She hails from the west

I'd been living in the DC area for over 16 years when my youngest kid went off to college and I at last reached my "empty nest years." Rather than wander around a house much too large for one person, missing my kids and feeling somewhat left behind, I decided it was time for a change. A big one!

Originally, I planned to move to New York City, where I'd lived happily for some years in the early 2000's. But after two months of effort, spending hundreds of dollars in application fees and squandering the patience and generosity of my family in Long Island, I was forced to confront the fact that NYC is no longer a place for artists. I could not find anyone willing to rent an apartment to a middle aged single trans lady with a "variable income." No, not even if I paid three months in advance.

Crestfallen and essentially living out of my car, I retreated to my hometown of Columbus, Ohio. It made a certain desperate sense. I still had family and friends there, and I knew where to go. Perhaps more specifically, where it's safe for a trans lady in Ohio. While there, I was able to make even more friends by volunteering at LGTBQIA+ centers and through the local chapter of the Horror Writer's Association. Three months in, I decided it was surprisingly nice to be back, and I began pondering whether I could make a life for myself there. The idea had a pleasingly circular quality to it, and I had other friends who'd left some "big city" and found fulfillment (or at least ease) back in their hometowns. Why not me?

In truth, I'm not sure how long I would have lasted. After only 6 months, I was already starting to feel hemmed in, remembering why I'd left Columbus in the first place. But whether it would have worked or not became meaningless after my son had a mental health crisis halfway through his freshman year of college in Baltimore.

It's a seven hour drive from Columbus to Baltimore. The distance that had once seemed quite reasonable, now became intolerable to me. He got through it, thankfully, but being so far away—so helpless—was excruciating. I knew I needed to be closer. So? Time to move again!

"How about Baltimore?" I suggested hopefully.

"How about not Baltimore," my son said flatly.

Which was fair.

That night I was complaining to my friend Andrea about my ungrateful teenager, as moms sometimes do. And I wondered aloud where I could afford to move on the East Coast, if not Baltimore.

Andrea said, "What about Philly? We have a couple of friends there, and you'd be close to both NYC and Baltimore."

"What about Philly?" I asked myself, and began to look into it.

Roughly six months later, I moved into a cute little apartment in South Philly.

I'd hoped to repeat the same playbook of making friends in Philly that I had in Columbus, largely by volunteering. But perhaps unsurprisingly, there wasn't the same desperate need for volunteers at queer community centers in Philadelphia as there had been in Ohio. That route to making new friends wasn't going to cut it.

"Why don't you join a church?" suggested my mother.

"Church..." I said with distaste.

I was raised in a strict Catholic environment, and as you might imagine did not find it a pleasant experience. Because of that, I've always harbored a deep distrust in organized religion.

"Maybe there's a Unitarian Universalist church in Philly," she said. "I've been going to one here in Arizona, and they're very open and welcoming to queer people."

"I'll look," I said grudgingly.

It turns out there is a UU church in Philly. In fact, it's the First Unitarian Church. And not only was it the first, established way back in the late 1700's, but apparently it also has a long and storied history as a venue for punk bands? I was intrigued. And that was before I saw the picture of one of the reverends, a flamboyantly dressed genderqueer nonbinary Brazilian immigrant just covered in tattoos.

"Huh. Maybe I can hang with this church," I mused.

And I was right. Within six months, I decided to become a member of "gay church," as I've taken to calling it. Because wow it really is the gayest church I've ever encountered. There's even enough trans and nonbinary folk among the congregation for us to have our own church group! Wild!

There was also another group that caught my attention. A regular, monthly gathering called "Pagan Potluck."

That's where this all began.