
By Tru Saint James |
When I say I have rewritten this article two other times, I would not be kidding. I have struggled with my view and opinions on the topic. I was asked to share my experiences and what some would call “culture shock” with being a drag queen in the bustling Seattle area and then moving to Ocean Shores during the pandemic. There have been variations of opinions, even just in the few hours I have been awake attempting to formulate while allowing the caffeine in my cup to take effect. You will need a back story to get the entire picture.
I was born on a farm in Colorado. My hometown was about 1,197, and I swore I would never live in a small(ish) town, and what do they say about saying “never?” I moved to Seattle a couple of decades ago and engulfed myself in the Seattle culture, and to be honest, I fell in love with the city. Warts and all. I managed a sports bar during the day and was one of the original queens of the Lashes show at Rplace. You have to know this was before Drag Race was in, and being a drag queen was still not in style. We had a little budget for the show, and after our shows, we would hang out at Manray bar on capitol hill or hit Purr and then eventually the Compound. For some of you reading this, mentioning those bars identified my age(ish). Those days seem so long ago.
Fast forward to years later, when we decided to bring drag to West Seattle, my husband and I worked with a local bar, Feedback Lounge, and we started Booze Balls & Bingo. My original co-host was Mama Tits and then eventually Donnatella Howe. We collectively raised over $45k for local Seattle charities. We then brought a drag show to the Black Zia in Burien, and it was a smash hit. I even got to headline Burien Pride for a few years! It’s a great feeling we were trailblazers and brought drag to suburban neighborhoods where some said it would never work.
My husband and I had talked about making a change and possibly moving for a bit of a slower- paced life. There had been some instances in our neighborhood and outlying areas, and we weren’t fans of the occasional sounds of gunshots and crime rates increasing. Then Covid happened, and we weren’t sure what would happen. We had friends and family dying, and I got it very early on. I was sick in bed for five and a half weeks. That was when they didn’t know what it was, they had no ventilators, and I thought I was going to die. I refused to go to the hospital because if I was going out, I wanted to be with my husband, our animals, and in our home. It’s hard to look back at those scary times; however, because of that experience, I am forever changed. We didn’t expect the house to sell so quickly, but it did. Unfortunately, we didn’t have a place to land yet, which was terrifying. Thankfully my husband’s family owns a beach cabin outside of Grayland, WA, which they so graciously let us live in. Before you picture a small bungalow on the beach, I will let you know the cabin is a “dry cabin” meaning there are no bathroom facilities and non-consumable water. We had a honey bucket out back, but at least there was light when it was dark. The cabin was also tiny. My first apartment was actually bigger, but we made it work. I tell people, your relationship is solid if you can survive living together in a 500+ square foot cabin with a port-a-potty for four and a half months.
Funny enough, my husband, who had spent summers on the south end of the harbor for most of his childhood, had never been to Ocean Shores. We thought about looking in the Westport area but needed to figure out if there was enough to do. Also, we wanted to slow down but not kick the transmission in neutral. So, I suggested we take a look at Ocean Shores. Considering we had spent months in the Grayland cabin when we arrived in Ocean Shores, we felt like we had pulled into a metropolis. There were restaurants, shops, and a gas station, and I remember saying, “Oh my god, they have a Mcdonald’s and a Subway!” Funny how you gauge what is considered populated by the fast food chains they have, but it was invigorating and terrifying at the same time. Previously I had looked up the local LGBT groups in the area and had gotten in touch with a real estate broker, who guided us around, and eventually, we pulled the trigger and bought our house.
After living here for a while, I remembered everything I didn’t like about being raised in my small town. I realized I made people uncomfortable; I was the little effeminate boy who loved dolls, wore nail polish, and carried my Matchbox cars in an old purse. People in our farming community didn’t quite know what to do with me, and of course, they sure as hell didn’t know what shelf or box I should go in. I am still clocked for being gay; I open my mouth, and 50 yards of purple taffeta fly across the room. I may or may not have a bit of a runway strut if the right song is on in the local market; you’ll just have to see that for yourself. I learned a long time ago I was put on this planet specifically to make people a little nervous.
When we first moved to the Shores, I dulled my shine, and my mental health suffered. I became reclusive, agoraphobic, and riddled with anxiety and panic attacks. I was terrified I would be talked about, embarrass my husband, or directly affect his career. I was also terrified someone would vandalize our home, which I now know was a direct result of childhood trauma. Thankfully I had an excellent therapist then, and I did the work. I also realized some people are always whispered about in small towns because they stand out and are different. Being unique can be lonely, and I found it incredibly hard to find my footing. I went through depression and fell into the dark cavernous place that no one wants to find themselves in. I had a verbal altercation and was mocked and gay-shamed by a woman at the local pharmacy. When cornered, a drag queen will come out of a bag like a venomous snake, and I read that woman like a bible on a Motel 6 nightstand. The people who had to endure this apologized profusely for her hate-filled rant, which made me start to see the kindness I had somehow overlooked in the locals in this community.
We tried assimilating into the local culture, and I remember just the line from the cherished gay favorite Fried Green Tomatoes, “I’m too young to be old, and I am too old to be young.” I realized this was a “me” thing; I was in the midst of a midlife crisis, struggling with aging and trying to fit in. As we all know, aging in the gay male community is stigmatized and isn’t embraced, and I went through all of the bullshit attached. I didn’t have my creative drag outlet anymore, and I realized it was not about me dulling my shine to make people comfortable; I don’t do that. I have never done that, so why was I wasting life and not living. This isn’t why I survived Covid and the numerous other crazy situations I had been in in my life (that’s a whole different article). Being authentic is the most enjoyable way to live; if people have a problem with it, so be it. Suddenly, just like in one of those inspirational movies starring Sandra Bullock or Julia Roberts, the passionate inspirational music swells, the clouds part, and for whatever reason, suddenly, they’re in the cutest outfit. Their skin and hair look better, and they strut out into the world, forever confident and changed. Finally, I began to find my footing. I got involved in local organizations and started volunteering my marketing, website design, and graphic design services to people and non-profits who needed a little sparkle in their small businesses. It was the validation and self-esteem boost I needed.
I’ll be honest: I miss things about the city but things I do not. For example, I miss Amazon Prime’s same-day delivery, grocery delivery, grub hub, cultural diversity, various restaurants, warmer weather, and Lyft. Still, I don’t miss the lack of people waving when you’re driving down the road, no one smiling while you shop in the market, and I certainly don’t miss the traffic.
I sit here with a grin and realize that even writing this article has been cathartic. A friend once told me, “The reason your rearview mirror is a small portion of your windshield is that you are supposed to occasionally glance back but keep your focus on moving forward.” Looking back, I see how I tried to assimilate and fit in, which was my mistake. I put that pressure on myself and allowed the trauma of yesteryear to become my cage. Since then, I have realized there are those of us who just aren’t meant to blend in. I often say, “I am a flare in a Montana night sky,” and I take great pride in my identity. I have always believed “the universe always has its way,” moving to The Shores, I learned to love myself again and celebrate that little effeminate boy
who grew up in that small town.
I realized the struggles the LGBTQIA+ community are facing in this country. It is up to us as individual members of the community to do what we can to make each day a little kinder and brighter. Control the things we can, and focus on love and light. It’s up to us to be seen, claim our space in this world, live authentically, and don’t forget to “make people a little nervous.”
