Teen Vogue is celebrating Pride by highlighting the stories that matter to the LGBTQ community. See all our coverage here. In this op-ed, Joshua Keller described his first Pride celebration, and how Pride 2019 will be different.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I thought I was ready. I thought I was past the time when I watched Brokeback Mountain literally and figuratively in the closet. I thought I was past the time when I snuck out every night for a week to catch the midnight showing of Love, Simon. I thought I was past the time when I told my parents that the premium subscription to that app on their receipt was a joke by my friends.

View more

Capital Pride 2018 in Washington D.C. was supposed to be my coming out party. I envisioned an explosion of glitter, sparkles, and Troye Sivan music. Instead, while my friends danced with drag queens on the metro heading toward Dupont Circle, I sat in the corner of the train with my eyes fixed down in shame and my arms crossed, trying my best to hide the rainbow flag I swore I would wear so proudly. I was embarrassed by my identity in an environment designed to make me feel comfortable.

Coming out as gay was one thing, but embracing everything that comes with it was more difficult. I am a sports fanatic who spent my childhood mornings watching ESPN, and afternoons playing Call of Duty with my brother — characteristics at odds with my wrong idea that my sexuality was feminine. I thought I was not one of “those” gays, dancing in drag on the train.

The same summer that I attended my first pride, I also sat in a theatre in New York City to watch Tony Kushner’s Angels in America, a sprawling epic of the AIDS crisis. I went with my dad, who had no idea I was gay, and I had never felt more torn between two worlds in my life. The show is a complicated one to begin with, but it was particularly challenging for me because I felt like I had to calculate my reaction to every line. If I laughed too hard at the drag joke, that could give my secret away. If I seemed to get this one line about gay slang that went over my father’s head then there would be no doubt in his mind about why I begged him to take me to a show subtitled “A Gay Fantasia on National Themes.”

I ultimately realized that my father wasn’t watching me for my reaction to the show, he was too engrossed in the story itself. When I got out of my head and started to actually pay attention, I saw the story of the many gay men who, when faced with death, chose to make their lives beautiful each day. That is the story of gay history, finding love and light in times of hate and darkness. This was just a year ago, but in that time I’ve come to learn that this is what Pride is really about — not just the bright colors, loud music, and short shorts that had so worried me the year before. Those things can be, of course, part of the fun and joy of being gay. But ultimately, Pride is about celebrating the history, relationships, and community that comes with being gay.

This fall, I had my first boyfriend. We went on cheesy dates and it was marvelous. We painted a pottery crocodile, danced to "All of Me" at homecoming, and shared mango boba tea —his favorite flavor. He gave me the floating sensation of a new relationship that everyone always talked about but I never understood. He gave me the courage to come out to my family. He gave me many things I never thought I would get.

Although I still felt a twinge of shame in the relationship, checking to be sure that no one was around before I kissed him in public and never making us “Instaficcial,” I feel very fortunate to have gotten my little slice of a classic high school romance that so many gay men never experience because they don’t come out until later years.

This spring, I went to a gay club for the first time and met my idol. Maybe it was luck that brought me to Los Angeles the same night that Gus Kenworthy, Olympic medalist skier, was throwing a fundraiser for AIDS/LifeCycle. I think it was fate that made that perfect night possible. For the first time ever, I was in a completely gay space where I felt comfortable being myself. I was free to dress in as loud an outfit as I wanted, let my voice go without worrying about whether I sounded too gay or too straight, and flex my knowledge of Britney trivia.

That night was the first time I could say that I love being gay. I get to be a part of a brotherhood with its own culture, history, heroes, tragedies, and even language.

This weekend, when I go to my second Pride, I will proudly wear the flag as a map to my personal journey of acceptance and self-discovery. Red to honor the lives of those who made our pride possible. Orange and yellow for his lips, which always tasted like mangos. Green for my youth and the promise of more prides to come. Blue for the rain on that Manhattan night when I learned about our history. Purple for the West Hollywood sunset when I first found a home in the community. This pride I will proudly drape these colors around my shoulders, literally and figuratively.