WHAT IS PRIDE?
Pride is the antidote to shame.
It’s the voice that rises after years of silence.
The hand extended when you thought no one would reach for you.
The light that breaks through isolation, loneliness, and the feeling that you’re the only one in the world who was born this way.
Pride is connection.
It’s joy.
It’s radiant, defiant love.
It’s being seen, known, and embraced—not in spite of who you are, but because of it.
And if you’re lucky, you just might get to share that joy with family, friends, faith, and community. I know I’m one of the lucky ones.
I can’t speak for everyone, but I can speak as a man who walked much of his life trying to meet the expectations of others—never giving himself permission to even ask who I was: an AESTHETE drawn to internal and external beauty regardless of gender.
And maybe that’s why at Pride you’ll see joy expressed freely. Because for too long, many of us lived in fear, carrying the weight of a world that refused to see us. That kind of freedom isn’t just celebration, it’s healing.
I’ve only been out for three years, but here’s what I’ve learned:
To celebrate Pride is to say: I’m still here.
It means I get to be alive, loved, and real, to cherish the twenty plus years of marriage to an amazing woman who I created beautiful children with, but also now standing beside a man who’s only ever known the complete me, and before a God who I’m certain makes no mistakes.
But I don’t celebrate just for me or my journey.
I celebrate for everyone who never made it out.
For those shunned by a family member, erased by certain churches, abandoned by some communities.
For those who ended their lives because the pain was too great.
For those who died of AIDS while the world looked away.
For leaders like County Supervisor Harvey Milk, who stood tall in spite of terrible opposition for basic dignity and equality for all people.
I celebrate for them, and for everyone still afraid to speak their truth.
I celebrate for anyone being told they don’t matter. That their love is wrong. That their marriage, their family, or even their existence is up for debate.
Because who we love is no more a changeable choice than the color of our skin, and the right to live and love freely should never be conditional.
Pride in 2025 feels complicated.
But for most of us, it’s not about politics. It’s not about headlines or hashtags.
It’s about the right to exist as yourself,
It’s about dignity.
It’s about the quiet courage of ordinary people who are just trying to pay the bills, raise their kids, and live with integrity.
So this week, I celebrate Pride as a human bridge between the faith community and the queer community, and people from all backgrounds.
I celebrate while still finding my place—and lifting up the movement that’s always been about one simple truth:
The right to love and be loved, just as we were made to.
Happy Pride, Colorado.
And if you’re struggling, please don’t do it alone.
Call or text 988. Help is real, free, and confidential.
You are not broken.
You are not alone.
You are worthy of love—just as you are.