I feel overwhelmed, for sure, but not because there’s too much to choose from. I feel overwhelmed by opening my closet and seeing clothes I can’t even remember wanting. I feel overwhelmed when I run my hand over the soft silk of my dresses and wonder whether I should donate them, or keep them just in case I one day change again. I am overwhelmed by the pervasive sense of in-betweenness I feel — not yet ready to let go, unsure how to move forward.

The truth is that, for me, coming out was easy. I sent texts to my friends, emailed my brothers, and called my parents. Nobody was mad, or even very alarmed; everyone was proud, and happy for me. Somewhat to my reality-show-loving disappointment, nobody cried. I didn’t — technically — lose anything. I was happy too, and relieved, and still am. But enough time has gone by that the post-revelatory euphoria has faded, and so (at least, I think) has most people’s curiosity and interest in talking about this identity shift of mine. I’d rather my sexuality be no big deal than a huge one, but I also don’t exactly want it to be no size of deal at all.

After a lifetime of feeling left out of my friends’ dating conversations by my perpetual singleness, I’d looked forward to getting all caught up and included once I got into a relationship of my own. But I’ll never be caught up. I’ll never have experienced teenage love, and I’ll never have had the kind of sexy early-twenties hijinks so many of my friends have. I’m in my first relationship at 29, and I’m dating a woman, and almost all my friends are straight, and it’s not completely different, but it’s different enough. I’ve talked about guys with my friends all my life, but I just waived the extremely small amount of street cred I had. And the queer friends I’ve made have all been out much longer than I have, and around them, I don’t feel gay enough. I’m suddenly underqualified for everything.

So I feel adrift. Like everybody else, I am convinced I am singularly, hopelessly, particularly alone in my circumstances. There’s not a lot to do about it apart from, I guess, continuing to allow time to pass. I hope to eventually lose interest in my own queerness in favor of something else, like, I don’t know, artisanal bread baking. But for now, it is still fresh, and I am not yet comfortable.