Returning home is often a journey filled with complicated emotions. The longer I've lived away from the place I once called home, the more I've realized how deeply it has shaped me and how much I've changed since my time there.
Growing up in the Midwest as a closeted queer kid with the fear of God in my heart, I didn't have many spaces where I felt free to be myself or explore what another way of life could look like. I hid out in my church youth group. It was a Pentecostal church, so my flamboyant nature was welcomed as a sign of my passion for God. Of course, especially in those days, the church was not a safe space for people like me, but I did what I could to make it work. I lived in fear, not just of earthly judgment, but of a divine one, where the stakes felt as high as the heavens themselves.
While most of my friends played sports or hung out at the bowling alley or the mall, I found refuge surrounded by books at the Barnes & Noble Cafe.
Barnes & Noble opened sometime when I was in elementary. I can't remember exactly when, but I remember writing an article about its opening as a junior journalist, covering local kids events for the children's section of our hometown newspaper. So, it was sometime before I was in 7th grade.
Before I was old enough to drive, I'd have my mom drop me off at Barnes & Noble and spend hours perusing the shelves and reading books in the cafe. I would nervously walk by the Gay & Lesbian Studies section, grab books off the shelves, and bury them between a stack of books I picked from the Christian section. That's how I came across the writing of David Sedaris, Augusten Burroughs, James Baldwin, and others. In their words and stories that I read tucked discreetly into copies of whatever the popular Christian books were at the time, I could read about what it was like to be gay and okay with it. Through their writing, I began to find the language and words to define the feelings I was experiencing but didn't know how to name or express. It gave me hope that there may be some way out, a glimmer of hope for what life looked like on the other side.
The cafe was also the first place to serve Starbucks in Peoria, a good decade before they'd open up in our community. I felt cultured and sophisticated sitting there drinking sugary Carmel Macchiatos and other drinks I could barely pronounce while thumbing through a copy of The Advocate I'd hidden discreetly between the pages of TIME magazine.
The other great thing about the Barnes & Noble Cafe was the two gay guys who worked there. They must have been college students at the time. They were both flamboyant and fabulous and did nothing to hide the fact that they were gay. I would nervously approach the register and awkwardly order a latte when they were working. I'm confident they saw in me what I couldn't express to them and always met me with warmth and kindness. I wanted to be their friend and ask them a million questions about how they were okay with being themselves, but I never found the courage to ask them. I settled for our transactional relationship and blushed when they eventually learned my order and name.
I spent countless hours of my junior and high school days at the Barnes & Noble Cafe, reading books and catching fleeting glances of the gay baristas. It was as close as I could get to gay people until a few years later, when Starbucks announced they were opening their first store in Peoria. I was the first person they interviewed and the first hire on the day they did the interviews.
Many years and chapters of life have elapsed since my days at the Barnes & Noble Cafe, but during my recent visit home for Thanksgiving, I found myself there again in a moment that felt remarkably serendipitous.
My parents, who aren't tech-savvy, use an internet service from a local provider whose bandwidth struggles with basic tasks like downloading email attachments. On a day when I had work to finish, I found myself hopping from one coffee shop to another in search of dependable Wi-Fi. Attempting to use my phone as a hotspot was ineffective too, as 5G coverage in the area is still inconsistent.
I had a couple of work calls scheduled and had given myself a block of time in the afternoon to nail out a draft of a final chapter due to my agent to complete my book proposal. The coffee shop I was initially camped out at got overwhelmed and loud in the afternoon. Scrambling to find a quiet place, I remembered the Starbucks at Barnes & Noble. I made a mad dash there, finished my work calls, opened my chapter draft to start writing, and had an out-of-body experience when I realized what was happening.
I was sitting in the same chairs (I could tell they were the same ones because of the wear and tear and stains on the upholstery) I had occupied over 20 years ago, filled with hopes and prayers of escaping my hometown and coming out of the closet. Now, here I was in the very same spot, working on the final sections of a draft chapter for my book proposal. It felt profoundly full circle to be there, penning the words I wish my younger self could have read, words that might have offered guidance and solace during those earlier, uncertain times.
I sat momentarily, taking it all in, and was filled with immense gratitude. I am thankful the younger version of me found safety there and eventually dared to make a break. Even though I did end up doing conversion therapy for a while, I survived. And a younger version of me could never have imagined my life now – one where I am not just out, but proud and thriving. I live in New York City with a cute dog, have a job I love, attend a church where LGBTQ+ people are affirmed and celebrated, and am (hopefully!) on the brink of publishing a book that I hope will inspire others like me.
I've come a long way from those days of hiding gay books and magazines between the pages Christian bestsellers and feeling a rush of excitement from reading about lives I could only dream of. My journey from that scared, closeted kid to who I am today has been filled with challenges, growth, and a lot of self-discovery. It's a journey that I hope will resonate with others, offering them the same hope and courage that I found in the words of others.
As I closed my laptop and sipped the last of my latte, I couldn't help but smile at the irony of life. The very place that served as my secret sanctuary, where I dreamt of a life beyond the confines of my hometown and my fears, was now the place where I was tying together the narrative of my journey. It's funny how life comes full circle sometimes. The Barnes & Noble Cafe, once a place of hidden exploration and quiet rebellion, was now a witness to my journey of acceptance and celebration of my true self.
My visit home, to the roots of where it all began, was a poignant reminder of how far I've come. As I look ahead, I'm filled with excitement for the future and the potential to inspire others through my story. Life, indeed, has a way of coming full circle, offering us moments of deep reflection and profound gratitude for how far we've come.
How incredibly poetic... Life is so cool!!!