I wanna take this bi-annual opportunity to re-introduce myself to you all. This is one of my favorite newsletters to write because I actually get to hear back from everyone on the other side of this void. If you’ve gotten anything from these rambling poetic love letters in your inbox over the last six months, I’d love for us to get to know each other a little better.
I’m using this week’s Boys Love Poetry newsletter for another round of introductions. I wanna give you a chance to let me know what’s good (or not) in your life. I’ll go first and give you a little life update. Then you can hit ‘reply’ to introduce yourself to me privately or leave a comment for everyone to see. Don’t be shy!
It’s a few days before the autumn equinox, Mercury has stationed direct, and it’s still hot as hell in LA. I don’t think I’ll ever quite get used to how strange it feels not to live somewhere without seasons. I’m prepping my little autumnal rituals anyway—sowing kale, fava bean, and carrot seedlings, scheming up Halloween costume parties, obsessively playing fantasy football, cranking up the AC high enough that I can put a flannel on.
As much as I crave the cool and crisp fall weather, I know I’m lucky to live here. My partner AJ and I went to the beach last night for a body boarding session at sunset, and I was struck with how bizarrely beautiful Los Angeles is. It’s gorgeous in that toxic paradoxical city sort of way. Everyone is gay. Everything is expensive. Everyone is obsessed with youth and beauty. We love to hate it as much as we love to love it.
You justify the price for the nights, the scene, and the community you pray you still have, only to find that sometimes we go weeks or months without seeing the people you say you stay in the city for. And then sometimes you’re standing in your underwear on the beach with a red September sun crashing down all around you, and Los Angeles brings you to your knees. You’re like, fuck I love it here. But then you spend $6 on a kombucha the next day and die a little inside. Who knows, maybe my priorities have just changed now that I’m 30.
To be honest, I haven’t fully recovered from the loss I experienced when my friend group imploded and staged a military-grade coup against me last summer. Sure, I’ve grown from it. I build friendships slower now. I used to give away my trust for free, get off on being needed, hold the same expectations of others that I hold for myself. I’ve done my best to metabolize my part in what happened and let the rest go. But I’m not gonna lie, it kind of fucked me up. Which isn’t to say I don’t have friends, but unfortunately none of my ride-or-dies live within a 300-mile radius of me.
AJ and I thought that we could have kids here, in Los Angeles. We felt like we might be able to do it somewhere far from our families, as long we had a community of people doing it with us. Something strong enough to fall back on. But in practice, sometimes you realize that the queer people are a traumatized folk, and when shit gets hard, they have a tendency to bail. And while I’m not quite ready to give up my anti-nuclear queer commune dream, that shit isn’t gonna happen here. I’m still keeping a low flame lit for the possibility of finding deep friendships again in this city, but the idea of moving somewhere smaller—somewhere people mean something different to each other—feels like a healing balm.
Nothing new is happening gender-wise. It’s crazy being almost a decade into my transition. I used to think that I would be transitioning my whole life. LOL. Like, of course, there isn’t a start or a finish and it’s certainly not linear, but also transitioning is exhausting!! And I’m happy to report that after nine years, things have chilled out. I’m kind of over gender. I’m just kind of a dude. Obviously, my gender is still pretty non-binary (while also being hyperbinary as a personal gender kink of mine), but I feel like I can finally say that I’ve transitioned—in the past tense use of the word.
Okay, also I have to interrupt your regular programming to tell you that I have officially discovered the music of Zach Bryan and I will never be the same again. A lyrical cowboy? In this era? Kill me softly with your song why don’t you. I made you this playlist, from one thick boy obsessing over another thick boy. Put it on shuffle. Consider it an offering.
Now that you’ve got a good soundtrack going, I’m getting back into Muy Thai again—training 3x a week. This cardio is trying to murder me!!! I’m really working on keeping my relationship with exercise steady and consistent, instead of focusing on “gains” only to lose them just as fast. I’m working on accepting that the only thing permanent about my body is the fact that it will change!! My T levels might fluctuate, hair will keep growing (and maybe thinning) in new places, I’ll gain weight and lose it, and if I’m lucky, I will age.
I’ve been playing pick-up soccer on Wednesday nights. If you’ve recently moved somewhere and are looking for new friends—but maybe you are over 30 and not that into going out—I can’t recommend finding a sport, recreational activity, or hobby you love and then finding a group of people who are just as into it as you are.
Wednesday soccer has genuinely been one of my favorite parts of living here. Climbing up that cement wall, crawling under the chain link fence, only to find an above-ground turf field practically untouched in the middle of DTLA. Playing on the field until the sun goes down with teenagers and dads. Car noises, trash, and a little slice of downtown grinding to a halt against a faded purple sky. I’m looking to start a queer and trans pick-up soccer club on Saturday mornings at Vista Hermosa park, so if you’re a queer or trans soccer babe in LA and want to join, hmu.
Oh yeah! I forgot that AJ and I went on a dreamy—and surprisingly low-budget—trip to London and Spain last month. We were heading over there for a buddy’s wedding that ultimately got postponed, but it was a good excuse to visit. I used to live in London for a few years before the pandemic hit, which at this point might as well be centuries ago. Can anyone even remember who they were before 2020? I was nervous to see how it would feel to return to a place that held so much history for me. Would the ghosts from my not-so-distant past crop back up in the future I’m trying to build? For context, I moved to London for a five-year non-monogamous relationship that ended in flames. It was one of the darkest times of my adult life.
But the truth is, when I went back to the U.K., nothing came up. We had a lovely time. We stayed with friends on houseboats and in shared flats. Drank our little gay Aperol spritzes. Swam in the green bathing ponds under cumulus skies. Walked everywhere. Being back in London, I remembered all the good parts of living there. Gardens in east London. Clothes hanging on the line. Fresh fruit and veggies on every corner. The off-licenses glowing white on late summer nights. The cool rush of walking by a jasmine bush you smell but can’t find. Dozens of twelve-year-old boys with fresh fades pop wheelies on their BMX bikes and drop half-smoke cigarettes behind them as they drive by. I remember all of the good, none of the bad.
This time in London felt different because I’m different. Nothing hurtles your life forward at light speed like a few solid years of self-work. Your past doesn’t come knocking at the door unless you’ve invited it to, subconsciously or otherwise. In other words, it works if you work it. London is also the place where a huge chunk of my novel is based, so it felt good to go back and see everything with fresh eyes. We popped over to Ibiza and spent a few days poolside, driving down coastal mountain roads, wading waist-deep into aquamarine water, warm beers, and the sun in our hair.
If there’s one thing I want to do for the rest of my life, it’s travel. Going away always gives me so much perspective on where I’m coming back to. In a lot of ways, I love Los Angeles. I’ve been here for about two and a half years now. I’m grateful for what I’ve gained here: a beautiful, loving relationship where I can be my full self, a Chiweenie for my Rico, a gorgeous apartment. The dogs are spoiled and living their best lives—dog park in the morning, salmon, and raw eggs for dinner. My relationship is calm and peaceful, though we do have our share of healthy conflict. I’m finally making good money. But there are also things here that are missing for me. I’m excited to go back to Colorado this winter and spend a good amount of time with family back on the front range.
Do any other queers feel ridiculously conflicted about living in major cities? Do you have a story of interpersonal or financial success moving out of a big city and somewhere smaller? If so, please share. I’m desperate for other people who can relate to some of the shifts I’m contemplating and going through. Give me the good, the bad, and the ugly.
But honestly enough about me. Please tell me about you! If we already know each other or you’ve introduced yourself before, give me an update. I’d love to hear about where you’re at, what you are on the other side of, what you’re wrestling with, and what things make you feel alive these days <3
Hi Dusty. LA is definitely something special. I lived about an hour and a half away for most of my life. Always venturing into Hollywood or DTLA or that In-n-Out that sits across from the strip of grass where you can lay back and watch the planes land. I tried, unsuccessfully, to move there for years. Held back by family, school, girlfriends, and mostly fear. It wasn't until I met my wife and we adopted our three kids that I was ready to make a big move. So we sold the house and most of our stuff and moved the opposite direction. We've been in Maine now for one year and one month. Holy shit the contrast is jarring. But it's also so so good. My little (big) family is the happiest we've ever been. The kids can roam our two acres of property without fear of asthma attacks or heatstroke. My wife is finishing school and finding out she can use all her education and advocating for our kids she does every day for the greater community. I'm coming out of the closet again as a trans man (thanks in part to you and your writing). We have no support system out here, and that's definitely hard. But even back in our hometown we couldn't really get help from our friends and family without it being an emergency. We thought it took a village, but we realized that we are our own village. We'll make solid connections with people again, but we're also doing it selectively and cautiously.
All this to say I understand and thank you.
Hey Dusty. I love your energy, and your writing, and your hot pics, and how much you enjoy being in the sea (same). I grew up in east London, so it's interesting to read your take on it, and I'm excited for your novel. Right now I'm balancing feelings of gratitude and of loss, wishing for things to be better and marvelling at how good they are already. This is particularly because it's just been Rosh Hashanah (Jewish new year - big contemplation and reflection time) and a queer Jewish friend/role model/chosen family member/yiddish study buddy who's very dear to me has just moved 5000km away, to New York City. I'm starting a PhD which I feel incredibly lucky to have secured funding for - I'm going to get paid to learn, which is what I love to do! - and slightly overwhelmed by at the same time, and I'm going to turn 40 in a few months (as you'd say, if I'm lucky), so it feels funny to be back at school. I'm part of a new-ish Food Not Bombs chapter which makes me feel stressed when I'm doing the 'organising' part of the work, but so energised and optimistic when it comes to the 'cooking and sharing food' bit. I'm perpetually trying to find a way back in to regular boxing training -- which I was doing before COVID hit -- while finding it really hard to let people in to my personal space. In general I feel like, these days, I spend a lot of my time doing things I love, but there are so many of those things, I always wish I had more time for all of them.