The Perks of Being Invisible

Reflecting on a decade in Denver + a guided visualization for meeting your spirit team

Hello, dear friend! It feels like it’s been a lifetime since I last wrote you, but alas, I am living on neurodivergent time (or neuroemergent time, as coined by Marta Rose, who describes spiral time as an elliptical orbit). I’m in that part of the orbit that is sped up, managing a cross-country move, developing & shooting a short film, and nourishing my coaching clients, all in a few weeks time. As a disabled autistic person, I’m proud of myself for accomplishing so much in a short (linear) timeframe—and also, I’m very much looking forward to that part of the orbit that is slow, slug-like, and oh so delicious.

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I am finally, finally moving out of Denver, Colorado, where I’ve been for the past decade. I moved here for a man who ended up being no good for me, and stayed years past my expiration date. I would have moved sooner, had it not been for the pandemic and mostly, for my now-wife who was living abroad when we first met. I am going to miss my mom and step-dad dearly, our Sunday night suppers, and the incredible friends & artist comrades I have here. But honestly, besides my small community, I feel there is nothing left for me in Denver.

I heard someone describe Denver as “Wakanda for white people” in an Instagram reel a while ago, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking of that since. Denver is a place where white people come to thrive—there is a prosperous tech & venture capital scene, an intense fervor for conquering the outdoors, and a culture of craft beer, baseball, and day drinking. The whiteness here has always been overwhelming, but over the recent years, it has become deafening.