It’s 1996, I’m 17. I’m awkward and uncomfortable. I’ve just learned how to tightly wrap an ace bandage around my chest. I’m wearing too many layers to survive in the Florida heat. I don’t have words for what I am. I feel very alone. In my Walkman, I have the mixtape I made on my home stereo. I sit with my knees on the brown plastic seat in front of me on the school bus, the wavy pattern of the seat has imprinted on the skin of my shins, which are sticky with sweat. I stare out the window. Every day I hear this favorite line by Ani DiFranco:

somebody do something
anything soon
i know i can’t be the only
whatever-i-am in the room
so why am i so lonely?
why am i so tired?
i need backup
i need company
i need to be inspired

It’s 2026, I’m 47. I’m wearing a hat to protect my balding head from the sun. My beard is filled with grey. I have many words for what I am: dad, husband, faith leader, queer activist, trans man. I’m sitting outside, at a picnic table, at the Avila Center for Community Leadership in Durham, North Carolina. Ani Difranco just popped up on my randomly-shuffled playlist. I momentarily find myself back to those fragile, precious, and painful days of being the only whatever-I-am. Despite my new reading glasses, the screen has gotten blurry, as my feelings well up.

I take my earbuds out, encountering the sounds of bugs and birds. Occasionally, these nature sounds are drowned out by laughter and joyful shouts of trans and queer activists and faith leaders. I am writing this while attending the annual Trans Faith and Action Network retreat, by the Freedom Center for Social Justice. I find myself ushered into a moment of mindfulness, aware of the uncompromising beauty of this moment.

At this retreat, we are not all the same, but we have a shared purpose of elevating trans joy. 30 years ago, I could barely imagine my own survival, so the very concept of trans joy would have felt like an impossible luxury.

In this space, we do not have to explain ourselves. We do not have to justify our pronouns or identities. We don’t need to argue that we are welcome. What an incredible blessing it is to just exist in community with others. What an unmistakable miracle it is to be accepted and understood.

I am here with the Trans Religious Leadership Cohort, a collaborative program with CLGS, the Freedom Center, and the National LGBTQ Task Force. Every academic year we gather a small group of trans and nonbinary students who are training for religious leadership and create a year-long cohort experience, in which we explore theology, identity, activism, and community. I have been honored to be on the faculty of this program since the beginning, and now I am here at the first gathering of our 14th Cohort. The academic year ahead is filled with possibility.

As my beloved Ani DiFranco song instructed, “somebody do something.” Again and again, we do something. Again and again, we affirm for one another that we are not alone, that each of us is not the only one. I didn’t know that this was what I was wishing for when those song lyrics spoke to my teenage soul, but I am so grateful to now know that in affirming our trans joy, we have backup, we have company, and we are inspired.

Rev. Jakob Hero-Shaw, Director of the CLGS Transgender Roundtable

If you are interested in applying for the next Trans Religious Leadership Cohort, applications will open in early 2027. Please visit the CLGS website for more information or email Jakob at jhero@clgs.org.

AI was not used in the writing or editing of this piece.