Sitting here in a hotel in Berkeley, I am reminded of the place this city has in our history. How people across the decades have protested, spoken out and changed their world by their words. And I wonder, what power do my own words have here. Do I embrace the luxury of free speech this country affords me? Do I use my words to make a difference? Or perhaps I have taken this right so much for granted that I have given up my own voice in exchange for complacency.
Whatever the reality, it ends now. I hereby make a promise to myself that I will no longer give up my voice, not to a culture that does not embrace my differences, not to men who would prefer that I fit some pre-determined mold, not to a church who has not yet reached out beyond the labels that feel comfortable. My voice is my own, and, frankly, may be the only thing left to my name in the end of this game called life. My words may be my legacy, and so it begins.
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