By Kelsey Gledhill
You’re not really dying to push the envelope on anything when your hometown’s claim to fame is Death Row. Playing it safe becomes an unspoken motto to live life by, with a comfort zone idling somewhere between “I do” and a nine-to-five job that pays the bills. Don’t get me wrong—keeping it simple isn’t necessarily a bad thing. “It takes all kinds to make the world go ‘round”, as my dad says—even people like me.
I had a fairly traditional upbringing that erred on the side of conservative. I was the oldest of a two-child—one girl, one boy—household with loving parents that valued hard work and a “you gotta put good in to get good out” mantra. Man, if I had a nickel for every time I heard that. My mom is German and, simply put, a powerhouse of a woman. You better believe she wasn’t handing out any nickels—she was saving them—while building a business, raising kids, and being a wife. I suppose I not only get my above-average height and blue-green eyes from her, but my confidence (something that came much later in life) and humor as well. She can really light up a room. My calm and collected demeanor comes from my dad, one of the most kind-hearted and intelligent people I know. They raised us to be strong, know-right-from-wrong kind of people. Unfortunately, I would go on to spend nearly a decade secretly struggling with this ideal, questioning myself at every turn—am I doing right or doing wrong?
When you come from a conventional place dominated by conventional people, it can be hard to break the mold. It almost becomes second nature to want to graduate high school, get married (to a man), have children, vote Republican, and run to Wal-Mart. Tempting, I know. But I powered through, and when it came time for college, I happily went on my way.
My undergrad years at Texas A&M were a whirlwind of chaos, excitement, and discovery. It was a new place with new friends (some I crushed on), but the same me—shy, yet silly, and still questioning myself and what the future would hold. Although I had roots in a traditional place with traditional expectations, I craved adventure and greatness—what the hell that looked like, I had no idea. What I did know, was that I would never be satisfied with getting married at 22 and pursuing an expected career path climbing the corporate ladder—that annoyingly rung-filled thing that everyone is so eager to hike up, but in the end, are dying to slide down. I knew that would never be my path. I’m afraid of heights.
Although I had pretty much known my entire Iife that I was somewhere on the LGBTQ spectrum, I didn’t warm up to my sexuality until 23, when I made the move to Austin to pursue my master’s degree in advertising. It was probably me being a bit older, coupled with my new, eccentrically inviting surroundings that made me feel more comfortable in my own skin. Austin would go on to be a turning point for me in more ways than one. It’s where I discovered and explored my creative drive that I had unknowingly ignored for most of my childhood and teen years (mostly because home offered a more “practical” way of life). It’s also where I met a handful of unbelievably talented individuals that I’m lucky to still call friends, and for the first time, it’s where I could be open and welcomed just the way I was. My journey there led me to Los Angeles where I worked alongside other inspiring talents and learned even more about myself as a multi-faceted creative.
But it took coming to Houston for me to truly embrace my queer identity. Why, I’m not quite sure, but it’s here that I found my community—a group of movers and shakers, foodies, scholars, creatives, dreamers, and more—all representing and owning their LGBTQ identities. I had spent over 25 years living in fear of what others thought of me and struggling with how to reconcile my identity with not only my family, but myself. When I finally witnessed others accepting and living their truths—while still being functioning members of society and loving themselves—I knew I could do the same. I did do the same.
I thank my small town roots for giving me the perspective and the grit to push beyond average, past the norm, and into the realm of wonderfully surprising. My journey thus far has been nothing short of enlightening and I will only continue to learn more about myself along the way. And although I may have taken the road less traveled, that road still leads back to home, back to me—queer, resilient, and happy. It takes all kinds.
