Finding our way.

When I was 16 and living in Europe, my friend received a day trip to Austria for her birthday. We happily boarded the train and headed for adventure, eager to see the city. Except we didn't. We spent the entire day within sight of the train station. Because I was terrified if we lost sight of it, we'd never find our way back. For 9 hours, we strayed no further than a few blocks from where we started. April was frustrated and angry. But she didn't leave me. She just kept trying to convince me to see the city with her. I offered a mild concession and we checked out some shops and a coffee place.

I haven't thought of that trip in years. But it came back to me last week. How convinced I was that leaving the safety of our starting point would be our doom. That we would lose our way and never find it again. I didn't even believe in bread crumbs, I guess. Certainly didn't trust maps. I wonder how much of my life is due to a similar fear that I will lose my way.

When I see people young and fearless, eager to wander through the city, certain they will return. I envy them. And I want to warn them. Because when I finally did start exploring, it certainly took more than 9 hours for me to find my way back. I think it was worth it, I've seen a lot of amazing things. But it wasn't comforting. It wasn't safe.


Being queer is a journey that can take us far from our starting points. What I didn't know at 16 is even without bread crumbs, maps, or a sense of direction you can still find your way.