I am going to talk to you tonight

about coming out of the closet.

And not in the traditional sense,

not just the "gay" closet.

I think we all have closets,

your closet may be telling someone

you love her for the first time.

Or telling someone you're pregnant.

Or telling someone you have cancer.

Or any of the other hard conversations

we have throughout our lives.

All the closet is, 
is a hard conversation.

And although our topics 
may vary tremendously,

the experience of being in 
and coming out of the closet

is universal.

It is scary, and we hate it,

and it needs to be done.

Several years ago, I was working 
at the Southside Walnut Café,

(Laughter)

a local diner in town,

and during my time there,

I would go through phases 
of militant, lesbian, intensity.

(Laughter)

Not shaving my armpits,

quoting Ani DiFranco lyrics as gospel,

and depending on the bagginess 
of my cargo shorts,

and how recently I'd shaved my head,

the question would often 
be sprung on me,

usually by a little kid:

"Mmmm, are you a boy, 
or are you a girl?"

And there would be 
an awkward silence at the table,

I'd clench my jaw a little tighter,

hold my coffee pot 
with a little more vengeance,

the Dad would awkwardly 
shuffle his newspaper,

and the Mom would shoot 
a chilling stare at her kid.

But I would say nothing,

and I would seethe inside.

And it got to the point that everytime

I walked up to a table that had a kid

anywhere between 3 and 10 years old,

I was ready to fight.

(Laughter)

And that is a terrible feeling.

So I promised myself 
that the next time,

I would say something.

I would have that hard conversation.

So within a matter of weeks, 
it happens again:

"Are you a boy, or are you a girl?"

Familiar silence.

But this time, I am ready.

And I am about to go 
all Woman Studies 101 on this table.

(Laughter)

I've got my Betty Friedan quotes,

I've got my Gloria Steinem quotes,

I even got this little bit from
Vagina Monologues I'm gonna do,

so I take a deep breath, 
and I look down,

and staring back at me

is a 4-year old girl in a pink dress.

Not a challenge to a feminist duel,

just a kid, with a question:

"Are you a boy, or are you a girl?"

So I take another deep breath,

squat down next to her and say:

"Hey, I know it's kind of confusing,

my hair is short like a boy's,

and I wear boys' clothes,

but I'm a girl

and you know how sometimes 
you like to wear a pink dress,

and sometimes you like 
to wear your comfie jammies,

well, I'm more of 
a comfie jammies kind of a girl."

(Laughter)

And this kid looks me dead in the eye

without missing a beat and says:

"My favorite pajamas are purple

with fish, can I get a pancake please?"

(Laughter)

And that was it, just:

"Oh, OK, you're a girl. 
How 'bout that pancake?"

(Laughter)

It was the easiest hard conversation 
I have ever had.

And why?

Because Pancake Girl and I,

we were both real with each other.

So, like many of us,

I've lived in a few closets in my life,

and yeah, most often, 
my walls happen to be rainbow.

But inside, in the dark,

you can't tell what color the walls are.

You just know what it feels like

to live in a closet.

So really, my closet 
is no different than yours,

or yours,

or yours.

Sure, I can give you 100 reasons

why coming out of my closet

was harder than coming out of yours,

but here's the thing,

hard is not relative,

hard is hard.

Who can tell me

that explaining to someone

you've just declared bankrupcy

is harder than telling someone

when you just cheated on them.

Who can tell me

that his coming out story

is harder than telling your 5-year old

you're getting a divorce.

There is no "harder",

there is just "hard."

We need to stop ranking our "hard"

against everybody else's "hard"

to make us feel better 
or worse about our closet

and just commiserate on the fact

that we all have "hard."

At some point in our lives,

we all live in closets,

and they may feel safe.

Or at least, safer than what lies

on the other side of that door.

But I'm here to tell you,

no matter what your walls are made of,

a closet is no place 
for a person to live.

(Cheers)
(Applause)

Thanks.

So why is coming out of any closet,

why is having that conversation,

why is it so hard?

Because they're stressful.

We're so concerned about the reaction

of the other person, and understandably.

Will they be angry?

Sad?

Disappointed?

Will we loose a friend?

A parent?

A lover?

These conversations cause stress.

So let's kick out 
on stress for a minute.

Stress is a natural reaction
in your body.

When you encounter a perceived threat,

-- keyword, "perceived" --

your hypothalamus sounds the alarm,

and adrenaline and cortisol

start coursing through your veins.

This is known as

Fight or Flight.

Sometimes you rumble,

sometimes you run.

And this is a totally normal reaction.

And, comes from a time

when that threat was 
being chased by a wooly mammoth.

The problem is

your hypothalamus has no idea

if you're being chased 
by a wooly mammoth,

or if your computer just crashed,

or if your in-laws just showed up 
on your doorsteps,

or if you're about 
to jump out of a plane,

or if you need to tell someone you love

that you have a brain tumor.

The difference is

the wooly mammoth 
chases you for, what,

maybe 10 minutes.

Not having those hard conversations,

that can go on for years,

and your body just can't handle that.

Chronic exposure to adrenaline and cortisol

disrupts almost every system in your body

and can lead to anxiety,

depression, heart disease,

just to name a few.

When you do not have hard conversations,

when you keep the truth about yourself a secret,

you're essentially holding a grenade.

So, imagine yourself

20 years ago.

Me,

I had a pony tail,

a strapless dress,

and high heel shoes.

I was not the militant lesbian

ready to fight any 4-year old 
that walked into the café.

(Laughter)

I was frozen by fear,

curled up in a corner

of my pitch-black closet,

clutching my gay grenade.

And moving one muscle

is the scariest thing

I have ever done.

My family,

my friends,

complete strangers,

I had spent my entire life

trying to not disappoint these people.

And now, I was turning 
the world upside down.

On purpose.

I was burning the pages of the script

we had all followed for so long,

but if you do not throw that grenade,

it will kill you.

One of my most memorable grenade-tosses

was at my sister's wedding.

(Laughter)

It was the first time 
that many on attendance

knew that I was gay.

So in doing my Maid of Honor duties,

in my black dress and heels,

I walked around the tables,

and finally landed at the table 
of my parents' friends,

folks that had known me for years.

And after a little small talk,

one of the women shouted out:

"I love Nathan Lane!"

And the battle of gay relatebility

had begun.

"Ash, have you ever been to the Castro?"

"Well, yeah, actually, 
we have friends in San Francisco."

"We've never been there,

but we hear it's 'fa-bu-lous'!!"

"Ash, do you know my hairdresser Antonio,

he's really good, and 
he's never talked about a girlfriend."

"Ash, what's your favorite TV show?

Our favorite TV show: 
favorite, Will and Grace,

you know who we love? Jack.

Jack is our favorite."

And then one woman,

stumped,

but wanting so desperately
to show her support,

to let me know she was on my side,

she finally blurted out:

"Well, sometimes my husband 
wears pink shirts."

(Laughter)

And I had a choice in that moment,

as all grenade-throwers do.

I could go back to my girlfriend,

and my gay-loving table,

and mock their responses.

Chastise their unworldliness,

and their inability to jump through

the politically-correct gay hoops

I had brought with me,

or,

I could empatize with them,

and realize that that was maybe

one of the hardest things 
that they had ever done.

That starting,

and having that conversation,

was them coming out of their closets.

Sure, it would have been easy

to point out where they fell short.

It's a lot harder

to meet them where they are,

and acknowledge the fact that

they were trying,

and what else can you ask someone to do,

but try.

If you're going to be real with someone,

you've got to be ready

for real in return.

So, hard conversations 
are still not my strong suit.

Ask anybody I've ever dated.

But I'm getting better.

And I follow what I like to call

'The Three Pancake Girl Principles."

Now, please,

view this through gay-colored lenses,

but know,

what it takes to come out of any closet,

is essentially the same.

Number One:

Be Authentic,

take the armor off, be yourself.

That kid in the café

had no armor,

but I was ready for battle.

Stupid hypothalamus.

If you want someone to be real with you,

they need to know that you bleed too.

Number Two:

Be Direct,

You say it, rip the bandaid off.

If you know you are gay,

just say it.

If you tell your parents 
you might be gay,

they will hold that hope 
that this will change.

Do not give them

that sense of false hope.

(Laughter)

And Number Three,

and most important:

(Laughter)

Be Unapologetic.

You are speaking your truth.

Never apologize for that.

And some folks might 
have gotten hurt along the way.

So sure.

Apologize for what you've done.

But never apologize for who you are.

And yeah, some folks
may be disappointed.

But that is on them.

Not on you.

Those are their expectations 
of who you are,

not yours.

That is their story.

Not yours.

The only story that matters

is the one that you want to write.

So the next time you find yourself

in a pitchblack closet

clutching your grenade,

know that we've all been there before.

And you may feel so very alone,

but you are not.

And we know it's hard,

but we need you out here,

no matter what your walls are made of.

Because I guarantee you

there are others 
peering through the keyhole

of their closet

looking for the next brave soul

to bust a door open

so BE that person,

and show the world that 
we are bigger than our closets,

and that a closet is no place

for a person to truly live.

Thank you Boulder, enjoy your night.

(Cheers)
(Applause)