It’s a Tuesday night (Wednesday morning). I’m watching a Netflix documentary on Tig Notaro, a comedian who has been inundated with tragedy and cosmic unfairness. I’ve got a draft message resting just out of sight.

Hi sorry I never got back to you. Are you still free tomorrow?

I could go with ‘the way you kissed my eye-area was really sweet and I can’t stop thinking about it' or ‘I’d like to see your jealousy-inducing hair again’ (yeah, I use proper punctuation over text I’m not some kind of animal. But if I were, it’d most certainly be this one.)

But none of those messages happen.

I watch Tig’s girlfriend explain how she came to terms with her feelings for another woman. There was a lot of uncertainty, but mostly she just ‘went with it’. Oh okay. Sure. Let me just follow my heart and power through my self-stigmatization. I mean honestly if I’m being rendered powerless by a blinking cursor what chance do I stand.

It’s hard being gay when you’re straight half the time.

(I think it’s reasonable to assume that at 1am a gentlemen might quote himself.)

There’s an entire dating world available to me that is socially normal. It requires no explanation to relatives or colleagues or any of the other billions of people. There’s no second glances or awkward discussion.

But the truth is, there’s no happiness with one without the other. I’ve found I won’t be able to find the sort of happiness I need until I can be completely comfortable in both pairs of shoes. So here’s to happiness. And love. And comfort. May we all find them not in the eyes of another, but in the reflections we find in those eyes.