This Pride Month was epic. For lots of people, I’m guessing, but especially for New Yorkers. After over a week of biting our nails and calling and emailing our senators, there was finally a vote. And the vote was for marriage equality.

When the winning vote was read aloud, Mary and I hugged. We cried. We drank prosecco, and lightheartedly danced to love songs on our creaky living room floor.

Then calls and texts started coming. From friends and family. From people who knew we were hoping for this. Mary’s parents stayed up late that night, watching the news in the hopes that they would announce the victory. They sent us celebratory flowers the next day (red, white and blue, if you were wondering).

On Saturday, we walked in the yearly Dyke March, which always happens on the Saturday before the Manhattan Pride Parade. As always, people from the churches along the march route passed out water to the sweaty walkers. Groups of gay men stood on the sidelines with posterboard signs reading, “We love you, lesbians!” Allies walked with us.

The next day, I marched in the Pride Parade for the first time, part of the bright pink contingent that was Gay Men’s Health Crisis. As always, the costumes were fabulous. The boys were flirty and tan. The wigs were enormous and, I’m guessing, hot as hell.

But things were also different. The tone was extra celebratory. The cheers were contagious, like bottled joy aching to escape. The air was electric. Strangers were high-fiving each other, and smiling way more than usual, and celebrating the couples who proudly advertised that they, too, would soon be married in New York State.

It means a lot to me to have a community. People who are somewhat like me, who fight for similar causes, who belong to a similar subculture. Out of the many things for which I’m thankful, having a community to which I belong is high on the list.

But something that adds to that, that catapults my contentment into brazen hope, is being seen by people outside my tiny subculture, and being celebrated by them. For other people to express that, even though this marriage equality thing doesn’t do anything for them personally, they’re over the moon with happiness about the news. For those people to see who I am, and say, “You’re great. Just the way you are. Don’t change. I want to celebrate you for being alive, here, now.”

To love myself is one thing. For others to share that love and, of their own volition, shout it in the streets for everyone to hear, is quite another.

Allies, you matter. You matter so much. Thank you for your excitement and your messages and your calls and your tweets and your hugs and your advocacy. Thank you for being you. You’ve made me feel even happier with being me today.