Monday, August 16, 2010

Dear New York Post:

One doesn't "discover" that one is gay. One realizes it.

See, to discover means to encounter something that existed previously. For instance, Columbus sailed for many years across vast oceans. When his ship finally landed, he walked down the gangplank and discovered America. He didn't similarly find that he was a Boston Red Sox fan, or that he was an Amish watchmaker with fourteen wives.

When Pizarro came around the Cape of Good Hope and discovered South America, he didn't simultaneously discover that he was an avid fly-fisherman and inveterate stamp collector.

When Marie Curie discovered radium, she didn't also find an amazing flair for the chacha.

Similarly, one doesn't "discover" that they're gay. When one is unsure of their sexuality, they don't have a tiny Alan Cumming living in their head, unrecognized. They don't come home early one day and find themselves masturbating to a photo of Justin Bieber. They don't accidentally stumble upon salacious emails they've sent to Alec Baldwin.

No, one realizes it. It's a slow process. It's like churning butter: you start with something undefined and fluid, and before you know it everybody wants you to make sandwiches.

Hope this helps,

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