just a kitten in a stroller
Four years since I've left the city, it's time to reflect.
I remember the day when I decided it was time to leave Chicago, a city I love and called home for eight years, and move to the far western suburb of Batavia.
It was Saturday, July 8, 2016, and my partner Stefin and I were sitting in the midst of Batavia’s weekly summer farmer’s market, sipping iced coffees and eating breakfast burritos from local vendors. Seemingly out of nowhere, the dog parade began. Dozens of families and their pups marched past us, having lined up past the pedestrian bridge. And rounding out the group was one little girl pushing a kitten in a stroller.
I had a feeling that any town that could include a kitten in a stroller in its dog parade festivities might just make room for a queer witch like me.
After a goodbye tour of tattoo appointments, city friend dates and dance parties in dive bars (including my most lucrative DJ gig ever: sharing a bill with Nancy Whang at a Beauty Bar Lolla afterparty, and my final Kate Bush tribute night), we closed on our 1860s home on Elm Street (I know) on Sept. 2. We proceeded to pull out the last of our home’s ‘90s beige carpet and painted our dining room walls black while blasting Hole’s Live Through This on the record player. On Sept. 14, we drove west and spent our first night in our new town.
That was almost four years ago now. In that time, it feels like both everything and nothing has happened. Maybe because of the four-year cadence of high school and college or (just as likely) something in the stars, it feels like a cycle is coming to an end and a new one is about to begin.
I fear these four years in the hinterland have made me far too comfortable. I’ve retreated into the shadow and hushed my own voice. I recognize a complacency growing within me and I know that’s not the vibe I’m aiming for. I’m now feeling pulled toward making space to reflect on my queer existence in a straight land, to document my efforts to battle the complacency within me and the complacency within this town on the issues of our time.
That’s what this space is all about. The title, queering the burbs, comes from a hashtag I first used on an Instagram post the day we bought our house. To be fully transparent, I always envisioned the title as a blog but have procrastinated ever doing anything with it. Starting a “blog” felt pretentious and passe. A Substack is probably just as pretentious, and maybe more so? I’m sorry. But a recent tarot reading made it very clear that the time was now to create and put words down in black on white.
The title is a combination of a verb and a place. It’s about building action around who you are and trying to apply it to a place that is very much not that. I intend to share what I’m experiencing, seeing and reading in this space. I’ll aim for weekly posts, maybe more, maybe less. I hope this newsletter might prove helpful or entertaining for anyone else who’s also feeling called to action/creation/activism/artistry, but haven’t found that something that fits for them yet. For anyone else who doesn’t feel like they belong where they live. For anyone who’s feeling lonely or directionless right now. Trust me, I’ve been there. Let’s do this.