You might say that my life had been trapped in something of a cycle. And yet, ironically, it was cycling that led me to break free of it.
By the time I was 14, it was pretty clear that I was attracted to men as well as women, but this was a truth I couldn’t face. My life felt prescribed practically from before I was even born. Growing up as a black guy in a devoutly Christian family in Georgia, there were some avenues that weren’t just closed off, they were almost unthinkable. I was raised to believe that my urges and fantasies were part of an unnatural and chosen lifestyle that was a sin against God.
I remember my late father reciting the infamous verse from the book of Leviticus forbidding same-sex behavior, as though to ward off any evil temptations, just in case. He needn’t have worried. I was a studious, textbook introvert who didn’t have much of a dating life with girls, let alone boys. But through the magic of the Internet, I was able to explore my sexuality virtually, even if I didn’t realize that’s what I was doing. The first time I watched — and enjoyed — gay porn, the experience shocked me. In the following days and months, as I continued to admire the male body online, I told myself that it was all some kind of fluke or figment of my imagination. I couldn’t possibly be interested in guys, because God, biology, and my family said that it was wrong.
Near the end of my high school years, my father died. His passing left me heart-struck, but also ready to start another chapter of my life. At college, I embraced my new independence and poured myself into university life. I studied hard, became involved in campus activities, and joined the student government. I also had my first adult crush on another guy. He was an athletic, lean, light-skinned black guy with afro hair and a cute, braced smile. I’d see him around campus or at the gym. Still, some holdover from my religious upbringing and the “traditional” values ingrained into me stopped me from doing more than smiling and waving a friendly hello. I shoved this part of me aside and just studied all the harder instead.
Then the pandemic happened.
The world ground to a halt, everything social was shut down, and I was isolated at my home. When I wasn’t attending my online classes, I spent more and more time cycling in the mountains. I biked everywhere in the county and explored all the nooks and crannies of my hometown. Cycling became my meditation. Out in nature, pedaling in the sun and feeling the wind, I did a tremendous amount of thinking — about my life, my feelings, and my sexuality. It was liberating.
Finally questioning my sexuality led me down a rabbit hole of articles and online quizzes designed to tell you whether you were straight, gay, or bi. One site suggested that I might be “mostly straight”, which was described as being basically straight, but with a little bit of flexibility for same-sex attraction. I seized on this notion. I felt relieved and reassured to acknowledge my attraction to guys while also continuing to view myself as straight. I was a clearly confused 19-year-old, but this was an important first step for me. It’s important to understand that the way I was raised led me to associate LGBT people with being white, or wealthy, or feminine. As a middle-class, masculine black guy, I feel like there was this extra wall I had to break through to finally see myself.
Throughout my junior year, I continued to question myself almost constantly. I was intrigued by queer content online, including Instagram posts, articles, and books such as web comic/graphic novel Heartstopper — which I truly loved before the Netflix series. I connected with queer characters in series such as Generation, It’s A Sin, Hitorijime My Hero. The more I exposed my mind and heart to these queer stories, the more I realized that no matter how you sliced it, I was not straight. I learned more about the LGBT community, and dispelling my negative perceptions helped me truly accept others and myself.
At long last, after too many years of self-repression, I came out to myself as bi, speaking the words aloud at the stroke of midnight, as though it were some kind of incantation to break my spell of restlessness. I downloaded the bi flag onto my phone’s photo album as the moment my life evolved into someone genuine.
In June of 2021, I celebrated my first Pride month and basked in the comfortable, confident joy of being bi. In 2022, my senior year, I marched in my first Pride with the bi flag, feeling shy and nervous but deeply honored. I was out to the world, but not to any of my relatives — not my mother, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandmother, etc. In time, I came out to my mother and my friends. Through all the stress, frustration, and depression about hiding myself away and feeling like I was nothing, cycling has been my channel to find peace and my catalyst for self-acceptance.
In the time since, I’ve spent time in gay and queer bars, connected more with my queer folks socially, and dated and had casual relationships with guys. I’m looking forward to finding a more serious relationship. In the meantime, I’m happy to simply focus on loving myself for everything I am, and I feel amazed and delighted to embrace the LGBT scene here in Atlanta.
The song “Strong Enough” by Cher has become my personal anthem. Every day, as I cycle through the city, it spurs me to move forward and not dwell on all of the missed connections from my closeted high school or college years. The best thing I can do is to continue pedaling on without regrets or worries about how I got here as bi guy of color.
We only live once in this world, and I don’t want to hide or fear what I am during my days here on Earth. I’m a 23-year-old college-educated black bi guy clerking before going to law school. Things are definitely looking up, and my best days are yet to come.
Micah Mack is a law student in Georgia. If you'd like to share your own bi story, please email us at [email protected].