I drove across the country in my car, not knowing a thing or two about what I was getting myself into. No map for how it would all work out; no certainty, no safety net. Just me, my voice, and a purpose I couldn’t ignore. That’s the power of faith. The kind that whispers like your story is bigger than this moment. Bigger than fear. Bigger than me.
When I left New York City, it wasn’t just about geography. I needed to reset my life. I needed the space to go after my dreams in a new light, whatever that meant. I didn’t have the answers but something inside me was calling for more. And I finally dared to follow it.
Everyone around me seemed to have an idea of what I should be. I constantly modified my image as a performer. I wasn’t always sure who I truly was under all of that. I wore the mask well, but something deeper inside knew I was meant for more.
Music was the only place I felt like myself. Not someone else’s lyrics or notes. My voice. My stories. My fire.
When I arrived in Los Angeles, I had no connections. No job or friends. Just me, a car, and a dream. That distance from my loved ones was real. It was the first time I didn’t have my support system nearby. But so was the need to begin again. I became more vulnerable and surrendered to no longer being afraid to be seen.
It wasn’t easy. Finding my community and spaces that felt safe took time. I faced rejection more than once. This wasn’t an overnight process; it was a process of sacrifice, doubt, and reinvention.
But I wanted my dream. And nothing less.
I worked jobs I didn’t love to stay afloat. But eventually, I realized: I couldn’t keep giving my energy to someone else’s vision. It was time to invest in me.
I bought a little keyboard, started writing at night, and hummed melodies while sitting in traffic. I found producers through mutuals, sharing ideas via voice notes. I experimented with sounds that matched my mood. Some days I felt unstoppable; other days, I wondered if I’d made a mistake. But every time I sang, I felt closer to myself.
I leaned on my training in musical theatre and classical voice, but learned to let go of that idea of perfection. I chased feeling and emotion. I wrote lyrics that scared and excited me. I layered harmonies like conversations—sometimes messy, sometimes magical. The music became a mirror for everything I was experiencing: passion, confusion, freedom, and fear.
Nights can be the hardest, yet at the same time the most alive. Something in me lights up after a long day at work. It’s in these moments that I crave connection, yearning to be seen, touched, and desired. I go out in search of that feeling as I move through the clubs, bars, and underground shows in the city. Sometimes I find it in a glance, other times in a song that hits just right. I’ve gone on dates. I’ve explored my sexuality more openly than ever before. I let myself feel.
Nightlife in LA is different than New York. I can’t explain it. It’s looser. Sexier. People here are beautiful in a way that feels almost surreal. There’s this thick tension in the air like everyone’s on the edge of something. I lock eyes with strangers and feel that jolt–that heat–that shoots through your body before a single word is said.
My life feels like a movie sometimes. The kind where you’re not sure what’s real and what’s fantasy, but it’s all intoxicating. The people I meet and the moments I fall into occasionally blur together. And the feelings? They get intense. All of it starts to build. The desire, the adrenaline, the vulnerability. It can become… too much.
And that’s where the inspiration behind my debut single was born. From those moments when words fall away and all that’s left is the chemistry, the fire, and the surrender. It’s a sound I needed when I was still trying to figure myself out.
When I played the final mix for my family, there was this pause. It felt like they were seeing a new version of me they’d never quite met. But then came the pride and support. I felt their love from a distance. They may not always understand every part of my journey, but they’re in it with me.
Now, I’m no longer afraid to be bold, sexy, or sensitive. I’ve stopped trying to fit into what others expect and holding back. This is who I am. This is how I sound.
And this is only the beginning.
Voices is dedicated to featuring a wide range of inspiring personal stories and impactful opinions from the LGBTQ+ community and its allies. Visit Advocate.com/submit to learn more about submission guidelines. Views expressed in Voices stories are those of the guest writers, columnists, and editors, and do not directly represent the views of The Advocate or our parent company, equalpride.