Define Me in the Moment

by Mary Richardson

Looking at my short twenty-six years on this earth, the outside observer would undoubtedly pick the huge catastrophic life events as my defining moments.

The number one contender would be the sudden death of my father when I was twenty. While his passing did teach me a great deal about the impulsive, harsh realities of life, I do not consider it a defining moment. In the end, I became a better, stronger individual but it was not an event that clearly marked out who I am or even why I am.

Death blurs the lines for me, and often causes a tailspin-of-chaos effect. My emotions and choices in that period of my life were not important because I was not an active participant in reality. Mourning made me retreat from everything I loved, so much so that I couldn't even write. Writing has been my passion since second grade, when I wrote my first short story, but at that time it abandoned me. Or maybe I gave up on it, as I could not see the point to life. It was a passive time in my life for creativity as well as for more decisive action.

The next significant event an observer would fish out from the lottery of dramatic happenings in my life would be the coming-out day. Between the media and my friends, I have heard some traumatic coming-out stories. The fact that I grew up in the conservative, religious South instilled in me a fear beyond belief that I was going to be kicked out and cut off from my family. Often in the gay subculture, coming out of the closet is seen as finally standing on your own two feet to be the person who you really are, even if it means your family hates you. I found this not to be true at all. I have always had a strong personality, even as a toddler, so the independence issue wasn't a big deal for me. I was more worried about the acceptance part, since my mom and I are close (like Gilmore girls close).

I planned to drop the bomb when I went home for a visit from college and I was all worked up and nervous about it. Of course, I expected the worst, having heard too many of my friends' tragic stories. My mom just looked at me from across the breakfast table and said, "Yeah, I know. It doesn't matter because you're still my little girl. Being a lesbian doesn't change who you are." Then she went back to eating, and we talked about something else.

My mom's reaction really took the wind out of my sails, as I had been preparing to be the black sheep of the family, learning how to make it out in the lonely world on my own. I know it sounds crazy but sometimes I still feel a little cheated because my coming-out story is so uneventful, and uneventful does not a defining moment make.

Looking back on my own experiences, the one thing that sticks out in my maze of a mind as a defining moment would be getting on a plane a year-and-a-half ago to come back to Georgia.

I had decided that my graduation present to myself would be to take the money I had inherited from my grandmother and spend my last college semester studying at Oxford University in England. I opted for the summer semester, as it was both cheaper and warmer. I spent two months having the time of my life in a foreign country realizing that I could get in and out of fixes all by myself.

Like I said before, I have always been of a strong and independent nature, but my family was usually close at hand during my college career, and they provided a safety net even though I never really needed one. Over on the other side of the pond it was just me. I had let my mom rely heavily on me after my father's passing, which was stressful for me at times since I was so young. When I was in England, no one was relying on me for the first time in four years. I could do exactly what I wanted when I wanted. I had achieved ultimate freedom. All the other kids called home on a regular basis, even the frat boys (although I suspect they just wanted their parents to put more money in their accounts). Not me. Occasionally, I would drop my mom and brother an email, but that was about it. I was too busy stretching my limbs in the sun of a foreign land, finally being me.

The morning I was to board the plane home with my compatriots I hesitated, looking down the long tunnel connecting the departure gate to the airplane. What was I going back to? Mundane monotony? Would I forgo my goals for my family responsibilities? Would I be like so many people I knew, and settle for less after graduation? The flight response was strong in me at that moment. I could stay in England, or even travel all over Europe taking odd jobs while breaking visa laws. The bohemian lifestyle had never looked better.

Ultimately, however, resolution washed over me and I boarded the plane. I came back to America with a vengence, to the point where I told my family to get used to me not being around as much. I have graduate school to go to, and while I may not leave the South I will leave the state. Over the past year-and-a-half my life has been different--I spent the majority of it soul-searching, discovering what I want to do with my life as well what I want out of it all. I resolved not to settle for less and always to be free, even if that means just jetting off for a weekend. The time since my return home has taught me that my freedom is not physical, but a state of mind, and I love that. When I took my seat on that plane I came back to America with all the excess cut away. I came back home as me.