Oh Vulcan, My Vulcan

“Are you okay?” seems to be the question of the day. It’s the first thing people ask me in person, and the first thing people ask me via text. And the answer is no. I’m not at all okay. I’m pretty far from okay.

It’s been 7 days since Leonard Nimoy passed away, and I am still not okay. And I don’t know when I will be.

That, I think, is the measure of his greatness. I never met him. I’ve sat in on two Skype calls, but I’ve never seen him in person. I’m a nameless fan in the galaxy of Star Trek. But he is dead, this man I never even met, and I am not okay. I can only hope to inspire that kind of love before I leave this world.

As children watching our idols on television and in film, it never occurs to us that they’re aging before our eyes. It never occurs to us that, when we are entering our thirties and forties, they might be entering their seventies and eighties. We never conceive of a day when they will no longer be alive. We become especially spoiled by shows like Star Trek, where the hero rarely ever dies, and even when he does, sometimes he doesn’t stay dead. Likewise, we often don’t understand their importance to us until we’re grown.

I could talk about Leonard Nimoy’s impact on my childhood. About how, living through the darkness of emotional, physical, and sexual abuse at the hands of my parents, “Star Trek” was one of the few cherished bright things I had.

I could talk about how, later in my life, as a bisexual teenager in a Southern Baptist family, I identified with Spock more than anyone in my “real life.”

I could talk about his devotion to Judaism, and how I always felt like a bad Jew who could never live up to his example. Seriously—I have a plastic, light up menorah and I eat bacon—shamelessly. I’m the definition of a bad Jew.

I could talk about his Full Body Project, where he photographed overweight women as if they were the societal “normal” beauties, because to him, they were. He didn’t see size when he looked at them, he saw their hearts and souls and he thought they were beautiful. And he was right. As an overweight female in a society that brands me as subpar, and judges me unworthy before they even know me, he made me feel like a beauty queen.

I could talk about all those things and so many more. The problem isn't that I don't know what the world looks like without him. The problem is that I do. And it's not a world I like.

I think, above everything else, that is his true legacy—his far-reaching impact on everyday people.

We are Leonard Nimoy’s legacy.

Rest in peace, Leonard. You have been, and always shall be, my unicorn.