I spent my last day in D.C. at my cousin’s house on the outskirts of Georgetown. I slept on the couch, and the blinds had been left open overnight, so when the morning sun made its way across the wooden floors to wake me from my slumber, the first thing I saw on my final day was snow, drifting to the ground like dandelion seeds.
It felt like the universe’s gift to me on my last day. I remember when I first landed in D.C., the humidity was instantly overbearing, all-encompassing, and almost suffocating. This tranquil sendoff felt like the perfect bookend to my time in D.C., a symbol of what D.C. had become to me. It had transformed from something that felt intimidatingly huge, to something soft and beautiful, albeit transient.
This also felt parallel to the way that my thoughts about public service had shifted. Where before, public service had been something huge and intimidating, something that moved as one, I now began to see it as a series of several moving parts, snowflakes that created a carpet of white, all of which were vital to the goals of public service as a whole, in no small part thanks to my time at the D.C. LGBTQ+ Community Center.
The D.C. LGBTQ+ Community Center was a small office off the side of U Street, but it is regardless an unwavering pillar of the queer community in D.C.. Our team wasn’t large, but it was powerful. It was composed of some of the kindest, most generous people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting in D.C., who shared a genuine love for the community. Every day I saw the impact of our work, be it in something as simple as providing a quick meal to a community member, or something as complex as assisting someone in securing legal assistance. I am proud to have been a part of it this semester, and I am beyond grateful for the lessons I have learned from interning with them.