South Dakota solo trip — Day 3

I will definitely have to sleep in my car tonight. It’s pouring with rain now, positively pouring, and thundering. “Heavy rain and thunderstorms” had been in the forecast today around 2-3pm, so I guess here it is, about an hour earlier than expected. I just hope it gives some reprieve later, so I can cook myself some dinner and actually get my car set up for me to sleep in tonight… 

I made it back to the campground after my long run & little swim in the lake just in time to have a hot shower and get myself lunch before the downpour started, forcing me to hunker down with my laptop and books. 

We used to have thunderstorms like this in the summertime, at the beach, where I grew up in northern Italy. As kids, it always felt fun: adventurous and cozy. We used to have just enough shelter from the beach-hut to keep us dry and warm, and safe, while also allowing to make it exciting because all we had protecting us from the downpour and thunder was the thatched roof of little huts a few dozen yards from the water’s edge. We’d all huddle close and often just pass the time by playing cards together as we waited for the storms to subside. 

I grew up learning to read the weather. I didn’t realize it at first, I didn’t realize it until I actually started sailing around the Mediterranean with my sailing buddy/boyfriend in college. But even before then, already in elementary school and then throughout middle school and high school, those summers spent partly at the beach and partly in the mountains, spending days on end out in nature, taught me to read the weather, to look at the sky, feel the wind, smell the air, and know what to expect, know when to turn back or seek shelter. 

My parents taught me to be adventurous. As much as they later disapproved of “how far” I took “adventure”, how much I pushed boundaries, how much I did “against the/their rules” (i.e. how “non-normative” I’ve always been), they taught me to be this way. They taught me by example. While all the Italian mothers panicked about the summer storms, trying to rush their kids back home before even the first few drops of rain started, my American mother of English & German descent would delight in the downpours. She taught us not to go swimming or out on the empty beach lest we be hit by lightning, but other than that, what she taught us was to delight in the weather: to see it coming, to prepare for it, and then just enjoy it. I can remember the swims in the sea that we’d have as soon as the summer storms had cleared: almost nobody was left at the beach by then, usually, all having fled with approaching rain, so we had the whole beach to ourselves and the chilly water, coming in big, gray, frothy waves from the storm, was one of the most fun parts of the whole experience. And it was similar when we went hiking in the Austrian mountains in the summer: we checked the weather forecast as much as we could before leaving the house, but then it was up to us and our common sense on the trails. And we’d just pack our knapsacks — one each, even when my sister & I were very young — each one of us carrying the essentials for one self: food, water, extra layers, rain-jacket, hat. (Then my parents had some extras, like additional snacks & water and the first-aid kit, for everyone.) What I appreciate — and I can really only appreciate it now, having been unable to really see this before — is that my parents taught me to “just go and do it” or “just go and get it” — that “it” being what ones wants from life, be it a day at the beach, a hike, a new job, the place of their dreams. They taught me to not let the rain stop me: they taught me to bring a raincoat for the rain and to go anyway. 

And that’s what I have been doing my entire life. 

Last night I was able to sleep in my tent. It must have rained, or at least drizzled, because there were drops on my tent this morning and the grass was moist, and it felt colder and damper during the night. But I was OK. I didn’t know exactly what I’d be able to do today, so I left my plans flexible, telling myself I’d decide in the morning based on how the weather looked. I’m taking each day as it comes, one day at a time, fitting my coach’s training plan for me into the weather here, not the other way around. Since the sky was mostly clear this morning and the forecast was for storms in the afternoon, I decided to anticipate my long run from the weekend to today, since I knew I’d have 2-3 hours of decent weather. I brought my rain jacket on my long run and just went for it. 

Tonight I’ll sleep in my car and tomorrow we’ll see. 

It’s the same spirit I had with my sailing buddy/boyfriend when we sailed around the Mediterranean as youngsters: a plan, yes, but vague and flexible, adaptable to the weather, to the circumstances. There’s something very liberating in doing things this way. It makes me feel very attuned to my surroundings (& to myself), very much in the present moment.

Reap what we sow…?

This has been my most productive year in terms of running: I’ve done (& won) four races in six months, the first one only six weeks after major surgery in my lower abdomen, and I might still manage to do one more before the end of this calendar year. 

I think I’m starting to feel some satisfaction and peace for how this year has gone, or how it’s turned out, thus far. But it’s a sense of peace and satisfaction that goes well beyond the prizes I won at the races. It’s something deeper and broader. 

2025 has not been an easy year for me so far, not at all. I’ve had many moments of profound, painful, overwhelming grief, devastating loneliness, dark thoughts, even despair. I’ve had health issues, some of which scary or concerning. And from the practical viewpoint, my professional situation is still unstable and thus worrisome, and my living/housing situation could be improved. But despite all these difficulties and dark moments, there has been growth for me and net improvement: some of this improvement I can measure, quantify (e.g. the running & races), some I can feel distinctly. I am steadily recovering from the real burnout that was crippling me. I am achieving the athletic goals that I had set myself for last year but was unable to pursue then due to injuries, health issues, and practical obstacles. I have been traveling a lot again, both for work and for pleasure. I have been deepening and strengthening some of my close friendships. I am effectively taking advantage of, and benefiting from, working part-time to dedicate time to travel/vacation, my athletic goals, and my other interests (e.g. writing). 

But especially, I have grown: grown into myself more and opened myself more to the world.  

The races I have done this year haven’t just been athletic successes. I didn’t just go and run my races, as I often used to do in the past. Now I go to races with more in mind than just trying to win the podium in my category: I go to show up openly, loud & proud, as nonbinary trans athlete, with my flags and colors and signs; I go to be with friends (almost every race I’ve done recently has been in the company of friends, whether they came to run, too, or to support me at the start/finish), thus turning the races into fun, social events and memorable experiences to share with people I love; I go to be part of a community, picking the events organized by folks with whom there’s mutual respect. 

Admittedly, I still have unfulfilled dreams and unmet needs. One of these unmet needs — “I need a ‘boyfriend’!” — being the cause of me currently having the sense that “nobody likes me physically/sexually”. This perception is not completely unjustified: in fact, the physical/sexual intimacy that I’ve had with half a dozen people since moving to Colorado has been between April 2022 and December 2024, so none throughout 2025. But it’s also true that I have dedicated this year to other things that I really cared about. Of those half a dozen people, the first three were by chance but the other three or four I sought out. In the past months, I haven’t been seeking out any situations or relationships that would lead to physical or sexual intimacy. I have been dedicating my time and energy and focus to really ground myself more steadily in my life & within myself after several years of almost constant change and stress and difficulties. I have been dedicating my time and energy and focus to my new job, to traveling again, to overcoming disappointment & drama with the chorus, to recovering from (autistic) burnout, to improving as a runner, to showing up & doing activism as a trans nonbinary athlete. And to my friends (as one of my buddies reminded me recently, during one of my bouts of depression, that I “always show up for friends”). 

The areas of my life that I have tended to have, indeed, grown. 

So I guess we really do “reap what we sow”… So maybe now, if what I really want is “a boyfriend” (i.e. friends with benefits), I need to plant seeds in those fields…? … but how?

South Dakota solo trip — Day 2

I might have to sleep in my car tonight. We’ll see. I got back from my hike just in time, as it was starting to drizzle, before it began to pour. It rained pretty hard for about half an hour, now it has stopped again. The inside of my tent is dry but the grass & ground might be too wet, especially if it rains again later this evening or tonight, making it cold to sleep on the ground with only the thin camping layers that I have (& like). 

I’d prefer to sleep in my tent because I really like it, it feels so cozy and so close to nature. But it’s OK either way. I’ll be fine either way. 

I can feel my nervous system relaxing — already relaxed. 

I went on a pretty hike this morning and felt so attuned to my beautiful surroundings — the conifers and deciduous trees; the herons and several raptors; the lake and ponds and creek; the coyote; the fish that jumped out of the water to eat the insects on the pond’s surface. 

My mind rambles on these excursions — I’m one of those people who have almost constant “inner chatter” — but in a way that is relaxed: thoughts come and go; I see them or hear them for a moment and then let them go, without holding onto them, without obsessing; some thoughts come back, almost circling back, and I smile as I recognize them — “Oh, hello, you again!” I’m the thinker but also the observer of my own thoughts; and they do not intrude on nature, nature and my surroundings still capture my attention more than any of my own thoughts. 

I’m by myself but not utterly alone. Out in nature, exploring or adventuring, my loneliness always turns into a soothing solitude. I met fellow hikers and exchanged some friendly remarks. And some of my close friends know where I am and are keeping an eye on me from afar. I’m planning to stay offline from my cell phone & email for the length of this trip: I need it. Part of the rejuvenation & relaxation that these solo trips give me comes from being offline in order to enjoy the present moment, to really be here & now, and to leave all my daily concerns behind, to free or clear my head, my mind, my soul.  After the initial, intense disappointment and pain of having not just one but two buddies bail on travel plans with me for this trip to South Dakota, I’m glad I came out here by myself. These days on my own are good for me. But I also know that they would feel much more lonely and scary if I didn’t have the support of a handful of good friends who are looking out for me from afar. Half a dozen close friends of mine have the details of my current trip. Several of them can check on how I’m doing by reading me here, on this blog. And two of them who follow me on Strava have agreed to call the campground where I’m staying if they don’t see any activities on my Strava account for a couple of days in a row. 

Technically, I’m still alone out on the trails and on the long drive, so something could go wrong there and I’d have to figure things out by myself. But knowing that my friends care and are looking out for me, albeit from afar, helps. 

South Dakota solo trip — Day 1

I made it to South Dakota for a few days of a solo trip to camp, hike, and trail run in the Black Hills & Mt. Rushmore area. 

Funny the things one thinks about while driving alone for hundreds of miles. 

Towards the end of my drive today, I found myself counting the number of people with whom I’ve had physical and/or sexual intimacy in the past few years (I guess I’m fully into my “horny teenage boy” phase!). And I suddenly realized that I’ve had much more physical and/or sexual intimacy since moving to Colorado, three & a half years ago, and since coming more explicitly/openly into (& out as) my nonbinary transmasc self than I had during the six years in California. 

It’s interesting how relative things are, how tricky feelings and perceptions can be. 

For a while now, I’ve been feeling like “nobody likes me physically or sexually”, that “I am unable to find people with whom to connect on a physical and/or sexual level”, etc. But in reality, I’ve had different forms of physical and/or sexual intimacy with half a dozen people in just over three years here in Colorado, whereas in California I had only two friends with benefits during my 5-6 years there. In California, it was with two cis-men: one straight and pretty normative in his approach to relationships; the other queer (bisexual and polyamorous). In Colorado, where my gender-journey really began to flourish, including the medicalization part and the masculinization of my looks, I have had physical and/or sexual intimacy with seven people spanning almost the whole gender-spectrum: a queer cis-woman; a nonbinary transfem friend; a nonbinary, queer AMAB person who was slowly leaning more and more feminine in their spirit/identity (even if not physically); a transgirl; a queer/pansexual cis-man; a gay cis-man; and a gender-expansive/nonbinary gay cis-man. Some of these interactions were brief — a kiss, a couple of hookups, some handsy snuggles. Others lasted a few months. Most were “superficial” or just “experimental” or casual. A couple really took my heart. But in all of them there was for me the element of exploration, discovery, experimentation. 

I went through a similar phase between the ages of 15 – 19. So when I feel — and say — that I’m like a teenager all over again, it’s true: I am, once again, discovering what physical and/or sexual intimacy mean to me, what I like, what/who attracts me, who likes/is attracted to me. 

I need to keep this in mind, to remember this in the dark moments of loneliness when I feel like nobody is physically or sexually attracted to me, or when I feel that I’m not physically or sexually attracted to anyone. It’s true that I rarely feel physical or sexual attraction towards anyone, especially if I know nothing about them. And it’s true that I have a very hard time understanding when other people are interested in/attracted to me physically or sexually (as the case with the guy who hit on me after the race last Saturday proves!). And it’s especially true that most of the situations of physical or sexual intimacy that I’ve had since moving out to Colorado & since being openly nonbinary/transmasc have been fleeting experiments that didn’t work out. But it hasn’t been a barren desert. People have been interested in/attracted to me physically or sexually, and they have made their interest/attraction clear and known to me, despite my “weird body” and/or awkwardness. 

So maybe there is hope for me. Maybe, just like those years between high school & the beginning of college when I was trying to figure out who/what I liked and who liked me, I’m slowly figuring things out again, in this second puberty. As I blundered back then, in my teens, and kissed or snuggled or hooked up with many people who ended up being the “wrong fit”, I’m blundering now: experimenting, trying to understand by trial and error.

And hopefully, sooner rather than later I’ll zoom into the “right persons”. Hopefully, sooner rather than later, the “right fits” & I will find each other…

Compartmentalizing — Decompartmentalizing?

I tend to compartmentalize my relationships: friends with whom I walk&talk or meet for tea or dinner or movie night; friends with whom I go out dancing; running buddies; climbing buddies. And sometimes, friends with benefits, with whom I usually share little more than sex and some emotional and/or intellectual connection. 

It wasn’t always that way for me. In my earlier “serious” relationships with sexual partners, we shared much more. But in only one relationship that involved sex did I also share my adventurous sides with my partner, and that was with my sailing buddy over two decades ago, my first “great love” and first “serious partner”. We were friends, buddies, comrades, sailing partners competing together as a team, sailing buddies going on fun adventures together, shelter for each other from our dysfunctional families of origin, source of encouragement to explore the world. I’ve never since had any other relationship like that, nor do I seek it out or believe it possible anymore. 

In California, I had a sailing buddy with whom we tried to also be friends with benefits, but it didn’t work: we found that we could either sail together, as platonic sailing partners on a team, or we could have sex together, but we couldn’t do both. So, first we tried to be platonic sailing partners; but the sexual attraction, and thus sexual tension, between us was too strong, so we eventually agreed to find other sailing partners and be friends with benefits. And that worked: the boundaries were clear, we compartmentalized our intimacy, limited our closeness.

For a couple of years between California & Colorado, I had a nonbinary transfem friend who was also a climber (mostly a boulderer) with whom we had two phases of being sexual friends, and in a way it was nice, fun to go climbing with them (& common friends) and then come home and act as if we were “partners”. But it was always just for a few days, a long weekend, because we lived in two different States, so that automatically compartmentalized the relationship, setting specific, practical boundaries and limits to our closeness. 

I love the camaraderie, shared experiences, and special intimacy I have with my climbing buddies and running buddies, who are all cis-het men. And I also like the fact that the boundaries of our relationships are clear, our closeness and intimacy are limited. When I was trying to “date” people and using the apps about a year and a half ago, I tended to avoid, or be uninterested in, people who were explicit runners or climbers; and when I was seeing the transgirl who was a serious runner and wanted to go running with me, I was very clear and unmovable in my “No”: running was what I did with my buddies, my cis-het guy friends, it was my “bro-time”, like climbing, not something I was interested in doing with someone who was my sexual or romantic partner. 

Something has been feeling a little different for me in these past two days, since the interaction with the man who showed interest in me at the race on Saturday. I’ve allowed myself to think about those interactions and, especially, to let myself explore my feelings around what happened and what it could feel like for me if there had been some “future opportunity” with him. There was definitely a mutual “noticing” of each other, mutual interest, I am sure of that. And it feels flattering, first of all, simply because a guy I found attractive also showed interest towards me. But thinking about it a little deeper, I must admit that his being a trail runner, too, adds something to my interest, to the pleasure or gratification I feel, and to the wish that something had come out of it. It adds to my pleasure to know that it was both a cis-man (I assume, a queer cis-man) AND a trail runner showing an interest in me that was beyond athletic.

It can be flattering to know that someone finds you physically attractive; and it’s very gratifying for me to feel the (mutual) athletic admiration that my running & climbing buddies have for each other, and the fact that with my buddies this admiration is wholly platonic feels safe & comfortable, I cherish that simple, brotherly connection. But I must admit that the possibility of that runner at the race on Saturday finding me both athletically AND sexually attractive feels nice. And I must also admit that the fantasy of sharing both sex and a deep interest like trail running with another queer man feels like something that I might want or enjoy… And this comes as a surprise to my own self. 

Exile and longings

I’m reading another of the novels from Ursula Le Guin’s collection of “Hainish Novels & Stories”. 

I’m not going to go into all the reasons I like, really admire, her works. There is one central reason, or theme, that speaks to me: that of exile and longing. In all of her “Hainish Novels” that I have read so far, there are two or more different societies (in her works, often even different races or species, since it’s peoples from different planets or even solar systems) that interact, meet, clash; but usually, there’s one individual from one of these societies, or worlds, who, alone, tries to face, understand, live in, adapt to, discover the “other world”. Hence the perpetual sense of exile and longing in her stories: her main characters are exiles. Most of the time, they are exiles by choice, but they are exiles nonetheless, and thus have a longing for “home” that can never be fully satisfied (in her books due mostly to the huge interstellar distances). 

While of course not being as dramatic as interstellar spaces, I can relate to this sense of exile. I am an exile by choice, and have always felt like an “exile” in some way. I never felt wholly at home wherever I lived in Europe, being such a mix myself, raised in a multi-cultural, multi-lingual family. I always felt the desire to move to the U.S., where my mother had grown up. 

I have lived in the U.S. — in regions of the U.S. that I chose, not where my mother grew up — for almost a decade now and in all this time never gone back to visit Europe, where I mostly grew up. I feel “at home” in Colorado more than I ever felt anywhere else. But I don’t feel wholly at home here, nor do I think I ever will be able to feel wholly at home anywhere. And while I believe that I will never go back to actually live and work in Europe, and while I’m very conscious of the differences among/within European countries, I often do feel a certain longing for Europe. Which often shows in my choice of relationships or instinctive attachments here in the U.S.

Since moving out here almost a decade ago, I have often made friends quickly and deeply, almost instinctively, with people who either are, like me, “half European” or who have some other mixed, non-U.S. background, or who have at least had some significant contact with or knowledge of countries and experience outside of the U.S. And I am aware that a great part of the depth of the love and attachment that I felt a couple of years ago for my “European queer ex-lover” was precisely because they were European. That was one of the reasons they felt like “home” to me. And now I find myself, still two years later, instinctively seeking them in other people, in other relationships. I often find myself attracted or strongly drawn to strangers or acquaintances just because they remind me of my “European queer ex-lover”. 

This happened most recently yesterday. I went to do a trail race with some friends. Before the race, in the bib-pickup area, my attention was drawn to a tall, slim man, instinctively, irresistibly. One reason was that his build made him seem to me, possibly, as a professional runner, so I was simply curious. But the other, deeper reason was that he reminded me strongly, vividly of my “European queer ex-lover”. I don’t know if I stared, but we definitely exchanged glances and he noticed me almost as much as I had noticed him. Later, after the race, he came up to me and made a comment on my running shorts, which was effectively a compliment or at least a very explicit, appreciative comment on my butt. It wasn’t creepy or inappropriate but it definitely surprised me — now that I look like a guy, cis-het men, at least strangers, don’t pay me compliments anymore on how I look or what I’m wearing. I was caught by surprise, baffled, and honestly flattered. 

But the comment stayed with me longer and deeper than it would have from a random stranger, and this isn’t only due to the fact that I’m not used to compliments from cis-men anymore. 

The reason his comment — his “compliment” — stuck is because I had also noticed him earlier, before the race, and the reason I had noticed him was that he reminded me of my “European queer ex-lover”: he reminded me of something familiar, someone familiar, someone I loved and liked, someone I still, somewhere deep inside me, long for. 

Flow-of-consciousness thoughts & feelings on my unmet relational needs

My mind likes to have something to focus on. Or something to obsess about. And periodically, it obsesses about “having a boyfriend” (whatever that may mean for someone who is aro-ace).

I often – more and more often – think that the importance my buddies have for me or the affection I feel for them are much stronger than the importance I have for them or the affection they might feel for me. And that’s because they have romantic/sexual/nesting partners whereas I don’t. 

This summer I’ve often found myself thinking how lucky their wives or girlfriends are. Almost feeling envious – not jealous – of their wives or girlfriends. Not because of the sex or romance they share but because of the shared life they lead. With me, they go out for a few hours, maybe a day, of climbing or trail running or hiking. We have a wonderful time together: it’s fun and wild and physically tiring and satisfying. And there’s bonding, for sure. But then, at the end of the day, they go home to their spouses and that’s the highlight of their day, or their week, really: their time with their romantic partners, with whom they share daily experiences and long-term plans. 

At the end of the day out with them, I go home to nobody. Being out in nature bonding in the camaraderie from a shared adventure and physical effort is the highlight of the day – or the week – for me. I have nothing “better”, no one “closer” to go home to. 

This realization, the realization of this imbalance in our relationships and probably even in our feelings, is painful. But the imbalance is real, and I need to accept it and deal with it. 

This imbalance is one of the causes of my “almost envy” towards their wives or girlfriends: I wish I could have those deeper shared connections with my buddies, not sexually or romantically, but at a level of life-commitment. 

The other reason for my “almost envy” is that my buddies are really nice guys, really nice people. I.e., if I were ever to find some type of “life-partner(s)”, I’d choose, or hope to find, person(s) similar to my buddies in their character, sensitivity, intelligence, world view, values. 

I don’t feel sexually attracted to any of my cis-het buddies. Fortunately, I should say, because otherwise it would get very messy because they would certainly not feel any sexual attraction towards me. To me they really feel like brothers, and I know I do to them, too. But I wish I could find someone like them, with whom I could have similar camaraderie and intimacy on the level of feeling like soulmates, but with the additional aspect of mutual sexual attraction. Because at the end of the day, I miss that level, or that type, of connection in my life. 

I find myself thinking, or writing this, and I feel like I’m being totally honest and open. On the other hand, though, I’m not sure what I want. What do I really mean when I say, “I’d like that level, or that type, of connection in my life”? Do I mean that I’d just like to live with someone who is a close, dear friend rather than a random, albeit nice, housemate? Or do I mean that I’d actually like to have a “life-partner” of some type, even though I’m against the institution of marriage and “life-partner” for me wouldn’t necessarily be the same as sexual partner? Or do I mean, instead, that I’d like some friend(s) with benefits? 

What is it that I need, that I feel the lack of in my life right now (& periodically)? Is it sex? Is it tenderness? Is it deeper camaraderie or more long-term, more explicit commitment? Is it more sustained, long-term emotional connection? Is it just a little more touch, like some hugs or snuggles, but not sex? 

I’m not sure, I’m confused.  (And yet, those yearnings, those unmet relational needs are real and intense.)

It’s probably a mix of the above. Which, of course, would mean that I would need more than one person to get those needs fulfilled. 

What scares me when I’m feeling this type of neediness is the risk, or vulnerable position, in which it puts me. When I get to the point that I’m actually writing about it like this, that my mind is “obsessing” about it, it means that I’ve gotten to the point where I’m like a thirsty person who’s been walking through a desert for days and suddenly sees an oasis: is it real or is it a mirage? Is the water in the well clean or poisonous? Will I quench my thirst if I drink from that source, or will I get myself sick? 

When I get to this point of neediness, relationally, I’m vulnerable to walking right into the “wrong” relationship. Or a relationship with the “wrong person”. It can be very unhealthy for me. 

Was it this level of neediness that led me to hook up with one of the guys in the chorus less than three months after joining? And am I so worried or scared about this now because chorus rehearsals start again in less than three weeks and going back to such a group of people feels potentially risky to me? 

The break from the chorus in the past five months was good for me, and necessary. I had so many expectations – emotional and relational expectations – from that group of people that I was often very disappointed, inevitably disappointed. The break was good for me as it allowed me, among other things, to go and “find myself again”, i.e. to give space, to dedicate time, and to rediscover confidence in areas of my life that are such a strong and important part of my identity: being an athlete, a scientist, an adventurer. Interacting again briefly with a few of the chorus members during the Pride weekend, specifically at the Pride 5k race, allowed me to be with them in a position of “less neediness” on my part; on the contrary, of showing up in a position of strength and confidence: it was a run, a race, I was wholly in my element, radiating confidence in a way that I never do at chorus rehearsal. 

These months of spring and summer travels and adventures and physical activity and training toward specific athletic goals have helped me find a focus again that is deeply my own, a type of focus and a type of goals that I know well and know how to handle. (Once again, my mind focusing on something very specific.) 

I’ve been compartmentalizing. I compartmentalize. It’s a defense mechanism. I set up very clear boundaries within each relationship and make sure the Venn diagrams of different relationships have hardly any overlap. But there are areas of those Venn diagrams that seem to remain forever empty for me: blank, unpopulated. 

Am I really going to go back to the chorus in less than three weeks full of athletic confidence shielding me from wishes of deeper connection? 

And am I really, eventually, going to make peace with the fact that at the end of a wonderful day climbing my buddies go home to someone they love and care about more than me? 

Probably not.

Realistically, I’m probably going to continue being in these vulnerable positions with respect to the chorus or my buddies, unless I get those other – as yet still only vaguely defined – needs of mine met. Even though neither the chorus nor my buddies are the people to fulfill those needs – and this is very clear to me, these are boundaries that I don’t doubt – my longings remain.

And precisely because neither the chorus nor my buddies are the people to fulfill those needs for me, those longings remain unsatisfied and painful. 

Shooting stars

On Tuesday night, I stayed up later than usual after dinner, wrapped up in a big blue blanket, lying on the picnic table at my campsite and looking up at the sky, watching for shooting stars. I saw four, then tiredness got the better of me and I headed into my little tent, to cozy up in my sleeping bag on the dirt ground. 

At 3 AM my alarm went off. I got my big blue blanket and again wrapped myself in it and lay on the picnic table to watch for meteors. This time, I saw eight or nine of them before eventually forcing myself to go back to sleep. 

The delight I felt in seeing the shooting stars was as pure and addictive as it was when I watched for shooting stars as a child or young adult back in Europe. It used to be ritual for us, for me, almost every year back then. Each and every meteor used to bring me that delight, maybe a dopamine rush, when I was younger: and it did just the same a couple days ago, the night between August 12th & 13th. 

It was wonderful, lovely, to feel that delight again. Another moment of joy that, hopefully, I will remember and treasure and that might brighten up the dark moments that will inevitably present themselves again. 

I wonder if I’d learn to take life — the experiences, the people, the events, the relationships that have punctuated my journey — just as a special night with shooting stars, if that could alleviate my pain for all my losses. 

Maybe a few people in my life can really be like the moon or the sun or the stars that are always there, sometimes more visible, sometimes less, but nevertheless always present. But probably most people and most experiences, relationships or events are just like shooting stars, meteors, comets at most: present, bright and shiny and exciting for an instant, for a few seconds, and then gone. 

Could I learn to just hold onto that delight of seeing, experiencing, and enjoying the brightness for an instant instead of trying to hold onto something that cannot stay?

Finding myself again

A quarter of a century ago, the summer after I had finished high school, I met a boy who was nearly three years younger than I and who quickly became one of my closest friends and biggest loves. 

We were sailing partners, buddies, lovers, siblings. We’re still in touch to this day — in fact, yesterday, his older daughter turned 5 — despite our paths having diverged. 

During the years that we were together, we were inseparable and went on hundreds of adventures together (mostly sailing) — exploration and rebellion being among the corrnstones of our deep bonding. We’d go on sailing trips, in old rickety boats, setting anchor at moorings that were free in small bays — we were young and couldn’t afford anything more, anything fancy. Our trips were rustic, our boats trustworthy but basic. We’d go off for days, weeks, eventually a full month on end, with our cell-phones turned off, no computer, a few good books to read, and the boat’s radio for the weather forecast. It was wild and refreshing and liberating. Our trips put us face to face with the elements: heat, cold, wind, storms, stunning sunsets and breath-taking sunrises, endless starry skies, and beautiful moons. And shooting stars, that we’d lie awake to watch for in August and make wishes upon. 

When the “romance” part of our relationship ended, one of the things I missed the most was our adventures together. I missed the adventures with him but I also missed that part of me that went on those adventures and that didn’t have that outlet anymore. I had lost a piece of my identity and it was heart-breaking for me. 

I eventually found it again, especially on my solo trips on my motorcycle after moving to California in 2016. 

With my move out to Colorado in 2022, I somehow lost it again. Another big move (after the one from Europe to California), with another job change, trouble finding a place to live (I’ve moved half a dozen times since moving out to Colorado), and in many ways starting my life over and making changes that felt even bigger than those due to my move from Europe to California. Indeed, the medicalization and legalization of my gender journey, which became a practical reality only once I moved to Colorado, has taken so much of my time and energy, and it has influenced my daily life, my emotional state, my mental capacity, and my relationships so heavily that it’s been hard for me to just be, to just live a life. 

These pst three days, I felt like I finally got to just be, to just live my life again. 

Last week, I really needed to get away. I couldn’t wait for the trips planned for the end of August or September for a break, I needed a break now. 

At first, the heaviness that I’ve been feeling in the past few years of having to do everything by myself, having to plan and organize and go always all by myself was almost crippling me. And I could definitely feel that sensation that I have come to recognize so easily over the past few years: anxiety stemming from loneliness. Nevertheless, I knew I had to do this for myself, I knew I needed a little getaway, to go do something that I’ve wanted to do for years: go somewhere with a dark sky to see the Perseids meteor shower. 

So I did it. I just got back now from three days of camping & hiking in the Rocky Mountain National Park. 

I’m tired but I’m happy (& tearing up from emotion). Happy because I found myself again. I found that little child who’d go out in the dark street in the little town in Austria where we’d spend lots of our summer to count shooting stars with my parents. I found that young adult who lay on a small mooring on the Croatian island of Olib to watch for shooting stars with my sailing buddy/boyfriend. I found that simplicity of having only the few things I really needed in that moment: some food, water, shelter from the elements, a good book to read while relaxing. 

I just found me again, regardless of my gender or sex or age or sexual orientation. I just felt like a human, a person, an adventurous human who likes to do things outdoors in Nature. As I interacted with people on my hikes and at the campground, I didn’t really think or worry about how I looked, how they might perceive me — the way I didn’t when I went on my solo motorcycle trips a few years ago. Of course, this time I used the men’s bathrooms and people addressed me as “he”, “him”, “sir”, “guy”. But they were just words, it didn’t change their behavior towards me or mine towards them. We were kind and friendly or polite with each other; I didn’t worry about “avoiding to look like a creepy guy”. I was just me: a person traveling by themself, just as I did when I looked like a “girl”.

Pinnacle

[Trigger warning: loss, grief.]

This is a very hard week with memories connected to my father unearthing all the grief from that loss along with the loss of my European (gender)queer ex-lover who had supported me through the loss of my father. 

There are moments where I’m just overwhelmed by the grief and tears gush out of me — like during a workout at the gym yesterday when the song Highway Queen by Mt. Joy, that for some reason I connect to my (feelings for my) dad, started playing in my ear buds. 

This morning I had an easy run plus hill strides to do and the hills were feeling really good, I was right there on the line of runner’s high. And then, on my last hill, again the song Highway Queen by Mt. Joy started playing in my ear buds. 

It was the last hill, the last big effort, the last push, so I gave it all I had, going higher than the previous four reps. And when I was done with it, it hit me, the flood of feelings. 

Joy, pain, thrill, grief, pride and satisfaction and sadness — all wrapped up in one big, sharp pinnacle of feelings. 

I wasn’t even there anymore — it was just feelings, intense feelings swirling, flowing, rushing. 

The hills around me, familiar yet somehow unknown, universal. 

A white cloud in the bright blue sky above, changing shape — I could feel no distinction between myself and that cloud, nor any distinction between the joy and the pain. 

For a brief moment, all was one: I dissolved into my surroundings submerged in the feelings, and joy and pain merged into one sharp pinnacle of ice in flames.