sapphic summer, french fall 23

I caught the travel bug young, and it kinda ate me alive for a while. I feel so privileged that I have been able to see so much of the world and spend time in other cultures. But I was so ill equipped to see the reality of the world and was so arrogant. I didn’t spend as much time learning and appreciating as I wish I could have. It felt exploitative. It took years to process this experience, or even consider traveling or camping again. Of course, I got rid of most of my camping gear when I tried to block out those memories, with the exception of my sleeping bag. A gift from a wonderful friend and mentor, who practically raised me over hundreds of bowls of queso.

Sometime last year, I was being so worn down every day at work that I needed an escape. I went where there was no service, lakeside, where Whiskey could wiggle. And I found myself. That adventurous piece of my heart began burning again.

It felt a little relentless too, there is so much to see in California and I’ve abused that for most of my life here. I returned to my old flame, REI, to be greeted by a familiar warmth and bodyslammed by anxiety. I had closed myself off to so much of life because of fear and past traumas. And on a random Friday night, I unknowingly confronted that. 

My two identities began to merge. I was embracing so much of my life that I suppressed due to pain and trauma. I tried to drown my adventurous side with alcohol. I tried to forget. Traveling was associated with religion and cult-like behaviors and I wanted nothing to do with what had deeply wounded me before. As I stepped into my queer identity, I felt equipped to confront this deeply suppressed shame. I spent so long trying to create a safe space to heal and this was the opportunity to embrace the world again.

When we recover loudly, we prevent others from dying quietly.

Equipped with new (used) camping gear and the perspective that my current lifestyle was not working for me, I quit my job to be gay in the woods. This time, I went a little farther from home. I took Whiskey with the wind and went to Portland, where I met up with a good friend of mine, also on a solo trip for self discovery. Who knew a friendship built upon board games named after dictators could span across the country, over a decade of life. A friend that brought me mush to eat when I got my wisdom teeth out at 17, the only friend that visited me in rehab. What a gift this friendship has been to me.

Next thing I know, I’m spending my birthday in France… Do y’all know about french people? They know how to party. They’re overflowing with hospitality and know how to gather around a table. The crowd moves from one house to the next and each meal is shared with at least a dozen people. Everyone in town is connected somehow and it was the biggest and most welcoming family I have ever met. 

Airports were a place I loved to drink. It is a miracle I was never placed on a no fly list considering there were whole flights I have no memories of. Concerning to look back on now, the way I was never denied a drink. It was terrifying to return to old triggers, especially ones associated with such a painful and confusing chapter of my life.

For the first time in my life, I was able to live joyously and out, and be taken in by a wonderfully accepting family. I learned how to connect with my body and with the earth around me. I trained my eye to spot every fig tree I passed. My worldview expanded. I am so grateful for the abundance of love that I felt during this chapter of my life, that enabled me to find healing for things I didn’t even know were broken. For every wound I carried, I was met with life and love in a way that the pain could no longer exist.

Everyone said that they don’t need much to be happy; that life is simple. There is so much love for life, for food and drink, and for sharing stories. They have a deep appreciation of nature and connection with the world around them. It was revitalizing. Yet, I spent most nights crying alone, because of how difficult it is to be sober in a culture centered around alcohol. Everyone was incredibly respectful of my desire to abstain, and even made sure I always had a 0.0 beer, but there’s something about watching people let loose and have fun over alcohol that I will always long for. I couldn’t help but wonder if I would have tried to speak French more if my inhibitions were lowered.

Addiction is fun, until it isn’t. Sobriety isn’t fun, until it is!

After a year, I felt ready to revisit this half written blog with more compassionate eyes. I can be grateful for all the good things that trip to France brought me, while also discussing how triggering the environment was. This trip helped me confront the shame that I carried from my time travelling as a missionary. My community came together to love on Whiskey and taught me how to let go. It changed how I viewed my relationship with my parents. It allowed me to embrace my queer life, while also honoring the past versions of myself.

Every night that I’m sober, I hate it. Every morning that I’m sober, it was worth it.

That’s all, I don’t really know where I was going with all this. 

Cheers,

Ken and Whisk