for me didn’t stop with disability it became a pattern.

    That same instinct to “pass,” to suppress discomfort, followed me into every part of who I was becoming. Into how I loved. How I moved through gender. How I showed up—or didn’t—in my full identity.

    I’d spent my childhood learning how to bend myself to fit into other people’s definitions. It would take me years to learn how to define myself on my own terms.

    Coming Out, and Coming Into Myself

    At a young age the early signs of queerness began to surface even if I didn’t notice. I remember a relative who adored New Kids On The Block. I must’ve been five or six when I casually mentioned liking Danny from the band. At the time, it felt natural, but looking back, it was a small rebellion. A quiet truth surfacing.

    At a similar age, starting in kindergarten, there was always a girl, or girls, I liked. I never thought girls were “yucky;” I just knew there was something about them that drew me in.

    In fifth or sixth grade, there was a boy in Sunday school. He gave me the same fluttery feeling in my stomach that I’d felt around certain girls. In my early teens, I attended summer camp. That was the first time I truly felt something deeper for another boy my age. Still, I could not fully say the word “gay” to myself until high school. Even then, it felt more like a question than an answer.

    In high school, I wrote a paper on same-sex marriage. It stirred up a lot of conversation first among classmates, then with some family members. Questions about my own sexuality began to surface. I deflected by saying I had a lesbian aunt, which was true, but also conveniently deflected the spotlight. It gave me a way to speak up without fully stepping out. A shield wrapped in truth.

    I didn’t come out to most of my family until college. It wasn’t a big, cinematic moment. There were no joyful embraces or heartfelt cheers. There were tears, but not the kind that come with relief. It was raw and complicated, tangled in confusion and unspoken expectations.

    At first, identifying as gay gave me something solid to hold onto a label, a sense of belonging. But as time went on, I realized that label didn’t always fit. While others seemed to find a home in their identities, mine kept shifting, stretching in different directions.

    I’ve felt attraction to people of different genders and across age differences. Some connections were romantic or sexual, others weren’t. There were also times I felt no sexual attraction at all. Those patterns gently opened the door to the asexual spectrum. They showed me there was more room to explore than I’d once believed.

    Gender, Clothes, and the Words I Didn’t Have

    As a teenager, I remember my sister had a pair of maroon faux leather pants. I thought they were the coolest thing. I wished boys could wear something like that without question. It wasn’t just about fashion—it was about the freedom that came with it.

    In college, I found myself drawn to musicians like Ani DiFranco, Ellis Delaney, and especially Melissa Etheridge. Her look leather jacket, worn jeans, quiet confidence hit a nerve.

    I did a drag performance as Etheridge in college. When I stepped into that outfit, and out onto the stage it didn’t feel like a costume. It felt like stepping into something honest. Something that had been waiting to be seen.

    In my mid-twenties, I started questioning my relationship with gender. I felt discomfort in my body and wondered if I was transgender. I’m thankful I had a therapist who, though not an expert in gender dysphoria, helped me work through those feelings. Through deep conversation, I realized that I was mostly comfortable in my body. There were parts I didn’t love, like body hair or the physical complications of being in a wheelchair.

    I wasn’t seeking to transition from one binary to the other. I was seeking something outside the binary entirely. At the time, term non-binary wasn’t yet in the common language within the queer community.

    When it became common to share pronouns in bios or intros, I hesitated. He/him didn’t feel right. They/them felt a little closer, but still not quite it. I didn’t feel like a he or a they—I just felt like me. Just Levi. And for a long time, that made me feel like an outsider. But slowly, I began to understand that being just Levi was enough.

    As pronouns became more common, the concept became clearer. Friends came out as non-binary. It was like a crack in the door I didn’t realize I needed to walk through.

    The Mirror of Writing

    Writing has always been a mirror. A way to show myself back to myself. Characters with ADHD tendencies, with anxiety, trying to figure out where they fit in the LGBTQIA spectrum. Characters who are hesitant, loyal, or unsure of where they belong. They’re all extensions of me. These characters emerged from my subconscious before I ever had the words to describe those parts of myself.

    These stories have helped me process, understand, and articulate feelings that were once nebulous. Through storytelling, I’ve found a deeper clarity and a quiet acceptance. I’ve realized I don’t need to chase a destination. I only need to keep chasing the road.

    Becoming

    I’m not sharing this as a final declaration. I am not sharing this as another coming out. I’m sharing it as a snapshot. A step in the process. A truth for today. Because identity isn’t fixed it evolves. It deepens. It grows with us.

    I’ve never had one label that felt like home. Maybe I was never meant to be defined by a single word.

    Maybe I’m not a noun.
    Maybe I’m a verb.

    Always becoming.

    You’re Not Alone: LGBTQ+ and Mental Health Resources

    If you’re navigating identity, struggling with mental health, or just looking for community—these resources can help:

    Image Disclaimer:
    The featured image was created using DALL·E. It is OpenAI’s legacy image generation model. ChatGPT provided conceptual guidance and design direction for this collaboration.

  • When the Beat Doesn’t Match the Burden: Situational Anxiety, Disability, and the Song That Hits Too Close

    When the Beat Doesn’t Match the Burden: Situational Anxiety, Disability, and the Song That Hits Too Close

    Disclaimer:

    Songs, like stories, can mean different things to different people. The way I interpret Anxiety by Doechii may not be how you hear it and that’s okay.

    In this post, I’m sharing my personal reaction and reflections based on my own lived experience with anxiety and disability.

    If this song resonates with you differently, feel free to share your thoughts in the comments. We’d love to engage in conversation rooted in empathy and curiosity.

    You might be struggling with anxiety or your mental health. Know that you are not alone. Support is available. Please check out my previous post from Mental Health Awareness Month. It contains additional thoughts and resources.

    When the Beat Doesn’t Match the Burden

    Lately, I’ve seen a surge of reels using Doechii’s Anxiety. Catchy. Rhythmic. Visually clever. And also, unintentionally, a little unsettling. There’s a growing trend. Creators use the song in a way that feels like it makes light of a real, raw experience.

    That experience? Living with anxiety.

    Anxiety doesn’t always look like shaking hands or visible panic attacks. For me, it’s more often quiet. Slow-burning. And always lurking.

    What Anxiety Really Looks Like…for Me

    Social media loves a dramatized version of anxiety: loud, obvious, and aesthetic.
    But real anxiety, the kind I live with? It’s quieter. Heavier. Trickier to explain. To me, anxiety looks like this:

    • It’s that feeling in the pit of my stomach as I wait for the bus. Will it come? Will it pass me by because I’m in a wheelchair?
    • It’s wondering. I went to the bathroom two times before leaving the house. I still worry if I’ll have an accident while I’m out.
    • It’s walking my service dog through the mall, worrying: he hasn’t pooped yet today. Will I miss his signal? Will he have an accident indoors? What will people think?
    • It’s questioning my friendships: Do they really want to help me? Or do they pity me?
    • It’s the constant churn: Will I ever stop worrying about money? Will I ever find a job that sees me for who I am? Will they view me beyond just being “that guy in the wheelchair with the dog?”
    • And yes, weekly if not daily, it’s the gnawing fear: What if my power wheelchair breaks down? Will I be stranded? Will someone help? How will I get home?

    This is situational anxiety. It doesn’t come from nowhere it comes from real, lived experience. From systems and barriers and histories that teach disabled folks like me that help isn’t guaranteed. That our presence is often inconvenient. That our independence is fragile.

    The Weight of Situational Anxiety

    Situational anxiety is the kind that grows out of lived experience. It’s not imagined. It’s not abstract. It’s knowing your support system might not show up. It’s remembering every time it hasn’t.

    It doesn’t always manifest in panic attacks or spiraling thoughts.

    Sometimes, it’s a list of backup plans running on loop. It’s scanning for exits, double-checking elevators, hoping that someone nearby will care enough to help if something goes wrong.

    It’s the subtle, exhausting labor of planning for a world that often overlooks you.

    And still, it gets minimized.

    People hear “anxiety” and think inconvenience. Nerves. A personality quirk.
    Your basic safety or dignity depends on systems. These systems frequently fail you, creating a pressure cooker situation.

    Beyond the Filters and Feeds

    So when I hear Doechii sing:

    “It’s my anxiety / Can’t shake it off of me…”

    I don’t hear a vibe. I hear a mirror.

    And when that same song is used to make light of anxious experiences, it hurts.
    Because I know how hard it is to speak up about these things to name them.
    I know the courage it takes to share the ugly parts, the raw parts, the unphotogenic parts of mental health.

    So when a song like Anxiety is reduced to a joke or aesthetic, it’s not just careless.
    It’s a silencing act. It says: your pain is only valid if it’s entertaining. Your story only matters if it’s edited down to something easy to consume.

    We can do better than that.

    What the Song Gets Right

    Doechii sings:

    “Anxiety, keep on tryin’ me / I feel it quietly / Tryin’ to silence me.”

    Yes. That. Right there.

    Anxiety is not always loud. Sometimes it’s a hush that follows you into every room. A voice that questions every decision. A hand that rests just a little too heavy on your shoulder.

    Later, she sings:

    “I get this tightness in my chest / Like an elephant is standing on me / And I just let it take over.”

    It’s visceral. Real. A truth we don’t always see captured in public conversations about mental health—especially those involving disabled bodies and disabled minds.

    This Song Isn’t Just a Soundbite

    This post isn’t about gatekeeping art. I’m not here to tell anyone to stop using the song.

    But I am inviting us to pause. It’s about honoring the people who see themselves in it.To consider that behind the beat is a person who wrote those lyrics from a place of pain. And behind the screens watching your reels? There might be people who live those lyrics every day.

    If you’re someone who hears Doechii’s Anxiety, and you feel it in your chest instead of your content calendar, this is for you.

    Your anxiety, whether clinical or situational or both, is valid. Your fears, rooted in real-world experiences, deserve to be named without shame. You deserve space not just on the feed, but in the conversation.

    So the next time you hear that chorus play, pause for a second.
    Listen. Really listen. And if you can, hold space for those of us who can’t just shake it off.

    Because for us, Anxiety isn’t a trend. It’s the background noise of daily life. And we’re doing our best to live above the volume.

    Let’s use music as a bridge, not a punchline.

    Let’s honor art by honoring the realities it comes from.

    And let’s talk more about what anxiety really looks like.

    Because it keeps on trying us.

    And we keep on trying back.

    If you’d like to share how Anxiety by Doechii resonates with you, I’d love to hear your perspective. This could be whether it resonates the same, differently, or not at all.

  • Thoughts in the Woods

    Thoughts in the Woods

    This morning, I started to pack up my camping gear. My friends were still sleeping. I found myself pausing…grateful. I’ve been camping with this same crew of friends for almost four years now.

    From Bare Bones to Built Up

    When I started, I had nothing but a sleeping bag. And honestly? That was intentional. If I had an accident in the night, I wanted my bag to get wet. I didn’t want someone else’s borrowed gear to be affected. Everything else I used back then was borrowed.

    Fast forward to 2025, and now I’ve got a full kit of my own. I’ve grown. I’ve built something. And I’ve done it with the support of some really incredible people.

    The Kind of People You Want Around a Campfire

    You never know how folks will respond when someone needs a little extra help. It might be setting up camp or tearing it down. It could involve navigating uneven ground or just figuring out the best way to sleep without pain.

    This group?

    They’ve been nothing short of amazing. I don’t think I could ask for better camping buddies. If anything, they yell at me for not asking for more help. And every year, I get a little better at asking. I’m a Midwesterner at heart stubborn by nature. But with time, I’m learning.

    Maybe by the end of this life, I’ll ask for help without hesitation. Maybe.

    A Place for Me, A Place for Him

    They’ve also been incredible when it comes to my service dogs.

    I remember the first trip I took with Dempsey. My friends made sure I had the right setup for him. A couple of them brought their dogs too, so we had a three-way dog party around the fire. I’ll never forget that trip. It wasn’t just because the raccoons stole Dempsey’s food. It was also because my friends jumped in without missing a beat. They shared their dogs’ leftover kibble and scrambled extra eggs for breakfast so D wouldn’t go hungry.

    Surley is a bit different. I brought him last spring and it went well, even with some rain though he’s not much for storms.

    This trip, I needed some time away. He spent the weekend with the folks who helped train him to become the incredible service dog he is today. I think it was a good thing for both of us. There will be camping trips where he joins me, and others where he stays behind. But what I know for certain is: when he does come along, this crew will have my back, and his.

    Where Comfort Meets the Campground

    One of my friends, who also uses a manual wheelchair, was in the market for a tent. Naturally, I sang the praises of my Big Agnes Blacktail 3 Hotel Bikepack tent. Fancy name, but it’s been an absolute game-changer. It fits everything I need. I’ve got a picnic blanket on the floor for extra cushion and dog-paw protection. There’s a twin-sized air mattress, room for a Labrador, and my duffel bag. A vestibule comfortably stores a cooler and my chair.

    It’s basically the Cadillac of tents. Imagine if the Cadillac was waterproof and collapsible, designed by someone who truly understands functional camping for disabled folks.

    Anyway, my friend ended up buying the exact same one! Before we packed up camp this morning, I managed to snap a picture of our matching tents. I think we’re officially a tent gang now. Matching vests next?

    Tent twins, engage! Big Agnes buddies for life.

    I’m not sure how many camping trips I’ll squeeze in this year. I’d love to try a solo trip (just me, the tent, and some food), and there are friends I haven’t camped with in over a year that I’d love to reconnect with. Maybe that’ll happen. Maybe not. Life is an adventure. I’m just along for the ride, and I’m lucky to have some amazing people joining me along the way.

  • Without A Phone: A Morning, a Coffee, and a Thoughtful Disconnection

    Without A Phone: A Morning, a Coffee, and a Thoughtful Disconnection

    Author’s note: I didn’t intend to write a digital detox think piece. Sometimes remembering how much we rely on our phones only requires forgetting them.

    Yesterday I met a friend for coffee. I was so focused on making sure I had everything we needed. I didn’t even realize I left my phone at home on the charger.

    It’s the second time in less than a week I have done it.

    The funny thing is I didn’t even realize I had done it yet again. I only noticed when I was three blocks away. I got a notification on my Apple Watch. It said, “Your phone has been left behind.”

    Classic.

    For a second, I considered turning around. There was the part of me who knew if I did, we were going to be late. Also it wasn’t like I didn’t have a way to get reach emergency services should there be an emergency.

    My Apple Watch has built-in cellular service. Thanks, sister, for insisting that I get it. All I would have to do is press a button on the watch, and it would immediately call 911.

    Still, it felt weird… like I was missing a limb.

    As I walked to the train, it hit me how deeply enmeshed phones are in our lives. In 2025, they’re no longer just for calling people.

    Actually, I can’t recall when I last had a full phone conversation. It was not with a doctor’s office or customer service. These days, we text, DM, post, scroll.

    Our phones are our GPS, music libraries, cameras, credit cards, and even IDs. They’re an extension of us, but maybe too much so.

    Life Before

    I’m old enough to remember a time before the regular use of cell phones. My parents got their first one in the mid-90’s. My aunt got one too, mostly because she was caring for my grandma and needed to stay reachable. Back then, minutes were a precious commodity. You didn’t just use your phone. You rationed it.

    I didn’t get my own phone until I was graduating high school. My mom joked about calling me during graduation to make sure my diploma was legit. I have forgotten what my number was back then. It’s somewhere in the ether with my high school locker combo.

    My First “Smart” Phone

    My first smartphone was an AT&T (HTC) Tilt—Windows Mobile, baby. I think got it on sale with a two contract, mostly for the novelty of “the internet” in my pocket. The iPhone had just launched, but it wasn’t in my budget.

    Fast forward a few years, and now I’m Team Apple for life.

    Rewired Society

    Don’t get me wrong smartphones are useful. I love being capable of writing blog posts like this one on the go. I can stream music and podcasts without juggling devices. I look up trivia mid-conversation like a know-it-all wizard. It’s convenience in my pocket.

    But… they’ve also rewired us. We’re always reachable, always plugged in. Our downtime is filled with a never-ending scroll of reels, tweets, memes, and 24/7 news updates.

    I’m as guilty as anyone. Give me five minutes. I’ll lose them to Facebook stories or Instagram reels I didn’t even mean to tap on.

    A Few Stats That Might Surprise You:

    Phone use is up—way up.

    According to Pew Research Center in 2024, 98% of Americans now own a cellphone. Over 91% of teens use theirs just to pass the time.

    Smartphone “addiction” is real.

    • 57% of Americans consider themselves addicted to their phones.
    • 3 in 4 feel uncomfortable without them.
    • 1 in 6 sleep with their phones.
    • Nearly half panic when the battery drops below 20%.

    We’re glued to our screens.

    Americans check their phones 144 times per day and spend an average of 4.5 hours daily on them; that’s up over 50% from just two years ago.

    And yet, they’re our lifeline.

    From music to maps, IDs to emergency access, they’re not just helpful they’ve become essential. For better or worse.

    Freeing Feeling

    Still, something about leaving my phone behind felt… freeing.

    For once, I was here in the moment. I noticed more. The way the early sun reflected off windows as I walked towards the train. The rustle of leaves. The quiet murmur of the city on a Saturday. 

    Sure, I had a few anxious thoughts. What if there’s an emergency? What if Lassie can’t text me that Timmy fell in the well?! But the world didn’t end.

    My Apple Watch, though less feature-packed, has my back. I can still get directions to the café. I can make a quick phone call if needed I check messages from people who matter. I even pay for coffee if I really wanted to. (Though using it for payments is still more awkward than helpful for me.)

    I’m not about to go full off-the-grid minimalist. But next time I forget my phone? I just might let it be. Sometimes, it’s worth being disconnected to reconnect with the world, with others, and with yourself.

    My challenge to you

    Try it. Leave your phone at home on purpose. Just once. Feel what it’s like to not have that constant pull in your pocket. You might be surprised at what you notice. And you’ll definitely survive.

    (Lassie, I trust, will find another way to reach you.)

  • A Moment of Green: A Poem from the Loring Greenway

    There’s a stretch of the Loring Greenway that never fails to quiet the noise inside my head. Every time I walk it, I feel like I’ve stepped out of the city and into a secret world. It is a place where the air smells different. The rustle of leaves and birdsong feel like old friends.

    The photo below doesn’t quite capture the feeling (does any photo ever?), but it’s the view that inspired the poem.

    The Greenway

    The greenway is like being teleported.

    Gone are the noises of the big city.

    The scent of nature surrounds me.

    Birdsong drifts from the trees and fills me.

    Flowers bloom, green leaves rustle—

    offering warmth the concrete jungle lacks.

    It is an oasis.

    It is a respite.

    It is a calming force.

    There are times I want to stay here forever,

    to escape the world and its responsibilities.

    But for now,

    I’ll sit a moment longer,

    and simply enjoy—

    the greenway.

  • Every Day, Not Just May: A Reflection on Mental Health Awareness

    Every Day, Not Just May: A Reflection on Mental Health Awareness

    Why We Need More Than a Month

    May is Mental Health Awareness Month. It’s a time when you’ll see posts, ribbons, infographics, and campaigns reminding us to check in on ourselves and others. And don’t get me wrong—that’s important. But mental health isn’t something we should only be aware of one month a year.

    It’s something we should acknowledge, support, and talk about every single day.

    My Mental Health Journey

    Mental health struggles don’t come with a calendar notification. They don’t wait until May to make themselves known. For some of us, they’re lifelong companions—sometimes silent, sometimes loud, sometimes manageable, sometimes utterly overwhelming.

    I’ve been living with anxiety and depression for as long as I can remember. But for years, I didn’t have a name for what I was feeling. I didn’t know that the heaviness, the racing thoughts, and the sudden and intense emotional dips weren’t just “personality quirks.” They were not something to tough out. I finally received the right diagnosis when I became an adult and sought professional help. More importantly, I got the right support. Medication and counseling made a world of difference for me. But even with treatment, mental health isn’t something that just gets “fixed.” It’s something I continue to manage, day by day.

    You Can’t Always See It

    Here’s the thing: you can’t always see it.

    People with mental health challenges often look “fine” on the outside. Smiling. Working. Cracking jokes. Showing up. We become masters of masking. We hide the pain, the fear, and the spiral. Society hasn’t always been kind to people who show those things. But just because someone looks okay doesn’t mean they are.

    Some days, I genuinely feel good. I feel steady, grounded, even joyful. Other days, something as small as a smell can affect me. A song or an old photo may send me down a dark tunnel I wasn’t expecting. It can take everything I have to claw my way back out.

    Coping Isn’t Always Healthy

    And let’s talk about coping mechanisms. I joke about my “coffee addiction”—and yes, my relationship with caffeine is a little… complicated. But beyond the laughs, I’ve also had a much more serious struggle with alcohol. For a while, I used it to cope. To numb. To silence the noise. But through therapy and intentional choices, I’ve worked hard to build a healthier relationship with alcohol. (Still working on the coffee one, though. Baby steps.)

    Why I’m Sharing This

    I’m not sharing this for pity. I’m sharing this because mental health is still so misunderstood, so stigmatized, and so often invisible. I want to be part of normalizing the conversation. Because the more we talk about it, the more we make space for people to feel less alone.

    So if you’re struggling right now—silently or not—please know you’re not alone. You matter. You deserve support. And there’s absolutely no shame in seeking help.

    Mental health awareness doesn’t end when May does.

    It’s an everyday thing. Let’s keep talking.

    Mental Health Resources

    If you or someone you love is struggling with mental health, please know that help is available. You are not alone.

    Emergency Help (24/7):

    • 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline: Call or text 988 or chat at 988lifeline.org Free, confidential support for people in emotional distress or crisis.
    • Crisis Text Line: Text HELLO to 741741 Trained crisis counselors available anytime, anywhere in the U.S.
    • National Domestic Violence Hotline: Call 1-800-799-7233 or text START to 88788 thehotline.org

    Support for Specific Communities:

    Ongoing Mental Health Support: