Part I: How Can We Be Lovers If We Can’t Be Friends

Twenty five years ago, my friend Jimmy informed me that actually? I did not have any genuine male friends, at least not in the way I thought I did, because the only reason dudes hung around chicks was for the possibility of sex. Full stop. 

I refused to accept this notion, largely because doing so would shine an off-key hindsight on my high school musical: four girls + a bouquet of boys, several of whom I’m still in touch with today. 99% certain the possibility of sex never made the top five reasons we hung out, attempting to launch mayo packets from behind cemetery headstones into the tiny Taco John’s drive-thru window across the street, or racing turbo-charged Mitsubishis on the back dark roads, so fast with absolutely zero fury, roaming rural streets and townie haunts til dawn, dozing on trampolines, tiny faraway lands twinkling above, sneaking out, slinking in.

A few weeks later I came-to with a “friend’s” hand accessing unauthorized areas of my body and conceded Jimmy might have point. I carried that precaution with me the remainder of my twenties, probably longer, just in case. But I’m pleased to announce I’m back to my formative stance on the subject. Because if those high school glory days weren’t real, I don’t what is.

I think about this a lot, especially as a spinster by choice. Am I really just supposed to navigate the world like every dude PRIMARILY WANTS TO HAVE SEX WITH ME? I mean, sure, maybe it crosses a mind or two somewhere on the list of things running through, but that’s an incredibly myopic view of men. Of women too, really. And I gotta believe dudes have more facets than that. I need to believe that.

Also, WHO CARES IF YOU WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH ME? As long as you don’t force yourself on me AND you’re not insulted if I don’t feel the same way, I’m flattered. I’ll take it as a compliment. Not acting on things we think we want because understanding the things we want aren’t always good for us is a sign of maturity. Probably should have put that one in all caps. I certainly wouldn’t want someone judging me on every single private thought I’ve had, definitely some doozies in there. 

ALSO. Upon further reflection, I never actually considered my handsy high school friend a friend in the first place. I just lumped him into the high school bucket when I graduated to the far-away-land of college. I technically knew who he was, but we never hung out. We never stayed out all night long doing nothing of any significance; loitering in the Best Buy parking lot bumping Nelly, eating 2 AM bread bowl salads at Perkins, cruising Grand Ave, no place to be. He was never a friend. He was just some dude. And a lot of those guys suck. 

I’ve shared lots of sleeps with differently sexed people without a hint of desire, but especially when thru hiking. We’re tired. We’ve been talking about poop and rating farts, while simultaneously stuffing our dirty mouths with spicy ramen + peanut butter doused in hot sauce with a side of Oreos, entrusting each other with the most raw versions of ourselves. And yeah, sometimes that breeds physical attraction (I’m horny just thinking about it), but primarily it destroys gender boundaries.

We’re all just going through it, from different perspectives with different obstacles. Equal in our abnormality, doing something somewhat preposterous at the exact same time, a kind of euphoric trauma bonding, united by desire (a nonsexual one) to reach Katahdin or Canada or Mexico, wherever it is we’re headed. 

So. Yeah. I kinda think if you’re someone who believes women can’t have genuine friendships with men, that says loads more about you than it does about the ability of men and women to be friends.

I mean, some kind of attraction is a basic requirement in my chosen village; male, female, everyone in between. People are dope. And there are SO many ways to be into somebody, so many wildly intimately woven strings that bind people together. Physical desire is certainly one of them, but it’s rarely the primary for me.

If I’m attracted to something about you, I want to be around you. You’re the reverse energy vampire, I want to buzz around your being, bask in your masculine femininity, feed on your feminine masculinity. But I’m not trying to suck you dry; energy exchange only, please. Mutual attraction necessary, physical intimacy not required. 

This is helpful knowledge to draw on when meeting people in the wild. I’ve mistaken the we’re obviously meant to be feeling with the need for physical intimacy enough to understand if I’m attracted to your vibe, we probably are meant to be in each other’s lives in some fashion, we just haven’t figured out how yet. Probably also explains why I’m still friends with so many former partners; I jumped the gun on the vibe. You know the one. Instant connection. Mutual attraction. Positive energy exchange. That we’ve-known-each-other-our-whole-lives, definitely met for a reason, the universe has a plan, adore you forever, vibe. 

Part II: That Time I Joined A Cult (Or Started It)

First impression of the curly haired stranger moving into camp next door: I don’t know where he’s going, but I’d probably follow. A woodland creature wearing a banjo wielding + black derby donning, little wooden John Hartford strapped to his hat, shiny marble disco eyes, and this Cheshire Cat look on his face, like he’s perpetually waiting for you to catch up. 

Before I was aware Tobias dabbled in religion, I had already been busy spreading the good word. Telling other festival goers about the most magical band in all of the forest, led by a curly elven cat playing 37 instruments, percussion, strings, wind; if it’s capable of producing sound, Tobias can probably play it, or at the very least fake it. How the merry tribe gently, unintentionally lured you in, a soft glow hovering above their sound bubble, you’d find yourself wandering back to camp in a dreamlike state, forgetting what it was you came to do, or where you were headed, no hurry to leave, where would you even go?

Listen, he may or may not be a cult leader, hard to tell at this point, but it’s okay, I think you’ll want in. Where do I find him? You don’t find him, he finds you. Well…how will I know it’s him? Oh, you’ll definitely know, not an ounce of doubt others wouldn’t be influenced by the fizzy aura surrounding their magical bubble of traveling sparkle dust.

After I learned Tobias was a rabbi, I felt the immediate need to disclose I’d been telling everyone he was a cult leader, not because he’s a rabbi (I didn’t know!), but because of the magical bubble of sparkle dust! His face, after all the details of my confession registered. I will never price something more priceless. 

Instant connection. Different worlds randomly visiting the same fairyland, bidirectional fascination with a deep appreciation bouyed by mutual respect. We’ve met before, we’ll meet again. But who are you? Carefully chosen words, thoughtful inquisitions, explorative reasoning. Both answering simple questions with page long stories sprinkled with more details than called for about our lives as a way to share more than just the present moment. We eventually got to the point, somewhere down the rabbit hole. He entertained with tales of his New York roots, current Minneapolis status, future in VIENNA!!¹, his talented Swiss actor/singer/rapper wife, life as a rabbi, life before, if there ever really was a before. I bemused him with my transitional peacock saga, overall strangeness, and midwest charm. I find it charming anyway.

We naturally floated around the same magical bubble of sparkle dust for the remainder of the festival, mixing effortlessly with each other’s vibe, playing the leading role in a story together, a mash up for the people of the forest. And that’s where we all were, rhythmically drifting with the musical elves and fluttering fairies betwixt the pines, when the rabbi named Tobias tapped me on the shoulder.

Mmm hmm hmhmhhhm, what does it say on your jacket? The Cheshire Cat questions from somewhere behind.

Follow the wild rabbit? I say, recalling my wardrobe selection, wondering where this is going since I assume Tobias can read. The Cheshire Cat, in front of me now, shakes his head no.

Follow the wild Rabbi-tee.

🤯

Something actually exploded in my head. Everything also made the magical sense it does when you live in a magical world. Of course he goes by Rabbi T. Of course he’s @thatjewishrabbit on social media. Of course I own this jacket. Of course it’s cold enough at Blue Ox to actually wear it.

I lied when I said I’d never price anything more priceless than the Rabbi’s face when he learned I was spreading cult leader rumors. Because this face? The one he wore discovering I was wearing a jacket advertising the fictional cult of which I made him the leader? A lifetime of waiting for me to catch up. 

Holy shit. Am I in the cult??? 

……Wait……

HOLY SHIT. 

AM I THE CULT LEADER?!?

**The plot thickens.**

Part III: We’re All Mad Here

Festi-families remind me of trail families, the people who sort of naturally become a group while thru-hiking because, for whatever reason, you’re all basically on the same page. You’re not arguing if you should hike in or out, if you should take the scenic route, direct route, take a zero, get pizza and wine and watch the Bachelor or Game of Thrones in bed depending on what day it is, because the answer is yes. And if you want to do something different, you just do it and everyone’s cool with it, you’ll meet back up when you meet back up. There are SO many ways to thru-hike, a ridiculous array of choose your own adventures, just like a good ‘ole festival. And if you don’t know where you’re going, any road can take you there.³

And both will battle test you. You experience time in a different dimension. It stands still, goes backward, spins around, shakes you up, doesn’t even exist. Life is different here, life is the same. Who are you, anyway? What kind of magic do you bring to the village, what color is your mood ring, does our sparkle dust vibe, or are we putting too much effort into something that naturally doesn’t jive?

Everyone’s not for everyone, especially not all the time. Your people become very obvious. When you are who you are, especially who you want to be, you attract the people you deserve. With my recent peacock transition, you can imagine the bowl of fruit loops I’m swimming in. 

All that to say. Tobias, you’re obviously one of those fruit loops. We’ll never know which of us is the cult leader, but I think that’s a good thing. The way it should be, really. I’ve known you for what, two months? Probably a couple lifetimes, too. I’m not sure why else I would’ve spent $300 on a jacket in Mexico City years ago, the one with a patch-eyed rabbit smoking a joint on the back, the one I spent way too long walking around the boutique in, catching glimpses in the mirror, wondering if a moment would ever exist in which I would choose it.

But I couldn’t imagine a world where I left without it, so I didn’t. The first time I put it on stateside, years later, there you were, connecting all the dots. And instead of questioning a coincidence, we both rode the wave, probably and definitely made it even bigger (we are who we are), waiting for everyone else to catch up. 

Why else would all that play out, if not to cross-stitch a few lifetimes together? In a pretty dope cast of characters in my tall and getting taller tale, you’re the cream of the crop, the bees knees, a jewel in the crown. And I’ll join your cult every time. Or maybe I’ve already started it. 

Now off you go. Because as you know, THIS MEANS NOTHING TO MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE, OHHHH…Vienna waits for no one. 

(Badass bitch.)

“Would you tell me, please,
which way I ought to go from here?”
“That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,”
said the Cat.
“I don’t much care where—” said Alice.
“Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,” said the Cat.
“—so long as I get somewhere,” Alice added as an explanation.
“Oh, you’re sure to do that,” said the Cat,
“if you only walk long enough.”

¹ There is a right way and a wrong way to say VIENNA!! The all-caps and two exclamation points gets pretty close to visually sounding like the right way.
² Stolen from the internet, my phone takes a 5 day holiday at these things
³ The Cheshire Cat in Alice & Wonderland, CS Lewis. Don’t get me started on that guy.
⁴ Hi.