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I want to start this meditation on the word “Presence” by defining it according to Oxford Languages

Presence - Noun

It is within this framework that I will try to explain the fully recognized idea, admittedly like jellyfish floating but in a pod. Collected ideas. A whole picture of different snapshots. So, the idea formed in my mind to try to trace my feelings on both definitions of presence.

Let’s go back a bit. The word “presence” has all sorts of meanings for me. Obviously, you can tell that the word is part of the title of this site. What you didn’t know is that way back when, in the dusty, wild days of the internet, and chat rooms and channels. It was the days where celebrities of shows would be online interacting with the fans. I spent several New Years Eves online in certain chat rooms, ringing in the New Year with friends from different parts of the world.

But before all that, there was one chat room that I used. Most will think AOL. Nope. I chose the other evil lol. MSN. And that chat was lit. I don’t remember a lot of it. I do remember that there were a lot of people claiming to be hip hop royalty. Given the time, I would not be surprised if one or two or the were being honest. Anyway, for that chat, my very first handle—Presence. Yep. Full motherfuckin circle. Like wow!!! So, now I am looking back at the “why” of that word. I wonder why I chose that word. I do remember. Let’s jump into it.

During that time, I was heavily into poetry and literature. Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man had me thinking about my actual taking up of space. How did I do it. How did I want people to see me, to feel, to smell me? All senses. Does this even matter in the long run. How will my views of my presence now inform my future? And there is the word. “Presence.” The word felt delicious in my mouth and as I turned it over in my brain, the electrical currents started firing and colors started going off. Beauty and love, sensuality, romance, and all those colors pop in my head when I think of certain words. Sometimes shapes, twists, and spirals. I decided to pop into the dictionary, look up the definition of presence. I knew that it would work for a name I would use for myself. I have multiple, as I’m sure most writers do, as well.

This is the first definition of the word presence. Existing, factually. Without needing permission. It just is. Without thought. The thought was taking up space. Being seen, heard, smelled, tasted—through my words. Interacting with the world through that lens of taking up space. Making myself and opinions heard and known. Giving personal information for the public to consume. Not because I am some masochist, but because I firmly believe that something I say, do, or in which way I act will affect someone. If that one person gets something good out of my ability to take up space—well, then that is space taken up well. Like rocks and sand, water and trees—I exist, and I have a place in this world, in this spere, and in this particular dimension of this and (possibly) other worlds. Objectively, I take up space, by virtue of living on this plant and in this universe and beyond.

Now, let’s take a look at the second definition, and spend a little time with it.

Okay, so this is where I had a long meditation on what it means to be in this world, but but not be seen. I will drop a little of my knowledge as a Black, trans, femme, nonbinary, sapphic-leaning, pan, demi, and possibly polyam person. I know that I am seen. It is instinctual. Even before transition was a thought in my mind, I have been seen. And I was seen as a Black boy, then a Black teenager, then a Black man. At every step, there has been racism. I have felt that sting more than once in the form of girlfriends not being able to bring to their houses or having to break up with. I have been pulled over and surrounded by six cop cars at once. I saw the stares, the barely-contained fear of both men and women when in certain areas. As a “guy”, people were scared of me because I was tall and present. I took up space. There was no other way for it to be seen And yet…

This idea of being present in a place, physically present but having my presence actually being felt has been a recurring theme in my life. This idea that there are all these people around me, all these friend groups of the past, and I always felt invisible. I wonder if that is where being queer comes in? The Black skin stands out. It makes me visible. In the past, while I was masquerading I felt a connection to Ralph Ellison’s book Invisible Man. The protagonist is never named, and understandably, has readers trying envision this man as he moves through the world. Written in the 1950s, themes of racism, racial invisibility, and the search for identity. When I was younger, these were the questions I was asking myself, and while not having the understanding I have now that allows me let a lot of vile comments drip off my back. Why if I had all these supposed friends, why did I always feel so alone, so at odds with the world.

Yeah, I fit in back then. I mask well. I have the power of speech, and what I mean by that is that I can form a well-crafted argument, and try to prove or help others understand how I got there. In the same way I use language as a means to escape, and to excavate my mind and feelings. The problem with this is if I use this well crafted voice and way of speaking (some would call it proper. I call that bullshit) then I am sacrificing the actual power of my words. Of the way I string those words together to make phrases. I lose my power, and am “invisible.”

When I started transitioning I became more visible, and even more invisible. People saw me, but people didn’t see me. They saw (and probably still see) a Black “man” in a dress with makeup and a deep voice, when they heard me talk. I switched up my style of dress for a bit, opting for jeans and tops. Always eyes on me, but less disapproving looks or snickers. I was visible because I backed off of my authenticity. Finally, at one point, I had to just give it all up. I was going to exist in this world. I would take up space. I would be authentic. And I turned myself into this wonderful Black trans femme nonbinary person whose words you are now reading. I have freed myself from the shackles of society’s grip. I allow myself to exist in my space and in others’. I don’t ask for permission. I don’t need to. And that knowledge, in and of itself, is magickal!!

The above, well up to the second bullet point was written at point. Some at another time. I am finishing this up now (23.2.26) with an addendum of sorts. I have really been in my feels recently. I have been in a mixed affective state which has to do with me having Bipolar I disorder. It certainly throws things off, and I felt unseen. I was moving through this new world—the world of writing online again. But this time, I was participating. Still, I was feeling what I was doing wasn’t appreciated, seen, or necessary. Like I said, I was really in my feels.

But people on Substack and my crew made me understand that, in fact, I was seen. I had been seen. And people cared about me, and less importantly, my work. I had a particularly bad episode, and I was going down and spiraling so fast. But you know what? People started showing themselves. Making sure I was okay. Checking in with me. Friends who have become more like babysitters (which sucks, but sometime necessary), people I podcast with, my writing crew. I understand now that my presence (both general, and specific and tailored to certain people) is necessary, just as other people’s presence is necessary in my life. I understand that being present means being authentic. And being authentic allows me to experience this rich tapestry of life.

The below song is from one of my favorite DJ’s (Presence) and the album All Systems Gone.