I write from the threshold.
Between countries.
Between lives.
Between what has been and what will be.
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Colombia Gave Me the Ultimate Gift
While I have spent more than a year now living in Colombia, I know better than to ever think that my Colombia is Colombia. My Colombia has porters screening visitors at the front door. An elevator, grocery delivery, doctors I pay out of pocket, friends who translate, young men who appear via WhatsApp with impossible…
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Life and Death: Journeys, Adventures and Going Home at Last
I have decided to pursue Death with Dignity in Colombia. It’s weird as fuck, but it also feels right. For me. Michael and I are still trying to go home, though no longer in the same way. There is more to tell, and I don’t want to make this trip alone. You are invited to…
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Coming Out. Again.
Coming out once was about telling the world I was gay. Coming out again is about telling the truth I left out the first time—about desire, age, intimacy, younger adult men, and the parts of my sexual life I once thought were better left unexplained. At 70, I’m less interested in respectability than in being…
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Colombia Gave Me the Ultimate Gift
While I have spent more than a year now living in Colombia, I know better than to ever think that my Colombia is Colombia. My Colombia has porters screening visitors at the front door. An elevator, grocery delivery, doctors I pay out of pocket, friends who translate, young men who appear via WhatsApp with impossible…
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Life and Death: Journeys, Adventures and Going Home at Last
I have decided to pursue Death with Dignity in Colombia. It’s weird as fuck, but it also feels right. For me. Michael and I are still trying to go home, though no longer in the same way. There is more to tell, and I don’t want to make this trip alone. You are invited to come along.
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Coming Out. Again.
Coming out once was about telling the world I was gay. Coming out again is about telling the truth I left out the first time—about desire, age, intimacy, younger adult men, and the parts of my sexual life I once thought were better left unexplained. At 70, I’m less interested in respectability than in being accurately understood.
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Would I Do It Again?
Would I do it again? I would not duplicate it. I would budget better, prepare differently and trust more carefully. But that still doesn’t answer the question I thought I was asking.
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Hope Is Real. So Is This. What You Don’t See on a Typical Pain Day
A Typical Pain Day: What You Don’t See on Social Media I’d like to think that much of the time, with a few exceptions, when you see me in a video or read something I have posted, you are seeing me during the more functional part of my day. Even that has become a vulnerable,…
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The Story Had a Different Idea
I came to Colombia intending to tell other people’s stories. Instead, the Pain Demon commandeered the driver’s seat and made Michael and me the story. What began as a late-life reinvention has become a medical crisis, an uncomfortable request for help, and an unexpected lesson in what community can still mean.
