Most of the time, I write with fire—fueled by injustice, stirred by politics, sharpened by the ache of lived experience. But this piece is different. Today, I’m not writing to convince or provoke. I’m writing to remember. To honor. To connect the dots between then and now. To demonstrate that becoming is not a new journey. It is merely the name I finally gave to the path I have been walking for decades.

And it started with a mural. With a dance floor. With a man who signed the world in radiant lines and loud love.

It started with Keith.

The First Time I Saw Freedom Dance

In 1989, I stumbled into Iowa City with nothing but questions and caffeine. I was young and unsure. I felt suffocated trying to fit into a world that never made room for people like me. That weekend, I went with an older person. They were freer and knew where to find the city’s lone gay bar—the 620 Club.

And there, under flickering lights and bass that made the walls shake, I met Keith Haring.

Not in a gallery. Not behind a velvet rope. But on the floor, dancing—radiating something I couldn’t name but desperately wanted to feel.

He was kind. He was electric. And when he spoke to me, it felt like he’d known me forever. We talked about art, about AIDS, about anger, about how to keep going in a world that kept erasing us. At one point, he leaned in close, locked eyes with me, and said:

“One day this virus won’t be a thing anymore. It will be treatable. The docs will figure it out. You have to keep being the voice of reason. Keep telling people, through all of your impatience, that they need to learn about it, talk loudly about it, stop being scared of it!”

And then, with a sly grin, ordered a drink for us.

That moment—raw, real, and wildly human—planted the first seed in me. A seed of becoming.

Keith Haring: The First Platypus

In the becoming movement, we talk about “platypus people.” These are the rare souls who defy every label. They challenge every expectation. They don’t fit into any neat little box the world tries to shove them into. They’re different, yes—but they’re not broken. They’re not mistakes. They’re the living proof that uniqueness is a form of wisdom.

Keith was the first platypus I ever met.

He painted like joy was a weapon. He made grief bright and activism playful. He wasn’t scared of being weird. He invited it.

The next day, he brought me to Ernest Horn Elementary School. He was painting what would become the only mural he ever did in Iowa City—“A Book Full of Fun.” I helped, sort of. I handed him brushes, cleaned up paint, and laughed with kids who peeked through the doors to see magic happening.

Keith didn’t just invite me into his world—he trusted me in it. Even if all I was doing was keeping red and blue from mixing on accident.

That was my first glimpse of what it looked like to live loudly, boldly, and authentically. This was true even when the world was terrified of you.

becoming Isn’t a Buzzword. It’s a Lifetime.

When people see me now, they assume this journey started somewhere recent. I am angry, articulate, and unafraid to speak truth in rooms built to silence us. Maybe with a TED Talk. Maybe with a blog post. Maybe with a diagnosis, or a loss, or a protest.

But the truth is, I’ve been becoming for a long damn time.

I became in that bar when Keith told me to stay loud.
I became in that school library, wiping up paint and soaking up purpose.
When I learned that art could be protest, I realized my potential. I saw that grief could be neon. I understood that promise could be painted into walls for children you’d never meet.

becoming didn’t start with a brand.
It started with him.

A Mural, A Movement, A Mirror

When Keith died in 1990, the world lost a light—but his brush never stopped moving. Through his foundation, his work continues to fight for HIV/AIDS awareness, for kids, for truth told in color. His mural at Horn Elementary was removed during renovations. It found its way back into the heart of the school, bold and beaming.

And just a couple of years ago, I finally brought a piece of Keith home. A real piece. Triple-wrapped, courier-delivered, humming with the heartbeat of a friend who never really left. It cost more than three years’ salary.

I would’ve paid ten.

Because every morning now, I wake up to a reminder:
I am not broken. I am becoming.
And Keith was the first to show me how.

To the Next Generation of Platypuses

Maybe you’re that awkward kid wiping up paint splatters, unsure if you belong. Maybe you’re the voice yelling from the back row, trying to be heard. Maybe you’ve been told to quiet down, blend in, toughen up, or stay small.

Don’t.

Become louder. Become bolder. Become more you than you’ve ever dared to be.

becoming isn’t about arriving. It’s about remembering that you were never supposed to fit their mold in the first place.

I didn’t know it then. When Keith handed me that red brush, he wasn’t just letting me help with a mural. He was passing the baton. The mission. The magic.

And now, I pass it to you.

Keith, thank you for being my first platypus.

You helped me find the joy in being different.
You made my silence feel like a lie.
You made my awkwardness feel like permission.
You painted my first blueprint for becoming.

And I’ve been following it ever since.

#becomingMovement #KeithHaring #PlatypusPeople #LoudJoy #MuralMagic #NeverTheProblem