Two weeks ago today, the BYC National Conference Committee headed to Tahquitz Pines Retreat from Los Angeles. We were already tired, with so much left to do before the additional 100 attendees would join us on Friday, October 9th. Boxes needed to be unpacked, tables to be decorated, bags to be stuffed, tech to be tested, and rooms to be organized. We had too much to do to feel the excitement that was bubbling underneath.
After a year of planning and years of dreaming, the day had finally come. The names on the spreadsheets and the plans in our program were about to come to life. I was nervous, anxious, scattered, and scared. Would the journey from New York have been too daunting? Would the fellow who came all the way from Norway be disappointed? Would The Dolls be overwhelmed and want to leave? Would the whole thing just be too much?
But then they arrived! I remember standing in the small reception room and seeing people I’ve known for years connecting with people I’d never seen before. I saw joy. I heard excitement. I felt complete connection.
Sure, they were already weary. Yes, we weren’t completely set up yet. But ultimately, we were all 100% ready for this epic gathering of Black queer and trans people in recovery—the first ever.
I’m not about to recount every detail of the weekend. Not because I don’t want to bore you, but because I honestly do not remember it all. The four days flashed before my eyes like lightning. The beginning, the middle, and the end are all mushed together in my mind.
What I will say is…it was magical! As I scurried about from one organizing priority to another, I witnessed nothing but pure bliss among the masses of beautiful Black queer and trans bodies. Every inquiry was attended to with a smile, every passing face with glimpses of hope and anticipation. As I think back, I’m left with the callouts that followed the clever quips of a dynamic speaker, the rowdy protest witnessed during Mafia, and the wrestles to secure a seat during Musical Chairs. I can see the sparkle of the spotlight on the face of Deena Dix. I see the eldest among us, our trans Motha, serving face as she hovers over the judges’ panel at the Ball. I see the once reluctant choir director wildly whipping his body to the ebb and flow of Total Praise. I see bodies collapsing in tear of joy for a hard-fought-for day count during the sobriety countdown.
I see myself—timid, scared, and in awe of the power of what WE have accomplished: 114 Black queer and trans minds, bodies, and souls inhabiting space that was designed for us and by us, experiencing safety, context, jubilation, and peace. All I can say is, WOW. Just Wow!
I’m not sad that it’s over, because it’s not the end. It’s only the beginning. This was not a one-off event. It’s a movement. We may have gone our separate ways, but we are more united than ever—always together.
Now, let’s work!
