Stuck Between Harvey and a Hard Place

Shawn T. Meade II
Aug 25, 2017 · 6 min read

Following the advice of a friend, I rearranged my morning routine from the past week, worked out before 9:00 am, collected my things and took myself downtown to write in a different scenery. “Let’s see what changes,” I thought to myself. I toyed around with a few themes for what I wanted to write today, but as is a theme in itself, the universe offered me something else to discuss. Austin is really an incredible city. Not because it’s the hippie Mecca, or because of the food scene, or even because the weather, while not Southern California, is palatable 9–10 months out of the year. ATX is incredible just because of the melting pot of people that it has within it’s borders.

The aforementioned hippies are what outside people think Austin is all about, and even though they make jeans and flip flops seem like professionally casual attire, they’re not even all that’s here. We’ve got techies and nerds, college students and thought leaders, God-fearing Texas Republicans, a surprising number of Desi people (anyone from the Indian Subcontinent), Californian vegans, New York transplants, and even a few Canadians. Austin attracted people like Aasim and I, and after more than two years, we’re both still trying to figure out what really brought us here, and for that matter, what’s keeping us here. (More on that another time though…).

What always ceases to amaze me about this city, apart from its melting pot-ness is the friendliness strangers exhibit one another. That’s certainly not exclusive to this town, nor even this wider geographic area, but from the perspective of a longtime East Coaster, warm, genuine smiles and friendly banter at Starbucks are still hard to get used to. Today, walking into a Starbucks to write before a lunch date (don’t judge me for not buying local, their WiFi never fails, venues are always clean, and they always seem to be on a corner with a great view), there was a dude outside playing a guitar — Austin, man — in a sleeveless vest and a matching fedora. He was playing tunes for people passing by and singing them a request for a sandwich. Part of me was like, bro that’s bold, and another part of me was like, creative and so worth a reward. When I came out of the restroom and lined up to order, there was a couple standing at the register with Mr. Guitar Man, having just ordered him a sandwich. Once he got his order, the couple shook his hand, and walked out. They didn’t order anything. I was amazed, sadly, because the world just sucks too much. Sometimes though, you get a pleasant Friday surprise from your fellow man and the sun seems to shine just a little brighter!

Despite this random act of kindness at Starbucks today, my husband and I have been feeling some kinda way about living in Texas, even in Austin. Ever since last fall, we’ve been walking the streets with a little less bounce in our step, and have put ourselves out there fewer nights than we used to. (If you have to ask why, then either A) we don’t talk enough or B) you’ve literally been under a rock for the last year). The sting of world events isn’t as rough as it was and we are going on about our lives more and more smoothly as the days go on; but the question always enters my mind, would the produce lady at HEB still smile and ask me about my day if she knew I was married to a brown guy? Or would the guy cutting my hair be less free with his banter if he knew my wedding ring was given to me by a “husband” and not a “wife”? I’d like to think not, and most times I don’t, but there’s always the question — especially in Tejas. I don’t deliberately hide my life from the world around me (obviously not!) but, there’s an extra step of self-preservation and precaution that I didn’t usually take before November 2016.

Doom and gloom aside, my new more advanced self-preservation has gotten me reflexively thinking the worst — and I don’t like it. We in Texas are about to get pummeled by Hurricane Harvey (I’ll live tweet the whole affair so follow me: @shawnthesecond). As a result, the Austin Pride Festival, which is always held late in the summer and a great way to close out the season in ATX, was postponed — it was originally scheduled for tomorrow evening. In their announcement post, Austin Pride said that despite other rescheduled dates swirling the Internet right now, no official date has been set and they’re “working with the City of Austin” to reschedule. (This city puts out pride flags all along Congress Avenue, and most local businesses downtown fly LGBT pride bunting well in advance as well). A small pessimistic part of me, the part I like to ignore most days, instantly thought, that’s a nice way of saying the city is jerking them around. Immediate fears that followed were ones that centered on continued delays until it became too rainy to hold, then too close to ACL (in October), then forgotten altogether. Thus silencing a very out-spoken vibrant LGBT, and allied, community. Gregg Abbott and Dan Patrick would be so happy!

The more rational side of me quickly came back around to temper the emotional flames I was letting fly on my car ride to Starbucks this afternoon, and I don’t really think that would happen. But, guys, this is Texas. Only until a few weeks ago, there was a anti-trans bathroom bill akin to North Carolina’s HB-2; and it only died quietly outside of the MSM for the most part because Trump did/said some new crazy shit… So a little pessimistic realism stays in my brain even after I calm myself down and say, “Everything’ll be alright”. Because in the end, it will. If we get all Handmaid’s Tale out here, Aasim and I are on the first plane/train/pack mule back east at the first “Under his eye”. So, yes, everything will be alright. But, doesn’t it suck that that’s something we even have to consider? Not for the first time, I’m recognizing that this is what minorities have had to deal since, like, forever. My luck rests in the fact that I can hide behind the privilege I was born with; so long as I don’t tell people I’m gay as they come, I’m straight (pun only sort of intended).

It’s silly of me to blame a hurricane for bringing this to the forefront of my mind, but screw you, Harvey! Thanks for making me think on this moderately windy, slightly overcast, but very Austin Friday. But at the same time, really thanks. Part of staying woke is not letting privilege blind you into ignorance. #StayWoke. In spite of what I’ve just talked about today, I’m still very happy with my life. My new family, however small, is financially comfortable, free from disease, and surrounded by love. Aasim and I are taking back our physical healthy from the evil charm of tacos, craft brews, and Hot Cheetos. We’re even talking about adding chillums to our family — down the road, Mom, so don’t pick out granddaughter names just yet. We’re good, aware of our environment, but good; even if not so free as the homeless singers on 3rd Street. (Mr. Guitar Man just pawned a cigarette off a passerby with his melodies). I intend on remaining at least 87% optimistic for the return of saner society in the coming months/years, an 87 is still a B+ and, girl, B’s get degrees. (So do C’s but I can’t admit that I got many of them…). I’m sorry if this was a little too heavy for your Friday, but take it as a friendly reminder as you sip your Starbucks cold brew that the world is totally fucked sometimes, but people surprise you and kindness exists in the age of Trump. I have to keep telling that to myself if I’m going to last another year in ATX.

Postscript is almost always ignored, but if you read this one, do like Ellen tries to implore us and be kind to one another. Love is stronger than hate, and one day people in general will get that. ❤

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Shawn T. Meade II

Written by

Everyday, I scramble my brain and make thought omelettes. High heat, vigorous whipping, a little seasoning. Introspection is served!

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