I am a trans elder.
There, I said it.
For perhaps the first time in my life, I am fully embracing and owning that fact.
Initially, I struggled to write a message of hope for Pride Month this year. It is hard to find the right words when we are constantly inundated with hateful misinformation and disinformation from those who seek nothing less than the total eradication of the transgender community.
There is an active, coordinated effort to completely erase our existence from the history of the United States and the world.
Living on the tip of the culture war spear is exhausting, and, I might add, something we never asked for (but I digress). So, finding hope in the current landscape can feel nearly impossible. Our community is embattled at every level of government and in every corner of society—not just here in the U.S., but across the globe.
So, where do we find the hope?
I recently caught up with my dear friend and trans icon, Jamison Green, PhD . As we chatted about our lives, our loved ones, and how we are holding up in today’s hostile environment, our conversation turned to legacy. We talked about how we, as elders, are being seen and heard by the younger generations of trans men and trans women.
While most of our interactions have been deeply positive, James shared a troubling trend. A small minority of the younger generation seems to have little to no regard for hearing our stories of becoming our true selves. The dismissals usually sound something like this:
● “You’re irrelevant.”
“That was so long ago, things have changed.”
● “That just doesn’t apply to me and my generation.”
With everything happening to our community right now, there is simply no room for that brand of dismissiveness.
The Connective Tissue Across Generations
I fully recognize that our specific circumstances are different. The world was a completely different place when I came out in 2004, just as it was a different place when James came out in 1988. But different circumstances do not make histories irrelevant.
As James beautifully put it: “Our history is now more important than ever.” Another close friend once reminded me: “We are our history.” We cannot afford to lose sight of that.
If we want to find hope this Pride and beyond, the times call on us, as trans and queer people, to focus entirely on what we have in common. We share powerful, universal experiences that transcend time:
● The Moment of Truth: That profound second where we said to ourselves—and to anyone who could hear us—”This IS who I am. I am no longer going to hide my authentic self from the world.”
Or, as Anai Nin so eloquently put it, “And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”
● The Daily Practice: The universal notion of “living into yourself” each and every day – in ways that no one else can see.
● The Shared Core: The resilience and fortitude we develop as we walk this path.
This resilience is the connective tissue that spans generations. It is what binds us together as ONE community at a time when unity is our best defense.
The Road Ahead: Buckle Up
We need this unity immediately. The mid-term elections are a mere five months away. Do you think for a second that the despicable rhetoric surrounding the transgender community is going to lessen?
To that, I say: “Buckle up. You ain’t seen nothing yet!”
True hope requires us to create space to learn from one another. Elders must listen to the unique challenges of today’s youth, and the youth must anchor themselves in the roots of those who cleared the path.
This June, let’s reject the generational divide. Let’s protect our collective narrative, honor our survivors, and remember that our visibility is our power.
We. Are. Our. History.
Let’s own it, let’s protect it, write the next chapter of it, and march forward—together.
Happy Pride Everyone!!!
As I marched with my church community in the Palm Springs Pride Parade this past Sunday, the air was electric with a kind of communal joy—a vibrant, overwhelming affirmation of love and selfhood. Amidst the music and cheering, my small act was simple: handing miniature Progress Pride flags to the children lining the route. Each time, the interaction followed the same beautiful, hopeful script.
A child would take the flag, offer a polite “thank you,” and then, almost instantly, their eyes would land on my t-shirt. With zero hesitation, they would declare, “I like your shirt!”
The shirt’s message was not subtle, yet it was profound in its clarity: “Trans Rights Are Human Rights.” To an adult, this phrase is a battle cry, a political statement, a subject of endless, often exhausting, debate. But to these young minds, the message was something else entirely. It was an immediate, unfiltered yes. It was a recognition, a simple equation where the variables—trans people and human rights—equaled one obvious, undeniable truth. That unburdened clarity, offered by a generation not yet steeped in social division or political cynicism, was a profound and unexpected gift.
This gift of hope is especially vital now, as we pivot from the celebratory atmosphere of Pride to the solemn and reflective period of Transgender Awareness Week, culminating in the Transgender Day of Remembrance (TDOR). This week is heavy. It forces us to confront the relentless policy attacks, the systemic discrimination, and the heartbreaking violence that results in lives cut short. TDOR is a necessary, painful ritual of grieving for those we have lost—a catalog of names that should not be a list of martyrs, but rather a list of people who deserved to live fully and fearlessly.
The solemnity of TDOR and the violence it commemorates can feel overwhelming, threatening to drown out the joy I experienced on the street in downtown Palm Springs. Yet, the hope gifted by those children is not naive; it is essential fuel. The spontaneous “I like your shirt!” is a living promise that the future is already wired differently. When a child instinctively affirms that Trans Rights Are Human Rights, they are rejecting the very prejudices that cost lives.
Our act of remembrance, therefore, is not merely about mourning the past; it is about keeping a solemn promise to the future. It is a vow to build the world that those we lost deserved—a world where the dignity and inherent worth of every transgender person is recognized not as a political victory, but as a given fact of existence. The children, with their immediate acceptance, show us that this basic human understanding is achievable. They remind us that the heart’s instinct is acceptance, and it is the responsibility of this generation to clear the noise and politics so that instinct can prevail. The fight for rights is necessary, but the foundational hope is already secured in the hearts of the youngest among us.
Instead of dwelling on the “why” of our current moment, this Pride Month, I’m compelled to share a different perspective. The recent No Kings protests powerfully illustrated the transformative force of showing up, of pure visibility.
As attacks on my community—the transgender community—intensify with each passing day under this utterly horrific administration, the most immediate and impactful response is to embrace visibility. I understand that for some, location dictates risk, and I would never suggest putting yourself or your family in harm’s way. That remains a deeply personal decision. Yet, for me, being “out” amidst relentless assaults on my very right to exist feels like the only choice.
It was this conviction that led me to write Reflections From Both Sides of the Glass Ceiling during the pandemic. While some of you may know of it, I suspect most don’t. But writing a book is, undeniably, an act of visibility. And the story within—my journey of finding my true self in Corporate America—resonates even more powerfully today than when I first penned it.
This isn’t just my story; it’s a testament to the enduring strength and resilience of the human spirit. If you believe in the power of showing up, of being seen, and of meeting the moment with authenticity, this book will speak to you.
While I can’t physically march with each of you this Pride Month, I can offer something equally vital: my story. It’s a beacon of hope, designed to nourish and strengthen your spirit for the journey ahead.
Stand in solidarity. Embrace your power. Happy Pride!
In the spirit of Transgender Awareness Week, I thought it appropriate to share this piece, which was featured in the latest issue of DAPHealth Magazine. My heartfelt thanks go out to Daniel Vaillancourt and the entire team at DAPHealth and Stonewall Medical Center for including me and my amazing son Andrew, who has walked with me on just about every step of my journey to my authentic self.
You might have noticed (probably not, actually . . .) that I have been off of LinkedIn since July for some much-needed R&R and overdue self-care. While I fully realize that the beat definitely goes on with respect to all of the utter nonsense directed at the transgender community and the LGBTQ+ community more broadly, after some serious soul-searching and concern for my overall state of mind, I made the decision to completely disconnect. Not forever, mind you (I’m not quite ready for that!), but temporarily so that I could push the proverbial reset button on my psyche and come back stronger for what I am sure will be an epic onslaught of hate-filled and misinformed diatribe as the 2024 presidential election cycle heats up.
For the better part of two months, my wife Mari and I stumbled through Europe – mostly at sea on the cruise ships we were on – but also by air and train. We were fortunate to visit places like Norway (and cross the Arctic Circle to North Cape – the northernmost point in Europe, the British Isles, Spain, France, Italy, Greece, and Malta (just a few weeks before they hosted EuroPride). And we even made it to Paris for a few days, as we made our way back from the Mediterranean to Amsterdam, where our ship took us to the utterly amazing and totally breathtaking landscapes of Iceland, Greenland, Newfoundland, and Nova Scotia. Fjords, waterfalls, glaciers, the Midnight Sun, and yes, even the Northern Lights! Without a doubt, it was, and will always be, a trip of a lifetime.
But an interesting, and I’ll admit unexpected, thing happened at virtually every stop – Pride was everywhere. Fully inclusive Pride flags and trans flags seemed to show up at every turn of our journey. While in Belfast we missed their Pride celebration by a day. But luckily, we were scheduled to be in Liverpool the next day, so a quick Google search revealed that we would be there for their Pride celebration. And it was wonderful! Standing along the parade route and cheering support for not only our trans siblings but for everyone marching in solidarity with the LGBTQ+ community – and there were many – was truly a magical moment for us both.
While our Liverpool experience will always be the highlight, we encountered bold symbols of inclusion in places like Stavanger, Norway and Ísafjörður, Iceland; St. John’s, Newfoundland and Sydney, Nova Scotia. And throughout central Europe in Valetta, Malta, and in Paris too.
And it all gave me hope. Hope that perhaps the world wasn’t spiraling down into a cesspool of hate and derision. Hope that maybe, just maybe, there was enough compassion, humanity, and grace left on this earth to bend the narrative to truth and love for ALL of our fellow human beings. As I have been told by more than one person in my lifetime so far: I hope well.
As an openly LGBTQ+ American traveling overseas I will admit to feeling more than a bit embarrassed by the clown show that is our political landscape. It followed us everywhere it seemed, as a number of the Europeans we met all wanted to talk to us about that. Especially in Italy, where things have gotten very bad under their neo-fascist prime minister, Giorgia Meloni. Our guide in Livorno spoke to us practically in tears about how her gay brother had to move to the U.K. because he feared for his safety. And apparently, he was not at all alone in his need to flee.
Now that I’m home, and slowly re-engaging, I see quite clearly that the myriad voices in our movement remain strong and vibrant. Their calls for justice and decency are emphatic and unequivocal: we will win and we will not be erased. I remain hopeful that these voices will never be silenced. I forever stand in solidarity with them, and it is an honor and a privilege to be counted among them. As I reflect on my place in all of it, I count my blessings every single day for the continuing journey that is my life.