Daddies, Deadlines & Domestic Displacement: My Q2 2025 Update

If the first quarter of 2025 was about finding clarity, Q2 was about being thrown into it. And by “clarity,” I mean the kind that comes after being hit with an ER bill, some unexpected housing news, and the slow realization that life is about to shift in ways I wasn’t fully prepared for.

Let’s start with the biggest plot twist: I’m moving. Not because I planned to, but because my parents — who are now retired and living in Arizona — let me know they’re selling the house I’ve been living in. Surprise! Apparently, the era of stability was on a timer, and the alarm just went off. So now I’m packing up my life, trying to figure out where to go next, and hoping this doesn’t spiral into a full-blown existential crisis. (Spoiler: It probably will.)

Adiós for Now, Puerto Vallarta

Q2 actually started on a high note: I went back to Puerto Vallarta in April — my sixth time in four years. It’s one of the few places where I can fully exhale. This trip felt like a soft goodbye though, because it might be my last international trip for a while.

There are two big reasons. One, the current immigration climate is weird. Yes, I’m a U.S. citizen. No, that hasn’t stopped the creeping anxiety that something could go wrong at the border just for having the “wrong” last name or skin tone. And two — the move. With housing costs, deposits, and furnishing a whole new place on the horizon, my travel budget has been rerouted to grown-up responsibilities. I’m mourning that a little. Travel has been my coping mechanism, my joy, my reset button. Not having a trip on the calendar feels… unfamiliar.

ER Bills & Acid Reflux (aka Aging is a Scam)

May brought a different kind of drama: a trip to the ER because I thought I was dying. (Spoiler: I wasn’t — it was just GERD.) If you missed it, I wrote the full saga here, but the TL;DR is: chest pain, panic, hospital visit, a very expensive bill, and a new respect for the power of acid.

I’m still paying off the bill. Yay, America. But on the plus side, I’ve gotten way better at managing my stress and what I eat. (Mostly.)

Pride Month: Quiet, But Kind of Perfect

June came and went with the usual rainbow-washed chaos, but personally? It was low-key, and I’m so grateful for that. I didn’t overbook myself. I didn’t force myself into any big events. It was the most peaceful Pride I’ve had in years, and maybe that’s what I needed — a pause, not a party.

The men’s group I mentioned in this post kind of fizzled. Between Pride season logistics and general life busyness, we lost momentum. I don’t regret it, though. It served its purpose — even temporarily — and reminded me how rare and valuable it is to sit in a room with other queer men and just feel things out loud.

Sirenity Now (and Twice in July)

July brought me back to Sirenity Farms, not once but twice. If you’re not familiar, it’s a gay campground in Iowa that manages to be equal parts rustic, raunchy, and oddly wholesome. Like if Grindr and a Midwest summer potluck had a love child. I’ve gone a couple of times over the past two years and always had a good time, but this summer was different.

During my first trip with friends, I reconnected with an older gay couple I had met during a previous visit. We’d exchanged polite hellos before, but this time we actually talked. Got to know each other. Laughed. Clicked. They’re seasonal campers, meaning they basically live at the campground all summer in their bougie super-camper trailer. And by the end of the weekend, they invited me back for a solo visit.

just a boy and his daddies

Two weeks later, I returned, just me this time, and had a completely different experience. The “daddies,” as I lovingly call them, were incredibly kind and attentive. We cooked, lounged, and stayed up late talking under the stars. They introduced me to a couple of their friends from St. Louis, one of whom I connected with in a way that felt… unexpected. Natural. Sweet. Sexy, even. He invited me to visit him in St. Louis, and I’ll be heading there in a couple of weeks for my own little city-boy-meets-Southern-daddy adventure.

It’s wild how something as casual as a campground hangout can unlock a part of you that you didn’t know was waiting. Something about this summer has me leaning into the soft fantasy of being the boy - not in a patronizing way, but in the way that someone else wants to care for you, hold space for you, spoil you a little. And I’m not mad about it.

Closing the Chapter (and Packing Up My Life)

So yeah — Q2 and July were a lot. Travel highs, ER scares, Pride quietude, unexpected housing news, and a bit of summer romance sprinkled on top. If Q1 was about clarity, then this season was about contrast: joy and stress, endings and invitations, leaving and arriving.

And now, with August in full swing, the move is getting real. I’m saying goodbye to a space that’s held years of my life, and while I don’t know what’s next just yet, I’m weirdly okay with not having all the answers. Maybe that’s growth. Or maybe that’s just fatigue.

Either way, I’m trying to stay open to whatever city I land in next, to new people, new roles, and new definitions of home. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll finally stop ending these life updates mid-transition.

(But let’s be real: probably not.)