Gerald Garth’s calendar is bursting with meeting invitations ranging from monthly check-ins to festive outings. He is a man-about-town wearing several hats, lending his advocacy along his travels. This afternoon, he’s taking it easy—a Zoom call here and there, a coworker dropping off items, and a hard stop at 2 p.m. He’s wrapping up his to-do list before attending a string of holiday parties and year-end celebrations.

Garth had a good 2021, personally and professionally. He describes prioritizing joy, setting boundaries, and tweaking his work-life balance. Sounds like sage advice, considering he’s stepping into multiple new roles in 2022. For one, he will be Director of Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion with the Los Angeles LGBT Center. He was elected to two positions: vice president of community initiatives and programs with LA Pride and the head of media and communications for Global Black Pride.

“I start [at The Center] at the top of the year, building strategies,” Garth said. “We are taking a robust view, looking at the hiring practices, programs, protocols, staffing structures, opportunities, next steps, and so forth.”

The 800-employee-strong Los Angeles LGBT Center sprawls over nine locations. Close to 50,000 Angelenos receive services ranging from primary care, HIV specialty care, and legal assistance to gender-affirming services through the agency.

Cycling is quickly becoming the newest phenomenon of transportation in Atlanta. However, almost explicitly missing from the conversation is the presence of Black queer voices and how popular cycling is to this group, whether native or transplant.

Octavia “Tay” Roberts, better known as Big Oreo, and Lauren Fareira, known best as Senorita Awesome, are two Black queer cyclists leading the way for more to join the experience.

Eight or so years ago, Big Oreo became interested in cycling. But it wasn’t until 2015 before she purchased her first bike. And as soon as she did, she got busy immersing herself in the culture.

“I got the bike and then went and got a job at [the popular sandwich shop] Jimmy John’s—because I wanted to,” the Atlanta native told The Reckoning. “The type of cycling Jimmy John’s cyclists do is unorthodox. It’s not like how you would see a group of cyclists or even racers.”

Co-founder of the cycling group Rolling Peach Bandits, Big Oreo considers herself an urban street cyclist. When on her own, or with a group of her buddies, she can be seen dipping and dodging traffic on her fixed-gear bike. It’s an exhilarating thrill for her.

For many, Christmas represents the promise of peace and goodwill, but behind the decorations and family traditions is a dark underpinning triggered by the holiday season. This sadness, often referred to as holiday depression, can be incredibly challenging for LGBTQ+ people who experience rejection from their given family based upon their sexual orientation or gender identity. So while most Americans are preparing to execute their holiday traditions, others are preparing to wage an internal war under the societal expectation of holiday cheer.

For Chancey Daniel, 31, a Marietta, GA native and doctoral student now residing in Montgomery, AL, the month of December is a painful reminder of the loss of his mother to multiple myeloma and his diagnosis of stage four throat and lung cancer the following year after her passing.

“It [depression] comes around November because Thanksgiving and Christmas are never the same,” Daniel says, referring to the season his mother fell gravely ill after battling cancer three times before ultimately succumbing to the disease in February 2017.

In case you haven’t noticed, fat bodies are having a moment.

It’s apparent in marketing strategies like Victoria’s Secret’s recent 180-degree turn toward size inclusivity; in the abundance of plus-sized TV and book characters reaching beyond stereotypical “fat friend” roles, and every time pop phenom Lizzo proudly struts her extra-large frame across the stage to wild applause.

The new era message is fat positivity, and to the casual observer at least, it appears there’s never been a more affirming time to be a big person.

Da'Shaun L. Harrison knows better. Large, Black, and queer, they exist at a precarious nexus of historically undervalued identities with complex social stigmas that reach far beyond what a few size-inclusive ad campaigns can address.

I knew I was not alone. I had spoken to other Black gay men who were caregiving, but it was not something that was often discussed openly. Caregiving can be a very solitary role, where you end up isolated, and unable to find an outlet for all the emotions that you’re experiencing. Because, for some, you are caregiving 24 hours, and unable to leave your care recipient.

I was taught growing up that men were the providers, and as a Black man, I was supposed to leave the home to earn a living to take care of my family. The emotional and physical care wasn’t something I was taught would be my burden to carry. The truth is, there was never going to be any other way this would go. My parents have two sons. We were going to have to shoulder this burden or consider a home for our parents.

When Brandi Pinckney-Green learned that NAESM Founder Rudolph “Rudy” Carn needed help to bring his vision for a new Men’s Health and Wellness Center to fruition, her first instinct as a nurse practitioner was to ask how she could help. Despite juggling teaching duties as a nurse educator at Georgia State University and as a home health and hospice RN, the Savannah, GA native, who was born into a family of nurses, says she “saw an opportunity to be a part of something good” when she received the call nearly two years ago to bring her medical expertise to this unique healthcare facility.