Choosing a Line
/By Grace Gordon, produced by Out There Podcast
Released on October 21, 2021
Welcome to Out There Podcast. Our stories are written for the ear, so for those able, we recommend listening while reading along. Transcripts may contain minor errors; please check the audio before quoting.
WILLOW BELDEN: If you’ve been feeling some wanderlust lately, you might be interested in a podcast called Out Travel the System.
Out Travel the System is one of our sponsors. It’s brought to you by Expedia, and its mission is to inspire and inform about travel. That can mean anything from building your bucket list, to taking concrete steps to take that next trip when the time is right.
The podcast finds people who are passionate about travel, including a commercial airline pilot, a woman who travels pretty much year-round, and a man who wants to have visited every country in the world by the end of this year. When it comes to inspiration, Out Travel the System is also giving a voice to people who love their hometowns — and want to share them with travelers — or people who love, say, lake or beach life in the winter.
Out Travel the System is available wherever you get your podcasts.
(Out There theme music begins to play)
Hi, I’m Willow Belden, and you’re listening to Out There, the podcast that explores big questions through intimate stories outdoors.
To start things off today, I have a quick announcement: all of our t-shirts, tank tops, stickers, and other merch is currently on sale! We’re making way for a new line of products, and all our existing inventory is 40% off. It’s selling fast, so if you want something, make sure to put in your order soon. Just go to outtherepodcast.com and click on the merch tab.
And now, on to our story for today.
(theme music ends)
We often hear that you shouldn’t worry about what society thinks of you — that you should chart your own course in life. Be true to yourself. Trust your intuition.
But oftentimes, that’s easier said than done. What if your intuition is giving you mixed messages? What if different parts of you are at odds? How do you know if you’ve made a mistake by following your gut?
Today’s story takes us from the mountains of Colorado to the hills of Ohio, and explores the difficult process of learning to trust yourself — both on a mountain bike, and in life.
Grace Gordon has the story.
(music begins to play)
GRACE GORDON: When I was a newbie mountain biker, I used to think there was one correct line on the trail that I had to follow. A “line,” for mountain bikers, is the path you follow on a particular section of trail. You decide how to navigate around rocks and other obstacles, so you don’t end up in a wreck.
As a novice, I worked hard to stick to the lines my boyfriend chose. I followed exactly where his tires touched the trail. If he went around a rock, I went around the rock in the same way. It was comforting to have him lead me down the trail. By following his line, I knew I was safe. I was doing things right.
(music ends)
He was a great teacher, and I quickly fell in love with mountain biking. Over the several years of our relationship, I took any and every opportunity to get out and ride. We rode in the mountains and the desert, and everywhere in between! He was my coach, my cheerleader, and my personal bike mechanic.
Eventually, my confidence in my skills as a mountain biker grew, and I began experimenting with my own line choice. I found that even if I didn’t follow exactly where my boyfriend went on the trail, it worked for me. In fact, my line often worked better for me than his.
But it didn’t take long for that confidence to be called into question. Turns out, charting your own path on the trail — and in life — isn’t a linear process. It’s not always as glamorous as you might expect.
(rustic music begins to play)
From the outside, I was living the perfect, outdoorsy life. A life that I always thought I wanted. I lived in Durango, Colorado, which is a nature lover’s paradise. We went on outdoor adventures every weekend. I was surrounded by natural beauty. And my boyfriend loved me deeply. And yet, something was eating away at me on the inside. Something I wasn’t quite ready to admit to anyone — even myself.
(music fades out)
I ignored it for a long time. But then one day, my dad called. He explained that his prostate cancer had returned. Or, maybe it wasn’t ever really gone after a surgery he had 10 years prior. Either way, it was in my dad’s body and it had metastasized. He would have to go to daily radiation treatments for six weeks and see if that would help.
I remember feeling like I couldn’t breathe. I also remember knowing, in that moment, that I needed to make some changes in my life. Big changes.
(delicate music begins)
Within three months, I was packing up my car and heading back to my childhood home in Central Ohio. The trip could have been temporary. I could have stayed just long enough to help my dad through radiation. But that wasn’t what I was doing.
The news about my dad had shaken something loose inside me. I knew I needed a fresh start. A giant reset. So I decided to leave Colorado for good. And leave my boyfriend.
It was not an easy decision. I truly loved him, and he had been so good to me. But if I’m being honest, I also felt like I was dying inside a little. For some time already, I had had an inner knowing that I wanted to be dating women. This inner knowing had been clawing away at my soul. Now, on that two day drive home to Ohio, I made the commitment to listen to my gut and begin identifying as queer.
(music fades out)
When I told my family and friends that I now identified as queer, a lot of them were confused. To start with, they didn’t understand the term. They thought the word “queer” was derogatory. I found myself explaining that queer was a term that actually meant freedom for me, because being queer just means that you identify as anything but heterosexual. It was my statement that you don’t need to know the details, but I am now part of the LGBTQ+ community.
Another common question was, “You’re 37. How did you not know this when you were younger?”
I found myself explaining that it is actually very common for women, especially, to realize later in life that they identify as queer. It is so hard to recognize these feelings when you fall somewhere in the middle of the continuum of sexuality, because our society is so heteronormative.
Despite all the questions, I found most of these conversations with family and friends to be healing. I could tell they were trying to better understand me, which typically came from a place of love and eventually led to acceptance. The people who I confided in when I first returned to Ohio became my support system.
(quiet music begins to play)
That didn’t make it easy though. Moving home to be closer to my family while my dad was treated for cancer, was like ripping a Band-Aid off that was attached with duct tape on tender, vulnerable skin. It was a combination of heart ache and raw sting.
First, there was the fear that my dad might not recover from his illness. I remember helping family stack firewood one fall afternoon. I asked when dad was going to be able to help with chores like this again.
My mom stopped stacking wood and looked at me. There was a long pause and tears were in her eyes. I could tell she was trying to figure out what to say, and finally, she answered, “He might never be able to do tasks that are this physical again.”
I was shocked. My dad had always been so strong and energetic. The thought that he might never be able to do something as simple as stacking firewood seemed unimaginable. At that moment the danger he faced suddenly seemed very real. And the world around me felt fragile and precarious.
(music fades out)
In addition to the constant worry about my dad, I had a lot of confusing feelings about my decision to leave Colorado. Even though it had been my choice to leave, I found myself mourning my old life. I missed my boyfriend, and I wondered if I’d made a mistake in ending our relationship.
I wanted to try dating women, but now that I had the chance to do that, I was scared. All of a sudden, I wasn’t just talking about the IDEA of dating a woman, I actually had the opportunity to do it. And that was somehow terrifying.
All these questions swirled in my head. What if I didn’t enjoy dating women? Would that mean I had made the wrong choice — thrown away a healthy, loving relationship for no reason?
Or even scarier, what if I DID enjoy dating women? Yes, I had followed my gut. I had chosen the course I thought would make me happy. But would my life be that much harder because of it?
As a society, we’ve made a lot of progress in accepting the LGBTQ+ community, but queer people still face so many challenges. For example, I understood that coming out at work was a danger. Queer Ohio workers are not protected by any laws regarding discrimination based on their sexual orientation. I wondered, if I couldn’t be my true self at work, where was I safe to be myself?
I had been so sure that it was time to start picking my own line in life…but now? The reality was lonely and isolating.
(more upbeat music begins to play)
To help heal the pain and process all of these unfamiliar feelings, I turned to something that had always brought me solace back in Colorado: mountain biking.
One weekend I went over to a trail outside of Columbus. I was looking forward to some fresh air and exercise. And I was also looking forward to kicking some serious butt on the trail. After all, I learned how to mountain bike in Colorado. And this is just Ohio. There aren’t even mountains in Ohio! This was going to be easy. I was looking forward to feeling strong and capable.
I started out on the six-mile loop and quickly found out this was NOT going to be easy. I was used to rocks and dust from the trails in Colorado, but here in Ohio, the trails were full of mud and wet, slippery tree roots.
I remember trying to climb this stairway of wet, slick roots and my tires just couldn’t hold the bumps. I tried it several times and the bike slipped out from underneath me each time. I skinned the side of my knee when I fell.
I relished, in a strange way, the pain of the skinned knee because it felt good to have an external wound to focus on rather than my internal wounds. Blood ran down my knee, and hot tears ran down my face. I was angry at every root and log. I was angry at myself — and my inability to overcome the physical and the internal challenges I faced.
(music fades out)
During that first ride, I ran into a lot of obstacles on the trail. Each time I failed to navigate what should have been an easy stretch of trail, these feelings of self hatred would bubble up and several times I ended up in tears of frustration in the middle of the trail. I made it through the ride that day, but I didn’t go back to that trail for a long time.
WILLOW: Hey, it’s Willow. We’ll hear the rest of the story in a moment. But first…
If you’re like Grace, and you spend a lot of time outside, chances are you also end up going to the bathroom outdoors sometimes.
And if you’re female, and/or you squat when you pee, you have to figure out the logistics. Do you bring along toilet paper, and then pack it out when you’re done? Do you drip dry?
Let’s be honest: neither of those options are very appealing. So what to do?
This is where something called the Kula Cloth comes in. Kula Cloth is one of our sponsors. They make high-tech reusable pee cloths.
Pee cloths are just what they sound like. They are something to use instead of toilet paper, when you have to pee outdoors. I’ve been using them for years, and they are a total game-changer! Worth every penny.
For 15% off your Kula Cloth order, go to outtherepodcast.com/kula and enter the promo code outtherepodcast15. That’s out-there-podcast-dot-com-slash-K-U-L-A. Promo code outtherepodcast15.
And now, back to the story.
GRACE: Over the next few months, I went on a lot of solo rides. They were solo out of necessity. I didn’t know any other mountain bikers in Ohio, so I had to go by myself. And because I was alone with my thoughts for hours on end, my mind went into overdrive.
(soft music begins to play)
Outdoor activities have always given me the space to process complicated feelings. But in this case, the feelings just kept churning around and around in my brain. It was like there were two different parts of me that couldn’t ever come to an agreement.
One part of me knew that to be happy in the long run, I needed to embrace my queer identity. Outwardly, I was embracing that identity. I had talked about it with my friends and family. They were all supportive.
And yet, another part of me was angry at myself. Deep down, I still didn’t accept my own sexuality. It felt shameful. Wrong. Why couldn’t I just be “normal”? It would make my life so much easier if I could just feel peace dating men.
(music fades out)
It took me a good nine months before I started dating. Finally, I went on some apps and started making plans to meet up with other women. I hoped this would help relieve my inner turmoil. Maybe once I kissed a woman for the first time, I would realize that everything made sense now, and that I would feel an inner peace. Maybe I would start to feel comfortable with the line I was picking.
Well, unfortunately, that did not happen to me at all.
(ambient music begins to play)
I remember sitting on my couch one evening with a woman I was interested in. We had just shared a romantic dinner at a nice restaurant, and I had invited her back to my place. I was on pins and needles, waiting to see if she would kiss me, and if so, how I would feel?
Eventually, she turned toward me and leaned in. I leaned in too, and we kissed lightly on the lips. I was hypersensitive to how I was feeling in that moment. The kiss was ok. I was honestly disappointed because it felt like any other kiss.
I was expecting fireworks! A sure sign that I had chosen the right line for myself.
Instead of everything clicking into place, I felt confused. I remember thinking, ‘I still don’t know if this is for me.’
(music ends)
This scenario played out with several relationships. I kept hoping there would be some sign that I was on the right track — that dating women was the right thing for me. I kept waiting for the fireworks. But the fireworks never came. Each time the feelings of self-loathing would come up while in a relationship, I would break it off.
And then, one weekend, everything changed.
(mellow music begins)
I had started dating someone more seriously. We had been together three months, and while I still wasn’t feeling the fireworks, we did share some pretty vulnerable feelings with each other. I found myself opening up and talking with her about the self-disgust I felt.
During these conversations, she just listened — actively listened — and validated my feelings. She told me it made sense, even though she hadn’t experienced the same feelings. I felt like I could breathe deeper, in a way I hadn’t in a very long time.
(music fades out)
And then we went on a backpacking trip together, along with my twin sister and one of her friends.
The trip was a lot of fun, but kind of unremarkable. We did all the things you do on backpacking trips. We hiked. We soaked our feet in cold springs. We sat around the fire, telling funny stories and laughing. And then we went home.
I had a great time and felt closer to my partner because of it, but the trip was no big deal. However, after the trip, I had a conversation with my sister that I will never forget.
I have always said that my twin sister is my mirror in life. She knows me better than anyone, and she can tell it to me straight. So, after the trip, I asked what she thought of my new partner. My twin took a moment and said, “I have never seen you happier or acting more like yourself with anyone else.”
(thoughtful music begins)
In that moment, something clicked. I realized I was looking for the wrong clues. I had been waiting for fireworks, when what I really needed was a sense of hopefulness and peace. And for the first time, I had that. It was like things within me had aligned and the internal conflict had disappeared.
(music continues for a few moments and then fades out)
Almost two years later to the day I went back out to that same mountain bike trail that had been so frustrating when I first returned to Ohio. I had been getting more comfortable with the terrain on other trails in the area, and I was starting to actually enjoy mountain biking again. But now, as I started down the trail, I felt nervous.
(music begins)
The memory of that first ride came rushing back over me. My heart started pounding as I thought about all those slippery roots. All those obstacles that would still be there this time around. It was probably going to be just as hard. I worried that I’d flounder again. And all those feelings of self-hatred would come bubbling up.
I started pedaling, wondering whether I was making a mistake to come back to this trail.
But when I reached the first log on the trail, it didn’t look so menacing after all. I had navigated hundreds of logs like this on other trails by this point. And this one wasn’t any harder. I rode up to it, kept pedaling, and rolled over it smoothly. No big deal.
(music fades out)
Then I came to the bottom of the infamous, rooty hill. The hill that had been so humbling before. I took a deep breath and started up it.
(lively music begins)
To my surprise, I made it up the incline without any trouble at all.
What had seemed like this insurmountable obstacle two years earlier, felt like a small and even fun challenge. When I finished the trail, I stopped, felt my heart beating hard in my chest, and thought about how far I had come in both my mountain biking skills and my self confidence.
What had felt daunting, was now beginning to feel peaceful and like an exciting adventure. I knew how to pick a line on my bike, and I was having fun with it! And the same was true for my personal life: I was starting to have fun dating women.
It has been almost three years since I moved home. My dad is still fighting the cancer, and I am still working to understand my sexuality. Shame and anger toward myself still pop up every once in a while, but it’s becoming less and less.
I am slowly making friends around mountain biking, and in the queer community. At some point, I hope these two worlds intersect, but that hasn’t happened just yet.
The important thing is that I now trust myself. I trust myself on my mountain bike in Ohio, and I trust myself to make the right life choices. It’s been a bumpy trail getting here, but I can honestly say that I am at peace with the line I have chosen in life. A line that is truly my own.
(music continues)
WILLOW: That was Grace Gordon. She’s a preschool teacher living in Columbus, Ohio.
Thank you to Ben Montoya for helping out with sound design for this story! Ben was my very first intern ever, and I’m so proud of everything he’s been doing the past few years.
(music fades out)
Coming up next time on Out There…
Will Cox grew up with a rare bone disorder. As a kid, he was constantly breaking bones, taking medication, getting surgery after surgery after surgery…
WILL COX: It definitely made me see the world as a really dangerous, scary, evil place.
WILLOW: Will’s fear took on a life of its own. It took over.
So, what do you do in a situation like that? How do you move past a crippling fear?
For Will, the answer came in the form of a bicycle. Tune in on November 4 for that story.
(folksy music begins to play)
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(music fades out)
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(Out There theme music begins to play)
If you’re new to Out There, check out the “Best of Out There” playlist. This is a collection of some of our favorite episodes of all time — and it’s a great introduction to the range of stories we do on the show. You can find “Best of Out There” on Spotify, and at our website outtherepodcast.com.
That’s it for this episode. Our advertising manager is Jessica Taylor. Our audience growth director is Sheeba Joseph. Cara Schaefer is our print content coordinator. Our interns are Melat Amha and Tanya Chawla. Our ambassadors are Tiffany Duong, Ashley White, and Stacia Bennet. And our theme music was written by Jared Arnold.
We’ll see you in two weeks.
(music ends on a last whistling note)
