They Call My Joy a Sin
I’m entering the new year with a lot less baggage and the realization that some people would rather see you hollow than see you happy.
Welcome to Signals from Earth, essays on culture, life, and the questions that keep us restless. Sometimes sharp, sometimes tender—always searching for meaning in the mess.
Dear Friend,
I’m sitting here on New Year’s Eve, and if I’m being honest, it feels like I’m navigating a shipwreck. This year has been a series of peaks and stomach-turning drops, but the end of the year decided to deliver a particularly heavy blow. Yet here I am, alive and surviving another day.
The holidays are usually especially difficult for me. Being raised a Jehovah’s Witness means “family time” is often just a reminder of the distance created by a boardroom in Warwick. But this year, the estrangement went deeper. It hit the roots. I’m now officially out of orbit with my own parents.
I spent the semester studying Child and Adolescent Development, the inner workings of cells, and the failed Reconstruction of the South. I finished the term with B’s or better across the board. I churned out 7,000 words in about eight essays, trying to understand how we grow and how I might actually support the students I’ll one day teach. It’s a strange irony to learn about supporting the development of a human while your parents utterly fail at it.
My organizing work as part of the RCA is humming. Our local area has hit a real stride this year. There is a specific kind of clarity that comes from studying class struggle and anthropology—it’s a reminder that our current misery isn’t a divine mandate. It’s structural. Understanding the world is essential to changing it.
On the creative front, I only managed to release one song this year. If I’m being hard on myself, that’s a disappointment. I’ve been incredibly busy, but in 2026, I want to be more intentional about *making* time. I wrote a song on Thanksgiving, and I’m planning a longer seven or eight-track project I’d like to release late 2026. If this latest song is any indication, I’m entering a more confident season artistically.
Leaning into philosophy and history gives me a revolutionary kind of hope. I feel more confident leading, more capable of looking someone in the eye and talking about politics. I’m realizing that while my biological family is shrinking, my chosen world is expanding.
This year was a brutal audit of my friendships too. Some connections are fraying at the edges, but others have turned into something even stronger. I opened up in a big way with new people who excitedly reciprocated that vulnerability. That means so much to me. I want to double down on chosen family and keep growing my roots where the soil is actually fertile.
Kelly and I hit ten years. An entire decade. We took our tax refund and turned it into a trip to Mexico to celebrate. Growing up, I saw so many people “enduring” their partners like a long-term illness. I’m so glad we don’t have that. We choose this, every day.
And then there’s Sydney. I met her this year, and everything shifted. From an aquarium first date to our trips to Sedona and Tucson, I’ve been completely enthralled by her humor. I’m obsessed with the life we’re starting to map out.
To be honest, this feels like the first real, foundational relationship I’ve had in a long time. For a while, it felt like I was moving through a series of connections that were temporary—relationships where we were both just passing through. In the world of polyamory, some of my relationships have felt fleeting, but Sydney feels like a destination. I feel incredibly lucky.
The low point came on a plane ticket my parents bought for me. I went “home” with this naive hope that if I just showed them the blueprints of my life, they’d want to help me build it. I told them about Sydney. I told them I wanted them in my life. I even told them about my desire for kids in the future—that I wanted them to be grandparents.
My mother looked me in the eye and told me I wasn’t welcome in her home with Sydney. She said she couldn’t support something she “knew to be damaging” to me. The sheer, staggering irony of saying that while actively cutting her child’s heart out didn’t seem to register. My dad just stood there, a silent spectator, until the silence broke. The conversation ended with my father in my face, aggressive and defensive, all because I wanted to be loved for who I am, not the hollowed-out version of me they wanted me to be.
I wanted to be loved for who I am, not the hollowed-out version of me they wanted me to be.
I flew back knowing that might be the last time I’m ever in their house. They haven’t called. Not even a text to see if the plane stayed in the sky.
I’m entering the new year with a lot less baggage, mostly because it was forcibly taken from me. But I choose to persevere, and continue building a life that makes me happy. Here are my intentions for 2026:
Read more, scroll less.
Plan out the week.
Exercise more.
Lean into the people who love and accept me as I am.
Don’t be so afraid to talk to people I don’t know.
Go after the things I want. It’s ok to desire.