Is Anyone Else Trying to Find Their Queer Family in a Small City?
The fog rolled in over Casco Bay this morning as I sat at Tandem Coffee, watching people hurry by with collars turned up. Three years into living in Portland, Maine, and I still feel that mix of belonging and searching that I think many of us in smaller queer communities know all too well.
When Portland Becomes Home
Last summer during Pride, I found myself dancing with strangers-turned-friends at a tiny bar on Fore Street. The string lights reflected in everyone's eyes as we moved together, sweaty and laughing. A tall human with a glorious mustache grabbed my hand and twirled me while saying, "Welcome home, darling!" That moment—it felt like finally exhaling after holding my breath for years.
The In-Between Spaces
But let's be honest about the struggle too. While Portland has heart, it's not the sprawling queer metropolis some of us dreamed about. Finding connection here means:
- Dating apps where you recognize every single person after two days
- Running into your ex (and their new partner) at literally every farmers market
- That awkward "are they queer or just Portland-hip?" guessing game
- Seasonal friendship hibernation when winter hits
Creating Our Own Magic
What I've learned is that queer community in smaller cities isn't something you find—it's something you build together, brick by brick. Try hosting potlucks at your apartment, even when it feels vulnerable. Join that queer book club at Mechanics' Hall. Show up alone to events at Space Gallery and talk to someone else standing awkwardly alone.
Remember: your queer family is looking for you just as earnestly as you're looking for them. What's your Portland story? I'm here listening, and so are others just like us.