I'm not a big fan of recent buzzwords such as "trauma" and "closure." I dunno, it just seems like they're so much pop-psycho-babble that have been used so much as to become annoying. Those words have, however, seemed appropriate for how I've been feeling the last couple of weeks. Allow me to explain. I turned 50 on December 27th. It was a great birthday -- probably my favorite -- and has left me feeling all sorts of positive emotions in its wake. One aspect of it did, however, send me on a particularly deep emotional journey, one which I've oddly found to be quite healing. Where to begin? I've been thinking about this a lot, and don't really know the best way to frame it, or how to begin describing it, so... here we go.
A few years ago I was walking around the St. Louis Galleria during June. It was Pride Month and, as I made my way past the mall stores, noting how so many of them had pride flags in their windows, I became a tad misty-eyed marveling at how far we'd come. I couldn't help but think of younger Matt, back in the 1990s, who was terrified at the prospect of coming out, and wondered how much stronger he would have felt if he'd been able to see pride flags displayed at public places. A gay friend I was with at the Galleria (and, honestly, I can't remember who it was now) scoffed at the displays, and his reaction caught me off guard. He bitterly remarked that it was just some hollow corporate show, put on because being gay was in vogue. I didn't really understand that because my mind was still cast back decades earlier to when seeing such an exhibition -- hollow or not -- just wouldn't have computed for me. I responded to the friend with something like, "Well, I sti...