Have You Ever Felt Like the Only Queer Person in the Desert?
It's a crisp autumn morning in Santa Fe, and I'm sitting at my favorite adobe-walled café, watching the sunrise paint the Sangre de Cristo mountains gold. Three years ago, I moved here from Chicago with nothing but two suitcases and a heart full of hope—and terror.
Finding My Queer Oasis in the High Desert
That first month, I wandered the winding streets of the Plaza alone, admiring the turquoise jewelry and chile ristras while secretly searching for rainbow flags or any sign of queer life. Then one evening at SITE Santa Fe, I locked eyes with someone across a gallery exhibition. They had a pronoun pin and the kindest smile. By midnight, we were sharing sopapillas and coming-out stories at a local dive.
When Desert Winds Bring Loneliness
- There's the "am I the only one?" feeling when you're the sole visibly queer person at a traditional community event
- Dating apps that show the nearest match is 47 miles away (hello, Albuquerque road trip!)
- The well-meaning but exhausting questions from tourists who assume you must be "from somewhere else"
- Navigating the beautiful but sometimes conservative traditions in a centuries-old community
Creating Your Own Mirage
What I've learned is that queer community in Santa Fe isn't always visible—it's in the pockets of connection we create. Join the LGBTQ+ hiking group that meets at Dale Ball trails monthly. Attend Indigenous queer poetry readings at Collected Works. Volunteer at the youth center where magical intergenerational friendships bloom.
You are not alone in this enchanted desert. The queerness of Santa Fe exists in its artistic soul, its acceptance of the mystical, and its celebration of those who live authentically. Our community might be smaller, but it runs deep like the arroyos after monsoon rains.
What's your Santa Fe queer experience? Share below and let's create connections as vast and beautiful as our New Mexico skies.