You blew in on a desert wind.  Slid down the back of the full moon.  And I was ready.  It was as though every big and little choice in the last decade, centuries even, had led me here.  And I while I said that once before, it’s astounding how you can think you know, until you just do.  Like tasting really good oysters, or feeling the ocean water against your skin… some things are impossible to describe until you experience it.

It was the third and final night of Brandi Carlile’s annual Red Rocks concert series: early September, and the perfect late summer evening with a full moon rising.  Brandi’s fan club, known as The Bramily, were gathered in community: singalongs, sharing snacks, swapping swag and stories.  Anyone who follows Brandi could drop into that tailgate and feel held and included.  After experiencing some of that magical community the last two days during my annual pilgrimage from Toronto to Colorado, this was my first time flying solo.  I opted to take an inexpensive UBER, so I didn’t have to worry about driving post-concert and rolled up with my insulated bag of beverages and snacks.

I mingled and shared my homemade bracelets with others in the parking lot, eventually connecting with a few women who shared an open and joyful energy.  Meg looked fabulous in her bold patterned dress and distinct Fluevog shoes, and her friend, Kelly, had the most stunning silver curls I’d ever seen.  After complimenting their style and talking a bit, Lauren stepped into our circle.  In an instant, the energy shifted.  It sounds dramatic, but it was perceptible and profound.  I immediately felt drawn to her.  She wore a dusty orange sleeveless jumpsuit and her voice was mesmerizing.  Like velvet mixed with pop rocks, she was both soothing and sparked a hopeful giddiness inside me that was impossible to deny.

I noticed her cup was nearly empty and inquired about what she was drinking.  Apparently it was a gin old fashioned, which confused me.  Gin and old fashioneds are two of my favourites, but they felt wrong together.  Naturally I tried a swig and somehow it just worked.  It felt unexpected and effortless.  Alas, that premixed cocktail was gone so I offered Lauren a beer from my cooler.  We mingled with the tailgate crowd and ate cherry tomatoes from someone’s garden.  Reaching into a gallon-sized Ziploc and feeling the summer heat and juicy tang pop on our tongues.  And already, I couldn’t help but think about her tongue.  What would it feel like to have that tongue tickle mine?  To feel it trace my collarbone?

When I think back on all the things that led to that moment, it gives me goosebumps.  All the choices and reckoning it had taken me to accept myself and fight to be there, in that parking lot, on that night.  I had been a life-long searcher, who identified longing as my most consistent companion.  Even though I had a beautiful, somewhat storybook life on paper: supportive husband, 4 healthy, beautiful children, 1 crazy but lovable family dog… I always felt this sense that something was missing.  I had tolerated this unsettled seeking feeling for so long, I had accepted it as a part of me.  I wrestled with trying to better understand myself through writing and meditation over the prior four years or so, with increasing clarity about who I was coming into focus during the last two years.  And even though I knew what I needed, I was too afraid to fully admit or embrace it.  Because through my own self-reflection and journaling, I came to realize that I really wanted to be with a woman. 

I tried to dismiss this or put it on the back-burner.  I told myself, maybe I just needed more female friends.  Maybe I could wait until my youngest was grown.  Another 8 or 9 years could be doable…  But I had been with my husband, Tim, for most of my life, having literally married the boy next door, and he knew.  We had talked (and fought) at length these last two years about the things we were both missing.  The problem wasn’t that we didn’t love each other.  In many ways we were very compatible: we shared a passion for craft beer, live music and hiking.  We managed the household duties and rarely fought about money.  But Tim knew that my two core values were curiosity and connection.  He knew that I was curious about my attraction toward women and he knew I needed to explore that.  He also knew that he couldn’t fill that longing inside me and, knowing it was there, he couldn’t feel safe and secure in our relationship.

So, here I was.  Night 3 at Red Rocks and my first night alone.  I wasn’t seeking out anything beyond just a beautiful night of music and community.  It’s easy to connect with Brandi’s followers as everyone is generous and kind and exceedingly interesting.  A mix of backgrounds and ages and geographies all connected over music and storytelling and a desire to notice and feel more.  To appreciate nature and humanity.

And then Lauren appeared.  At one point we were standing face to face and she noticed the charm on my necklace was backwards.  “Let me fix that for you,” she offered, pushing my sunglasses up so they didn’t fall off, as she reached around to wrestle with the clasp.  We locked eyes and an undeniable energy coursed through both of our bodies, so intense that she had to look away.  No, more “female friends” wasn’t what I needed.  I needed her.

I had brought along handmade bracelets, each with unique snippets of lyrics and beads.  My favourite was one with lyrics from the song Turpentine, where Brandi sings “It’s six AM and I’m all messed up…”  Somehow I knew my “6 AM all messed up” moment was approaching.  I had made this specific bracelet the most chaotic and fun collage, using every style and colour of bead.  Lauren noticed and loved it but I told her that, unfortunately, I couldn’t give her that particular bracelet.  I offered to make her one and send it to her, a not so subtle ploy to get her contact info.  She took out a business card for the record store that she owned in Sylva, North Carolina, and wrote her phone number on the back.

At this point the line for general admission seating was starting to get long.  I needed to get in that line to claim a spot. Lauren asked another fan in the parking lot if they could take a photo of us.  Stepping out of the moment, that feels odd.  We had shared maybe a 30-minute encounter in a crowded parking lot, but it was as if we both knew it was the start of something that was going to change our lives.  We took a series of photos against the backdrop of those iconic red rocks.  In some of them, we’re laughing and looking into each other’s eyes.  With the live mode and sound on, you can even hear Lauren say “sorry, I think I just put my hand on your butt” followed by a cascade of laughter.  She told me she was sitting in row 17, just behind the sound board and I should come over and say hi.  Then we parted ways.

I filed into the stadium floating on the energy and love of this community but also feeling the significance of the encounter with Lauren.  I wedged myself into a spot on my favourite planter, near stage right, and quickly made friends with my neighbours. 

My planter happened to be right at row 17, so I wandered closer to the center and the soundboard, looking for Lauren.  She wasn’t hard to spot and I felt my heart skip a beat as her smiling eyes met mine.  The opening acts were over and we felt the energy and anticipation as Brandi was ready to take the stage.  Row 16 was the space directly behind the soundboard and hadn’t been sold, so there was plenty of room to dance and sing.  And that’s exactly what we did.  For many concerts over the last decade, I had felt a need to dull my inhibitions or senses with alcohol or weed.  In this situation; however, I felt a desire to remain completely present and aware.  A need to almost be hyper aware, wanting to savor and remember and fully experience every breathtaking moment.  Lauren and I matched energy perfectly, belting out the lyrics to Right on Time or The Story with effortless joy and expansive emotion.  Throughout the show we would brush arms or legs and I felt an intense vibration course through my whole body.  I just kept thinking, “more.”  I just want more of this.  More of her.

At some point, Lauren asked me how I was getting back to my Airbnb.  I told her I planned to take an UBER and she offered to drive me.  I was instantly nervous and excited about what that could mean.  Things with my husband, Tim, were left unsettled and yet I wanted nothing more than to lean into wherever this might lead.  As the show wrapped up, I followed Lauren out of the venue and to her “secret” bathroom.  It was astounding to locate a bathroom with no lines for the toilets or the water filling station and I could tell she was trying to impress me, which made me blush.  We quickly arrived back at her car and mingled with others nearby.  I hadn’t fully realized Meg and Kelly, whom I had met earlier in the tailgate, were also part of the carpool.  We waited for the crowds to thin out, sharing bites off the same cream cheese and bacon sandwich that Lauren had packed in her cooler.  It felt as though we had been in the habit of sharing sandwiches all our lives.  Even though my Airbnb was almost 15 minutes past their campground, Lauren and her crew generously drove me home as they told hilarious stories about their adventures: an impossible cloverleaf exit, seeking hot food after midnight, a Denny’s restaurant that felt like a scene out of The Matrix.  Too quickly we were pulling up to my stop.  I encouraged the women to stay for a dip in the hot tub but Meg was tired and ready to call it a night.  Lauren put the car in park and got out to give me a powerful hug.  Powerful in many ways: the feeling of her body against mine, the sensation of her holding the backs of my arms, the intoxicating scent of her hair and softness of her skin.  “I hope I see you again,” she said.  “I want that,” I responded.  “I have some things I need to work out,” I said.  And then Lauren was gone.

That evening I sat for a long time under the full moon and the stars.  My Airbnb was a tiny house with a beautiful patio and hot tub and I stayed outside for hours, reflecting on my night and singing my heart out to my Bluetooth speaker.  I already had a playlist curated that seemed to capture all of the feelings and desires I was experiencing right now: from Brandy Clark’s “Dear Insecurity” to Neko Case “Wish I Was the Moon.”  “Call It Dreaming” from Iron & Wine to “Love Songs” a beautiful, but obscure, Brandi Carlile song I’ve always adored.  But the song I needed to share with Lauren seemed to be “Persephone” by Allison Russell.  I pulled out the business card with her number and even Googled the area code for Asheville, wanting desperately to make sure I didn’t misread her handwriting.  And then I sent her a message:

It’s Alissa.  Thanks again for the ride and an incredible night.  Send me those photos.

Here’s a song for you

Now, Persephone might be the most seductive, lesbian song any Americana fan could choose.  I knew that, and knew exactly what I was doing.  The lyrics include, “Mouth to mouth, mouth to flower, salty sweet you give me power.  I feel you shake under my lips, your fingers, tender find my secrets.”

Sometime after 3 am, I tried to sleep but my whole body felt alive with a desire and energy I couldn’t remember experiencing ever in my life.  I tossed and turned, checking my phone often for a response.  Finally, she replied with the photos of us and the sweetest message:

I so enjoyed meeting you… I want you to know how incredibly hard it was for me to just drop you off… I had a really hard time not kissing you goodnight.  You came out of nowhere and swept me off my feet – that doesn’t happen often.  I love Allison Russell… Are you trying to seduce me?

Clearly I was.  I didn’t have any experience seducing someone, especially not a woman.  But communicating with Lauren felt as effortless and exciting as anything I’d done. 

Finally, I gave up on sleeping and decided I would drive back to Red Rocks for the sunrise.  Here I was, “6 AM all messed up.”  I secretly hoped I’d run into Lauren there, but that didn’t happen.  I did have an experience of feeling very peaceful and full of hope.  I felt grounded and willing to trust myself and my knowing in a way I had never experienced. 

I sent Lauren a photo of the sunrise and told her that all I wanted was more of her.  Luckily, she agreed to meet me at a nearby brewery on her way to the airport.  My annoying internal voice started chirping at me… I looked ridiculous with yesterday’s make-up, feeling like I needed a good cry or a shower or both.  What was I doing?!  I sent a self-deprecating text to her so she could find me in the crowded bar, telling her she’d probably recognize me in my day-old braids.  She replied:

Without a doubt, I can spot you in the crowd of 1000 from outer space.

She indicated she would be the “hottest bitch that walks in.”  God, I loved her cheeky confidence.  And 1000% she was the hottest bitch that walked in that bar – or any room.  The second Lauren walked in, my knowing took the reins, and I felt overcome by that sense of giddy certainty.  I was seated at the bar and Lauren hopped onto the bar stool right next to me.  She reached out and gently traced my shoulder with her fingers.  “Is this okay?” she asked.  I, too, felt an overwhelming need to touch her, putting my hand on her knee as we learned more about each other and our stories.  She only had about 20 minutes before she needed to dash to the airport but in that short window, we solidified that sensation we had both felt the night prior.  This was something significant.  Something unexplainable and powerful and destined.

I walked Lauren out to her car, standing on the sidewalk in the afternoon sun as she wrapped her arms around me and we held each other for a long time.  I breathed in the smell of her hair and the feeling of her strong body against mine.  And in that moment, I knew that I wanted to hold her forever. 

I continued to watch as she drove away, feeling shaky but sure.  This had been the 24 hours where my life changed.  Everything from this point would become a “before Lauren” or “after Lauren” marker of time.

I walked back to the brewery and called my sister from the parking lot.  “Well, I’m fucked,” I told her.  She was protective but kind.  Supportive but cautious.  Give it a week and go see your therapist, she told me.

From that moment on, Lauren and I never stopped communicating.  As her plane was about to depart, I asked if it was ridiculous that I felt sad to lose her via text for a few hours.  Needless to say, she paid for Wi-Fi on the plane. We traded stories and photos.  We talked for hours via text and then video-messaging and then through Facetime for hours each evening after my kids went to bed, learning about endless synchronicities… our love of Chihuly and botanical gardens, our love of peanut butter and pistachio ice cream, feeling like songs were a key love language, our independent (and now shared) dream of traveling around in an RV and seeing all of the national parks, our connection to Frances McDormand, our infatuation with tree houses, our love of the Rat Pack and big band era…

We started lists: places to go, movies to watch, vacations to take, songs to listen to, foods to cook each other, restaurants to try, concerts to see…  “Add it to the list” became a constant statement as our dreams for a life and future together continued to take shape.

With every day that passed my belief in our love story grew.  As a kid, I was always drawn to powerful love stories that defied the odds.  When I was in grade school, I used a tape recorder to capture the audio of the film, Shining Through, my favourite World War II romance movie.  I had the biggest crush on Melanie Griffith (which maybe should have been an early sign of my attraction for women).  When I was 16, I became obsessed with The Bridges of Madison County, quickly reading everything Robert James Waller had ever written.  Somehow the idea of a transcendent, undeniable love story was a dream I couldn’t let go of.  To this day, I still read The Bridges of Madison County once each summer.  But even though that love story begins when the female housewife is in her mid-forties, I had somewhat resigned myself that I would never experience a powerful love story like that.  Not in this lifetime.  But as the days passed and my security and confidence bloomed, I, once again, believed in love.  I knew that this was my story, my transcendent, life-altering love story. 

For years my mom had known this was missing from my life.  She continued to ask me, repeatedly, if Tim and I were just “so in love.”  And I always felt awkward, brushing her off.  Unsure how to respond.  Until I met Lauren and I suddenly knew and understood what she meant.  And now all I could feel was gratitude, that the universe had brought us together, and we had been brave enough to recognize that and to lean into it.

When we reconnected in New York City under the next full moon, I had taken care of the things I needed to regarding my marriage and had shared my intentions with my family and close friends.  I waited at the bottom of an escalator in the Newark airport, watching for Lauren.  My heart was racing.  Finally, I saw her floating down those moving steps, a bouquet of flowers in her hand.  She approached me and we immediately shared our first kiss.  We stood in the baggage claim for a long time, just holding and kissing each other.  Blissed out at the surreal and yet fully tangible experience of being physically together and able to share and experience our growing love. 

March 7, 2026 marked the 6-month anniversary of that fateful night at Red Rocks.  And over these 6 months… We’ve traveled to each of our home cities of Toronto and Asheville, as well as New York, Phoenix, Mexico and Minneapolis.  We’ve explored each other and experienced a love and desire so intense and huge, we discussed that “love” feels like an inadequate term to capture what we have. 

And we’re just getting started…

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We need a bigger word
"love" seems inadequate
a cliche',
tossed around so casually.

We need a word
capable of transcending generations,
comprehensive of the deepest knowing
and unending discovery;
the most tender grace
and unabashed passion.

A word birthed from the cosmos
since we, too,
were birthed 
from the cosmos.

A word invented
     and destined,
the most subtle paradox,
spooned by synchronicity.

But until we create
such a word,
"love"
will have to suffice.