Bigger Than a Rainbow
Recently, in one of our beloved coffee shops in town, BREWS, an avid local reader of my blog said to me that they noticed that "my posts about diversity seem to all have a powerful common thread running through them and that is that diversity is not simply about celebrating our differences, it is about creating a world in which those differences no longer determine whether we are welcomed, respected, loved or safe."
Well, for those that know me ... Upon hearing this, I gay gasped and staggered back, and then gracefully bent over and snapped back up gently handing them the mic they just dropped.
OK, but in all seriousness, this realization took me right into a re-reading frenzy of all of my past posts about diversity; and it was all of that re-reading that inspired me into this post today ... so, please enjoy ... and Happy Fall Diversity! (www.outineureka.org)
There is something wonderfully peculiar about Eureka Springs, Arkansas. You arrive thinking you are visiting a charming Victorian mountain town, perhaps to do a little shopping, enjoy a nice dinner, admire the architecture or escape the demands of everyday life. Then something happens. Somewhere between the hollers, the winding roads, the rainbow flags and the extraordinarily colorful people who call this place home, you begin to feel something you may not have felt in quite some time. You feel like you belong.
I have written about diversity many times over the years. I have written about Pride, coming out, the rainbow flag, transgender visibility, the importance of inclusion, the curious business of judging people by their appearance and the remarkable ability of human beings to make other human beings feel either extraordinarily welcome or terribly uncomfortable.
As a gay man, a son, a brother, a husband, a Vice President of Human Resources and a resident-blogger of this beautiful little Ozark town, I have spent much of my adult life observing how people treat one another.
And my local coffee shop friend was right, after all these years, I keep coming back to one rather uncomplicated conclusion:
"The world would be a much better place if we spent a little less time trying to understand why people are different from us and a little more time appreciating that they are." /John-Michael Scurio
Of course, that sounds simple enough, doesn't it? Yet, here we are, well into the twenty first century, still arguing about who deserves to be seen, who deserves to be heard, who belongs in which bathroom, who can read books to children, whose marriage is acceptable, which baker will bake a cake for you, which pronouns are appropriate and whether a rainbow flag hanging outside a business somehow threatens the very fabric of civilization. Seriously?
Meanwhile, here in Eureka Springs, Arkansas, we have a town full of artists, musicians, business owners, retirees, bikers, drag queens, spiritual seekers, Christians, atheists, gay couples, straight couples, transgender neighbors, young families and more than a few characters who defy practically every category imaginable. Somehow, we manage to share the same winding roads, drink coffee in the same cafés, support the same local businesses and enjoy the same beautiful Ozark sunsets. Imagine that.
One of the things I love most about Eureka Springs is that absolutely nothing about this town follows a straight line. Our streets twist and turn around hillsides. Our staircases lead to unexpected places. Buildings appear to have three stories from one side and five from another. Houses cling to cliffs as though they have made some private arrangement with gravity, and please don't get me started on the sidewalks.
Eureka Springs was never designed to fit neatly into a grid. The town adapted to the landscape rather than demanding that the landscape conform to somebody's idea of how a proper town ought to look. I think there is a beautiful lesson in that.
Human beings, like landscapes, are not meant to be flattened, straightened or forced into identical shapes. We arrive in this world with different personalities, abilities, backgrounds, beliefs, identities, experiences and dreams. Yet society has developed an extraordinary collection of expectations about how we should look, how we should behave, whom we should love and what constitutes a respectable life.
And, today, in this day and age, Heaven help the person who challenges those expectations.
Perhaps that is why Eureka Springs has become such a meaningful place for so many people. There is something deeply comforting about a town that has made an entire identity out of refusing to be ordinary. Hey, when your buildings are wonky, your streets are crooked and your residents are a bunch of delightfully unconventional "misfits that fit", being different becomes considerably less remarkable. It becomes normal.
I have often thought that the most beautiful thing about Eureka Springs is not necessarily the architecture, the natural springs or even the magnificent Ozark landscape. It is the permission this community offers people to simply exist just as they are.
Now, does that mean everyone here agrees about everything? Good heavens, no! Sure, we have disagreements, strong opinions, occasional drama and our own collection of what I affectionately call "hillbullies" ... we are human, after all. But the larger spirit of this community has always been one of individuality, and that is something worth protecting.
I came out more than three decades ago. At the time, I imagined coming out would be one of those defining moments in life, something you do once, perhaps with a little nervousness, a great deal of courage and hopefully a happy ending. You make your announcement, everyone adjusts accordingly, and you proceed with your life. But, alas, if only it were that efficient.
What I have learned is that coming out is not a single event. It is something LGBTQIA+ people do repeatedly throughout their lives, often in the most ordinary circumstances imaginable.
You are sitting on an airplane, talking with someone you have just met, and they casually ask what your wife does for a living. You are standing at a cocktail party, meeting a new neighbor or talking with a colleague about your weekend. Suddenly, there is an assumption that requires a decision. Do I correct them? Do I say, "Actually, my partner, Jeff..."? Do I let the conversation continue without mentioning it? And, perhaps most importantly, is this a person with whom I feel safe sharing that information?
The entire calculation takes approximately two seconds and for someone who has never experienced it, those two seconds might seem insignificant. For someone who has spent a lifetime making those tiny assessments, they represent something much larger. They represent the invisible work of navigating a world in which revealing an ordinary detail about your life can sometimes change how another person sees you.
I am enormously proud of my partner and the life we have built together with Kirby, the most famous Chihuahua in Arkansas. I love talking about Jeff. I love saying the words "my partner." There is nothing uncomfortable about my life or my identity. The discomfort, when it exists, comes from wondering whether someone else will suddenly become uncomfortable upon learning about it.
And that, my friends, is precisely why visibility matters.
The goal is not to make everyone agree about everything. The goal is to reach a point where mentioning the person you love is no more remarkable than mentioning what you had for breakfast.
Diversity Is Bigger Than a Rainbow
When people hear the word diversity, many immediately think about race, gender or sexual orientation. Those are certainly important dimensions, but diversity is much broader than that.
It includes age, physical ability, education, socioeconomic background, religion, nationality, family structure, life experience, personality, communication style and countless other characteristics that shape how we see the world.
The most productive teams I have worked with throughout my profession are not those where everyone thinks alike. They are teams where people bring different experiences and perspectives into the conversation, challenge assumptions respectfully and remain curious enough to learn from one another.
Of course, diversity alone does not guarantee better decisions. People must also feel included, respected and comfortable contributing. Without those conditions, the advantages of different perspectives can disappear beneath conflict, defensiveness or fear.
The same principle applies to communities.
Eureka Springs benefits from its artists, writers, entrepreneurs, spiritual communities, hospitality professionals, retirees, performers and wonderfully eclectic residents because they contribute different talents and ways of thinking. Our town would be a considerably less interesting place if everyone shared the same background, beliefs, tastes and opinions.
Imagine Eureka Springs without its artists. Without its musicians. Without its LGBTQIA+ community. Without its motorcycle enthusiasts, historians, preservationists, shopkeepers, zombies and passionate volunteers. It would hardly be Eureka Springs at all.
Our differences are not obstacles to our identity as a community. They are essential ingredients in it.
There is a word I have never particularly loved when discussing diversity, and that word is tolerance.
I understand its intention, but think about what it sometimes implies. We tolerate a noisy neighbor. We tolerate a long line at the grocery store. We tolerate an unpleasant smell until we can open a window. Is that really the highest aspiration we should have for how we treat one another?
There is an enormous difference between allowing someone to exist in your presence and making that person feel genuinely valued. One is passive. The other requires intention. For transgender and nonbinary people, that difference can be especially meaningful. Being addressed respectfully, having one's identity acknowledged and moving through everyday life without constant scrutiny are things many people take for granted.
Yet those ordinary courtesies can have extraordinary significance for someone who has repeatedly experienced rejection or hostility.
I have written about transgender visibility because I believe the ability to live authentically should not be treated as a privilege reserved for those whose identities make other people comfortable. And visibility is not merely about being noticed. It is about being recognized as a full human being.
That means seeing the artist before the label, the neighbor before the assumption, the person before the political argument.
It also means remembering that not everyone experiences Eureka Springs in precisely the same way. Our reputation as a welcoming town is something to celebrate, but it is not a guarantee that every visitor or resident has always felt safe, included or respected.
We have work to do, just like every other community.
The difference about Eurekans, is that we are willing to do it.
So, Here's What I Believe Eureka Springs Has Been Trying to Tell Us...
Every spring and fall, when our Diversity celebrations bring people into Eureka Springs, I am reminded that these gatherings are about much more than entertainment.
Certainly, there is music, laughter, drag, dancing, bingo, colorful clothing and an abundance of joyful expression. Our businesses welcome visitors, our streets fill with people, and the entire town seems to sparkle with a little extra energy. But beneath all that celebration is something deeply personal.
For some visitors, Eureka Springs represents a place where they can hold hands with the person they love without constantly looking over their shoulders. For others, it offers an opportunity to dress, speak and express themselves without fear of immediate judgment. For still others, it is simply a chance to spend time among people who understand what it means to have felt different. And for many of us who live here, it is a reminder of why we fell in love with this quirky town in the first place.
We did not come here because everyone was the same. We came because they weren't.
There is a particular beauty in a community that understands that individuality does not have to threaten belonging. In fact, belonging becomes more meaningful when we are welcomed for who we actually are rather than who someone else expects us to be.
I have often wondered whether the healing reputation of Eureka Springs extends beyond the natural springs that first attracted visitors to these Ozark hills. Perhaps there is another kind of healing that happens here, something less visible but equally meaningful. Perhaps it happens when someone who has spent years hiding finally feels comfortable being seen. Perhaps it happens when a family member chooses understanding over judgment, when a stranger offers a genuine welcome or when a young person realizes there are places in the world where being different is not something that needs fixing.
...and perhaps, just perhaps my friends, THAT is the real magic of Eureka Springs.
Not that we have somehow eliminated prejudice, misunderstanding or conflict, but that we continue to demonstrate what is possible when people make room for one another. I do not expect the entire world to become Eureka Springs. Frankly, I am not sure the world we live in could handle it now or ever. But I do hope the world might learn something from us.
I hope we can become a little more curious about people whose lives differ from our own. I hope we can stop confusing unfamiliarity with danger. I hope we can recognize that someone else's freedom to live authentically does not diminish our own.
Most of all, I hope we remember that diversity is not something that happens only during Pride Month or Diversity Weekend. It happens every day, in every conversation, every workplace, every neighborhood and every moment when we decide how to treat another human being.
Because ultimately, the measure of an inclusive community is not how many rainbow flags it hangs or how enthusiastically it celebrates a festival. It is how people treat one another when the music stops, the visitors go home and life back in the office resumes.
It is whether a lesbian can mention her wife without hesitation. Whether a transgender neighbor is greeted with respect. Whether a person with a disability can participate without unnecessary barriers. Whether someone with different beliefs can be heard without being ridiculed. Whether we can disagree without forgetting that the person across from us is still a person. And whether we can make room for all the wonderfully complicated, beautifully imperfect human beings who share this little planet.
So, the next time you find yourself wandering down Spring Street, watching a rainbow flag flutter above a Victorian balcony or meeting someone whose life looks nothing like your own, I hope you will remember something. You do not have to understand every detail of another person's story to appreciate and respect that their story is theirs ... and it matters.
"Simply, make room for it."
Freakin' Eurekans have been practicing that lesson for a very long time. And maybe that is why, all the many transplants (including me), call this place home.❤️
