The Middle of the Sandwich
How my best birthday yet helped me trust the life I’m building.
Welcome to Signals from Earth, essays on culture, life, and the questions that keep us restless. Sometimes sharp, sometimes tender—always searching for meaning in the mess.
The day was perfect in that quietly magical way—85°, a few clouds hanging lazy in the sky, and me, surrounded by nine of my favorite people at a clothing-optional, 420-friendly resort in Palm Springs. One of my amazing friends gifted me a 4.2-gram Bob Marley joint that came in a mini guitar case. We passed it around the pool like some kind of sacred offering. Everyone was smiling, high, relaxed, just there.
There’s a special kind of giddiness that comes from being naked and it not being weird. Just bodies being bodies—floating, lounging, existing in the sun without shame or performance. The DJ was playing EDM remixes of pop songs from across a few eras, and the sound poured over the water like energy you could breathe in. People swayed and talked, drifting from group to group. I felt like I could float there forever.
Some of us drove out together—four hours in the car—which gave us time to talk and settle into the rhythm of the weekend. I got to see Bonnie's dynamic with the group unfolding on the drive and throughout the day. I kept checking in with both of my partners—kisses, hugs, soft little moments of connection—each one making me feel more grateful. Most of the people there had to drive, take time, rearrange things to show up for me. That alone made me feel so special.
Having Bonnie there felt like something clicked into place. I felt so lucky that both of my partners could be there, that I could share the weekend with them. I felt so loved. It honestly felt like something in me was being healed. This was easily the best birthday I’ve ever had since I started celebrating.
At one point in the pool, one of my newer friends said to me, “It’s wild that we haven’t even known each other a year, and yet we’ve already become so important in each other’s lives.” That hit me. I’ve had friends before—but most of them were Jehovah’s Witnesses. And those relationships were always conditional. If I stopped believing or strayed from the rules, I knew I could lose them. And eventually, I did.
But this felt different. I was surrounded by people who see me and value me for exactly who I am.
Something subtle but big shifted in me this weekend too. I didn’t feel the usual pressure to entertain, to check in on every little thing, to manage the vibes. I just let people talk to each other. I let the night unfold without needing to control it. And honestly? It felt like growth. I could just be without trying to earn the moment.
It also felt like a turning point in how I relate to my own non-monogamy. There was no friction, no tension to smooth over. Just me, deeply happy and fulfilled, with two partners I love and a group of friends who love them too. I didn’t feel like I had to explain anything or soften it for other people’s comfort. I felt even more sure about the life I’ve chosen. Like, this is it. This is the kind of love I want to keep building my world around.
There’s this photo from the weekend—me, Bonnie, and Kelly in bed, tangled up and smiling like kids at a sleepover. The pillow talk before bed, the way we all woke up together, laughing and still half-asleep with bedhead—it felt sacred in a quiet, ordinary way. I was the middle of the sandwich, and I’ve never felt more held.
This love feels completely different from the love I was raised with. There are no rules to follow, no roles to perform, no fear that it’ll be taken away if I mess up. Just safety. Just acceptance. Just joy. And honestly, it feels wild to have something you’ve wanted for so long—something you used to think you’d never be allowed to have—and then one day, there it is. Not a dream. Just real.
So I’ll leave you with this: when was the last time you felt fully accepted—no masks, no edits, no need to shrink? Who are the people that invite you to grow without asking you to abandon yourself first?
If you’ve found them, hold them close. And if you haven’t yet—they’re out there.