2 min

This isn’t the end

I have come to realize that a sense of gay community does exist

Now is the time for great realizations and a solid, unambiguous conclusion. As if.

This being my final entry, I am obliged to share the wisdom I have gained on the third anniversary of having removed my head from my ass.
What did I see? What did I learn? 
Many an entry ago, I wanted to find out for myself whether a gay community exists and, if so, how to find my place in it and lead the gayest life possible.
I had been living as a hermit for so long, avoiding social settings in favour of my own terrible isolated paradise, that I lost sense of myself.
While I had all the time in the world to entertain my many and varied introspective whims and live safely inside my own head, I forgot what it was I had to offer the world and what it had to offer me.
I needed to re-establish some camaraderie with my brethren. Thus, I chose to crawl out of my hole and see what I was missing.
I recently asked a new friend of mine where he thinks I fit in. We both connected over a common sentiment that neither us know exactly where we fit in the gay scene. From what I’ve gathered, few of us think we fit in. Could our sense of disconnect work to connect us all?
I have wondered often in the last three years if the “gay community” to which some people refer actually exists. I have come to realize that a sense of gay community does exist and not only in the Lower Mainland. It just isn’t something you can necessarily put your finger on.
I have come to feel a kind of kinship with my brothers and sisters out of common experiences, a vibrant culture and a shared history. 
Does that mean a group of a hundred gays, lesbians, bisexuals and transgendered people greets me at the door with a rainbow of helium balloons when I walk out of my house every morning? No.
Do I stroll down Davie St whistling a jaunty tune and saying howdy to everyone I pass? No.
However, I can’t shake this feeling that we are nonetheless connected in some way. 
Has this transformed me into a marauding socialite? Hardly. It physically hurts to be awake past one in the morning and, frankly, there is only so much social interaction I can take. 
But I’m fine with that.
While I envy those whose dance cards are always full, I think there is something to be said for spending quality time with yourself. I have taken the pressure off. I may not always want to engage with it, but at least now I know a little bit more about my world.
I am a gay man. I am Trevor Nutley. I’m glad I’ve had the chance to get to know my city and my community a little better and form some friendships in the process. 
Films and television series often conclude with some form of resolution (except those damned art-house flicks). The cast huddles together all teary-eyed before they go their separate ways, long-lost husbands return home to their significant others, the bad guys have their bad asses blown to smithereens in time for the good guys to light a stogie before the credits roll.
I have no such ending to offer. In truth, I think I have only just begun.