Where I Finally Let Go: a Queer Retreat in Upstate New York
I’ve now attended three retreats at Easton Mountain, and each one revealed something different about me. The first was a collaboration with Himeros Studios, created by Davey Wavey—a space that felt both exploratory and deeply intentional. The second was a Singles Retreat, and the most recent, Spring Fling. Each experience built on the last, layering connection, curiosity, and growth in ways I didn’t expect when I first signed up.
At my first retreat, what struck me most was the range of people in the room—men spanning seven decades, from their 20s to their 90s. That alone shifted something in me. There was no single way to “be” gay here. Through workshops on tantra, kink, and self growth, guided by facilitators like Finn Deerhart and Court Vox, I found myself not just learning new concepts, but questioning old assumptions. It wasn’t about pushing boundaries for the sake of it—it was about understanding yourself in a fuller, more honest way.
The retreats that followed felt more expansive, more communal. The Easton-led events brought in a mix of facilitators who created spaces for both joy and reflection—dance parties that let you be playful, talent shows that encouraged vulnerability, and workshops that gently pushed you inward. What I didn’t expect was how much the unstructured moments would matter. Conversations over meals. Laughing in between sessions. Feeling seen without having to explain yourself.
And then there’s the space itself. The hot tub and sauna became social hubs—places where walls came down as easily as stress did. The labyrinth offered something quieter, almost meditative, while the garden and even the small cemetery on campus invited a kind of reflection that stayed with you longer than you anticipated. Everything about the environment felt designed to slow you down, to bring you back into your body.
Across all three retreats, there was also a consistent thread of sex-positivity and body acceptance. Nudity was welcomed, and while I chose not to participate, I found something powerful in simply being in a space where all bodies were normalized and respected. During my most recent retreat, I was practicing celibacy—and not once did I feel out of place. That, more than anything, showed me the depth of respect within the community.
If I’m being honest, when I first started attending these retreats, part of me hoped I’d meet a romantic connection—maybe even a partner. That didn’t happen. What did happen was something more lasting. The friendships I built, the moments of vulnerability I shared, and the sense of belonging I felt ended up meaning far more than I expected.
Some of my favorite memories still come back in flashes: a “massage à trois” workshop that felt equal parts playful and connective, crafting chakra bracelets with strangers who quickly became friends, a deeply grounding sound bath on the final day, and a closing circle where one participant spoke about honoring the lives of gay men lost to AIDS—a moment that brought the entire room into a shared, emotional stillness. And then there was the sauna at Spring Fling—twenty people packed in, laughing, sweating, existing together in a way that felt perfect.
One moment that still stays with me happened during my first retreat at Easton Mountain. I was fully prepared to skip a workshop—sit it out, stay comfortable, keep to myself. But my roommate, Tommy, an older Navy veteran, came up to me and asked if I’d be his partner because no one had chosen him. There was a split second where I could’ve said no, stayed in my head—but I didn’t. I said yes. And what followed wasn’t awkward or forced—it was connection. It reminded me that sometimes growth doesn’t come from the perfectly curated experience, but from the small, human moments where you choose to show up for someone else.
Throughout these retreats, I also met men who came out much later in life—men who didn’t have the same freedom or timing that I did. That stayed with me. It reframed my own story. I realized how much of a privilege it was to come out young, to have had the time to explore, stumble, grow, and understand myself earlier on. It gave me a deeper appreciation for my journey—and a sense of responsibility to not take that time for granted.
And maybe the biggest shift of all was how I defined the man I want to become. Before, if I’m being honest, it was about validation—about attraction, attention, and chasing the most desirable version of connection. But after these experiences, that vision expanded. Now, it looks like living with integrity. It looks like being open—not just to one type of man, but to the diversity within our community. It looks like choosing connection over validation, and community over ego. It looks like becoming someone younger queer people can look to and feel seen by.
There were also moments of discomfort—plenty of them. Being in a space where others were more at ease in their bodies and sexuality than I was forced me to confront my own insecurities. But instead of shutting down, I found myself slowly opening up. Not all at once, not perfectly—but enough to realize that comfort isn’t something you wait for. It’s something you practice. And in that environment, surrounded by acceptance, it started to feel a little more natural.
So if you’re reading this and feeling hesitant, unsure, maybe even a little intimidated—I get it. I was too. But if you’re looking for real connection, for friendship, for a space where you don’t have to explain yourself before you’re accepted… there may not be a better place to start than here: https://www.eastonmountain.org/
AI Tarot cards crafted by my fellow guest Thomas
