2026 - With fear in the passengers seat

My time at Power & Light Press in Silver City, New Mexico is drawing to a close, as is the year. Both have me reflecting — on this residency, on how far I’ve traveled, and on how much has shifted. I don’t just mean the miles (8,400 and counting), but the internal movement that’s harder to track.

I started this year searching for safety. With Trump back in office, I felt increasingly uneasy living in Indiana — not only as a non-binary person, but as someone watching the TQ quietly stripped from LGBTQ+, suddenly sorted into the “unacceptable” category. The tone around me changed. People felt emboldened to unedit their disgust, to speak and act aggressively without consequence. At the same time, the systems meant to offer protection were being dismantled — DEI initiatives, LGBTQ+ rights, even the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission turning away my requests. It felt like the ground was shifting beneath my feet.

Here’s the thing though: I am not an adventurous person. At least, that’s what I tell people all the time. I love routine. I love knowing the best grocery store, the good coffee, the familiar social spots. I love the comfort of a regular walk with Barkley, waving to the same people, letting predictability wrap its arms around me like a warm embrace. This life — this one I’m living right now — is nothing close to that.

And yet, I have a long history of doing the things that frighten me.

I’m afraid of needles, blood, and vomit, and still I became a flight paramedic. I’m terrified of heights, and yet I ran the rope rescue team on my fire department. I’ve avoided opportunities simply because the unknown felt unbearable — and here I am, repeatedly stepping into it anyway. Fear has never been a sign to stop; it’s just been part of the equation.

And here I am.

Why am I doing something so deeply uncomfortable? The answer probably gives a good sense of how uncomfortable I truly was. I have never taken on a new challenge without being pried out of something else — but isn’t that true for most of us?

I keep telling my brother and close friends, “What a strange, strange life I have.” It’s not the normal thing to do, especially at 49. Some might call it a midlife crisis, but I think it’s something quieter and more deliberate than that. I’ve always been queer — why wouldn’t my career, my home, and my choices be queer too?

So here I am, standing on the edge of 2026, facing an 1,800-mile road trip and whatever comes next. Waiting to see what the universe has in store. Am I frightened? Yeah. A bit.

But that’s never stopped me before.

Forward-facing. Fully seated in the present. One hand firmly holding the tether to my people.