Today I wore a shirt.
Today I wore a shirt I bought two months ago and have been scared to wear.
I’ve been scared in part because I feel it is a cop-out. There are so many things to do more useful than wearing a fucking sentence on my fucking boobs.
But the reality is, I’m limited. I’m limited in time, in money, in energy. There is only so much I can do. One thing I can do? Wear a fucking shirt.
I’ll admit it. I wore a long cardigan over it. I could wrap myself up if I felt I was too public; in too confrontational a situation.
But as the day wore on, I felt better. I felt less confrontational. Less public.
I wore it in my business. Where I can legally ask someone to leave. I wore it to my “office job”. Where I was pretty sure I’d encounter 0 co-workers on a Saturday. I wore it to the grocery store.
Man, that was hard. But I’m going to guess 0.00% as hard as it would be for the people I’m fighting for to enter that grocery store.
I came home to find this.
A reminder of why I do this. Wear the shirt. March the march.
I am kind.
I want others to be so.
Wear the fucking shirt. Wear the pin. Shake your head disapprovingly when someone is bigoted.
Do what you CAN do.