From straight comfort to queer chaos—and why I'd do it again

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a day ago

"Oh, we knew all along," a phrase I've heard more times than I can count since my grand unveiling at the ripe age of 48. People love saying that. One might have hoped someone would have nudged me a tad sooner. I realize that our journey is ours, but it might have been nice to have someone say, "Hey, are you sure you should be marrying that woman?" But alas, hindsight is 20/20.
The universe, it seems, had its own script for me. I always knew I was different, but "feeling" gay remained elusive. Countless opportunities for exploration passed me by; I never took them. Instead, I built a fortress of comfort with my high school sweetheart, eventually leading to marriage. It was love, but not the love. the chaotic unraveling that followed was never the intention. Still, in retrospect, detonation was the only way to wake me up.
Thank you, universe—I get it now.
Leaving my marriage was a descent into darkness. After living as a straight man for 48 years, my life felt quite comfortable. I believed I was fulfilled and had everything I needed. I was a successful, independent creative in the entertainment industry, with a wife, a cute house, dogs, and a fancy car, and I was well-traveled. Yet, I was numb—a state that no amount of success, accolades, or possessions could fill. There was an emptiness within me, an ache that remained unfulfilled.
But the moment I kissed my "queer catalyst," an invisible weight lifted. I had never been so happy in my life. The encounter blindsided me, shattering a comfortable existence in an instant. Suddenly, everything changed—the lights switched on. I saw myself for the first time. A few days later, I separated from my wife, still grappling with confusion and unsure of what this new excitement meant. Is this what "feeling gay" is?
Rik and MaximillianCourtesy Author
Living your truth is the key. Easy to say, incredibly hard to do. This explains my three decades in a relationship that, while loving, wasn't honest. "Doing the work" begins with a hard truth, followed by even greater challenges, but ultimately, it leads to true love in all its forms. There's a slight suspension of reality to living a queer life, and I've come to realize it's akin to a punk rock anthem—rebellious, untamed, gloriously freeform. No script, no societal pressures, an abstract art of life. What better way to be?
Now I revel in being gay, every detail of it. Simple pleasures like saying "hi" to fellow gays in the wild ignite pure joy, even a brief, knowing smile. My partner, Rik, snickers at me about it, especially when I'm met with blank stares.
Strangely enough, I don't think anyone was happier when I came out than my Grandma. My Uncle Michael died of AIDS in '95. Initially, his coming out was a shock for her, but she rose to the occasion. She became an ally, but he passed soon after. I think I was sort of a second chance for her to be "all-in" from day one. She practically tackled Rik when I brought him home for the first time during COVID. It was magical for me, making me feel like I was exactly where I needed to be.
Uncle Michael, the family's shining star, apparently always knew I was gay. I was very close to him, and I'm not gonna lie, I wish he had sat me down for a heart-to-heart. His deterioration from AIDS was shocking; my heart was broken. But now, as a proud gay man, that pain resonates on a much deeper level. On his deathbed, surrounded by family, I had a chance for a private moment with him. Looking back, this would have been the perfect "hey kid, you're gay" moment, but that didn't happen. Instead of some profound revelation, my only real memory was me asking him to come back and haunt me. That's what you get from a closeted 23-year-old obsessed with horror. Still, thank you, Uncle Michael, for paving the way for me to be honest, to love my man, to hold his hand, and to be proud of who I am, just like you were.
Mom and MaximillianCourtesy Author
I was extremely excited for 2020, just three months into embracing my new gay identity, and I was anxious to get out there! Being met with a global pandemic when you feel like a racehorse that was just let out of the gate was very frustrating. I had finally reached the promised land, and now I was shut in the house. I soon realized that this was a great time to learn about who I was becoming—or more accurately, discovering who I was all along.
The thought of getting on a dating app was utterly foreign to me, but I figured if I couldn't meet people in person, chatting was the next best thing. Two months into the pandemic, I met Rik, and it was magical. With everyday distractions on hold, I fully immersed myself in the brightly colored hues of queer love. Now, five years later, life is playful, filled with laughter and music, mutual admiration, great food, even greater sex, along with shared humor and even shared underwear. Our love is fun, joyful, and real. If that "gay racehorse" was allowed to run wild, we may have never met. The pandemic was a great reminder that what might seem like a roadblock is, in fact, a detour sign. I listened to those signs, and I hit the gay lottery!
This joy I now feel only shines because I emerged from profound pain. My elation is hard-earned, forged through loss—the deaths of my two fathers, my brother, my grandparents, my uncle, my incredible gay champion grandma, and countless other family members. I made choices that led to further loss, creating boundaries with unhealthy love—strained relationships with my birth family, the loss of my childhood love, then wife and best friend, and groups of friends that took sides in the divorce. It's been a lot. But what you do with it all, that's "the work." Doing the work with the help of my warrior of a mother, my North Star, who adopted me at 3 months old, was the gift of my life.
photo collage, Rik and MaximillianCourtesy Author
Here I stand, proud and fulfilled, living authentically. I'm now in love with an incredible man, splitting our time between Los Angeles and the beautiful island of Maui on this new adventure. The harsh sounds brought me to a sweeter symphony, and shedding a comfortable life revealed the raw beauty and relentless power of reinvention. I embraced honesty, trusted the universe, and worked my ass off for this life. I am proud and grateful. I choose aloha, a queer life, and always saying hello to fellow gays in the wild.
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This article originally appeared on Out: From straight comfort to queer chaos—and why I'd do it again
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