12.15.16 Editor’s Desk

It’s a hazy shade of winter as we approach the last red “X,” the last box of chance on the calendar, the last few weeks of what we’ve loving deemed “The Worst Year Ever.”

Though, as those who enjoy entertaining ideas and whirligigs alike on back porches of good fortune and good drinks, 2016 has been far from the panacea we would have all hoped for. This has been an obstacle course wrapped around a flaming memorial, a loop of freedom and credence tied up around a window-bound stone of terror. We’ve got to get out of this place.

On December 12, the six-month anniversary of the Pulse massacre, I stood there at Pulse, there, inside the decorated gates, there at the foot of 49 devotional candles for those 49 lost almost six months ago to the moment, and I said nothing. I listened, I was made wet by tears of friends, I was held, I tried to carry as much love as this cavern that is my ribcage could bear, and to do so in a public situation without distracting from the weight of the horror. Pulse owner Barbara Poma put her hand in mine and said some things that I can’t remember (they were obviously of an inspirational nature); I listened as the Orlando Gay Chorus tried to bring hymns to all of the hims and hers who were lost or wounded on that dreadful Saturday summer night; I hugged Orange County Mayor Teresa Jacobs (someone with whom I have sparred for years); and I watched the sadness and exhaustion on Orlando Commissioner Patty Sheehan’s face as she was forced, once again, in front of cameras and audiences. We’ve made history. It’s just not the history we wanted. No, not at all.

So I thought for a while, meandering between candle flames and cooler nighttime breezes, about what this area – what all of Florida and all of its residents – mean to me. The hashtags still hang on bracelets and flags throughout the area – “#OneOrlando,” “#OrlandoStrong” – among them. The simple kindnesses of families with rainbows displayed wherever possible still keeping these voices alive, all of it was almost to much to witness. But I did. And we must. And I don’t forget. And I hope you won’t either.

Former Miss America Ericka Dunlap sidled up next to me after her short a cappella visit to Whitney Houston’s now-coopted “I Wanna Dance with Somebody,” and whispered in my ear, “We really need to find our way up and out of this. We can’t be held down.”

She’s right. But when exactly is the time that we come back up, that we breathe, that we hold this to be our new normal, our new horizon, and we walk horizontally again, without our shoulders bent toward the sewers? Maybe the New Year is key. Maybe the warmth of family in Florida over the holidays can help to reset bedraggled imaginations. There hasn’t been one night since June 12 – or, for personal reasons, April 8, 2012 – that I haven’t dreamed of violence. I know I’m not alone in this. None of us here are.

However, that’s not my job. My job is to help tell the stories of people who are making a difference, to work with the Watermark team to create our new normal. Every time I sit down to write this Editor’s Desk column, I feel like I’m preaching some soft-rock version of survival, and that’s not how it should be. We have plenty to celebrate in our efforts to change hearts and minds; there are just still some lingering clouds, broken hearts wounded legs and bullets in chests to deal with. And as much as I’d be happy to join a chorus of holiday cheer – seriously, though, is “Silent Night” a cheerful song? – I’m still at that bizarre crossroads of spectacle, fear and sadness. I think a lot of us are.

So what we’re going to do this week is put some of that to bed, at least for a little while. We’re doing the old Band-Aid rip and screaming “The Worst Year Ever” at anyone who is unfortunate enough to approach us. Sure, we’ll laugh after. But that’s the point.

We’re facing down a lot of obstacles this year – some related to the Pulse incident, some related to our friends and allies – and we really haven’t any more time to stand frozen like the character in Edvard Munch’s “The Scream.” We have to be active by March in order to make our state government know that we are not beaten down, we are not drowning in our tears. We need to make noise. And while some of it may be joyful in light of our yuletide gaiety, do not underestimate your LGBTQ community or its allies.

Happy holidays from all of us at Watermark. This is our new beginning.