Alex Bohs

Hope. What a beautiful, vital thing that can fuel any negative into a positive - any setback into action. However, like most vital things in life, hope cannot merely exist without a cost - often the cruel reminder of what we've either lost, still don't have or could potentially lose. After all, there's got to be something to hope for and against.

It's that very reason why I felt the need to commemorate the end of this month's Pride festivities using the visuals I recently captured (during SF Pride Weekend 2018) mixed with the final testimonial of Harvey Milk - recorded mere days before his assassination on November 27, 1978.

There's just something rather uplifting, somewhat bittersweet and certainly intriguing to me about hearing the raw audio of Harvey's last intentions while also observing the now mainstream, present-day Pride Parade, for there are things to rejoice about (overall acknowledgement of the LGTQIA+ community) while also making sure we keep some aspects in check (branded consumerism disguised as support).

For me, queer pride lasts all year and is far more than a simple hashtag or rainbow-colored-product. Queer Pride is a reminder of all the sacrifice, loss and struggle that has come before me. That's always at the forefront of my celebrations and I hope you feel a bit of that bittersweet energy in this vignette as we move into July and the remainder of this year - told through the voice of someone who genuinely believed in the power of hope.

Here’s one of my doodles portraying one of the storytellers / observers of life I cherish most, Ms. Agnès Varda herself, (along with one of her poignant thoughts which feels oddly relevant in a world of oversaturated updates). ✨

Taking a moment away from my editing dungeon on this rather productive Saturday to utilize a couple alternative mediums I haven’t toyed with in a few weeks: doodling and writing. Both are equally rough but come from the same beautiful / cathartic moment in time.

A worthwhile revisit from one of the strongest voices (and minds) we've had the privilege of having in this world: The Mask by Maya Angelou.

This clip (and poem) comes from a 1988 documentary by Bill Moyers which documents Dr. Angelou as she contributes her experience and voice to a conference held in the Hill Country of central Texas called Facing Evil (which you can watch in full here).

Finding comfort giving some of my time this week to folks who deserve it. Thank you for sharing your words and experiences, Dr. Angelou, particularly when doing so wasn’t seen as an act of bravery or selflessness.

Sharing an excerpt from something I scribbled down in one of my trusty moleskins which I treat as pseudo-journals. Re-reading it I felt a connection to this voice that so desperately wanted a way to escape but without actually running from life around him. This is something I struggle with constantly - unintentionally pushing away - and I share this in hopes it may resonate with you as well.

Sunday. 6am in a stagnant hotel room. The sound of an air conditioner drumming along - well past time for a filter change. I lay awake nursing a familiar (and rather suffocating) craving for a day switched to “airplane mode” across the board. 

He remains asleep as I debate whether or not to wake him. I don’t. Instead I leave a note.

“ Thank you for the chatting, the kissing and the night. Until next time, Alex (Phone Number) ”

I open the door and quickly notice he placed the “do not disturb” sign on the door handle. For a brief moment I wonder if he was expecting me to sleep in with him. ‘Am I an asshole for leaving this way?’ I normally would say yes to that thought but our chemistry was pretty upfront and void of expectations. 

I snap a photo for some reason (see above) and let the door close as quietly as possible. Behind me.

The final few chapters of an audiobook play as I make my way along the desolate freeway. Another chapter finishes as I near my exit. ‘Should I take this home and shower away the night or just add to the grime?’

My foot buckles down on the gas as I make my way past the exit and into the mountains. No real destination or hike in mind yet enough of a concept and scratch-in-need-of-itching to garner a day of nature.

My audiobook finishes just as I reach the base of Mt. Baldy road and I switch my phone to airplane mode. I press play to one of my go-to scores and begin the winding journey through the mountains, letting my thoughts take control as I choose where to stop and start walking.

I walk for the next four hours - sometimes playing gentle music - other times letting the Southern California nature play. 

Absolute bliss. 

As I make my way back to my trusty black VW bug named Bridgette, I come up with a fix to a recent screenplay of mine. I decide a lunch at the Mt. Baldy Lodge would be the perfect place to let this discovery run wild.

I choose a spot outside and unleash the brain farting as I down a cup of hot chocolate (something I always do at that lodge no matter the temperature / season). It’s a scrappy few pages of ideas but it feels good - just as this entire impromptu 24 hours has felt.

It’s nearly 4pm and time to trudge back to the hustle and bustle. I swipe airplane mode off briefly to get directions back home.

“1 new message.” I open it.

“Literally didn’t leave the bed today. Hope you did the equivalent wherever you snuck off to. Text me if you want to have another night while I’m in town. Here through next Sunday.“

I waited until I got home to respond.

“How’s Tuesday sound?”

Wednesday. 7am. The familiar stagnant hotel room air wakes me. He still sleeps. This time I turn and give him a slight jostle.

”Hey I’m going to head out unless you wanted to nab breakfast.”

”No go ahead” he said while slithering back into sheets and pillows. A contrast to the warmth from the night before. 

I still left a note. 

“Another lovely evening. Thank you. Text me if you crave a good chat anytime soon. I’m around most of this week. -Alex “

I let the door close quietly just like last time. Unlike last time however, there was no “do not disturb” sign on the door. Nothing to read into.

I start a new audiobook as I drive away - not into nature but home. I turn on the shower and initiate airplane mode as I enjoy my morning and afternoon before work. 

Hours go by as I take a break from work and switch off airplane mode - low key wondering what has transpired around me or what distractions will come flooding in.

"No notifications.” 

It remains this way for the rest of the week.

The first time I realized what it meant to nurture a personal escape was at the age of six. My mom had a horse Rocky, a pony Moe and goat Linnea. All three provided her an escape from all the stresses transpiring in life. 

“Can I come with?” I’d ask her night after night as we ventured across the long plot of land between our house and the barn to feed and tuck those three in for the night. I can’t recall how helpful I was - I suspect I was just a warm body that did some petting rather than actual help - but being able to witness my mom light up in her special spot away from the rest of the world was so special and is hands down the main reason I am able to find my own personal escapes no matter what environment I find myself.

One of the perks of being an adult is having a lot more of the details about all that was transpiring during our time with these precious friends.  Further proof of just how therapeutic these animals were for not only my Mom but for my kindergarten-aged self and third-grade-aged brother.

It may sound obvious, maybe even silly, but I’ve done more reflection-of-life than ever before as I near the late years of my twenties and start to recognize the roots of my being - both the positive and negative kind(s). 

Small moments somehow seem larger and more layered because I have started to accumulate life now and can pinpoint patterns, lessons and ways in which I can grow further. Small moments like feeding and maintaining Linnea now give witness to why I spend at least one day a week escaping without an agenda (usually somewhere without cell/internet service). It’s my way of keeping control over my time which only grows in importance as I grow. 

Chosen family. The family you handpick. The family who understands your every layer - no matter how complicated or nuanced. Chosen family is there because you’ve allowed them to be and they have reciprocated. No arbitrary expectations or judgements. Just lives intersecting to brighten and strengthen one another. That’s what chosen family has always been for me at least. In fact, I have been able to categorize my own growth by my chosen families in various environments.

As a child in Indiana, my chosen family consisted of other adventure-seekers who enjoyed exploring and escaping the confines of our cornfield(s). Whether it be photoshoots in abandoned buildings, campuses, forests or our own bedrooms, they kept my insecurities of the future at bay and the spark of what could be next ignited.

As a teenager / early 20-something in Chicago, my chosen family embraced me wholeheartedly. They taught me that the quirks I felt the need to hide in Hoosierland actually made me stand out amongst the rest and were something to cherish. No topic was finally off limits with these friends. We talked about every facet of one another which sounds silly but it was such a refreshing change of pace for me and is one of the many reasons why my Chicago chosen family will always be special to me for the very selfless way they accepted me and let me into their lives as well.

As a young adult / mid 20-something in LA, my chosen family became so much more diverse across the board. Folks were not only from various pods in Middle America but rather places like the Middle East or across actual bodies of water complete with language barriers and contrasting childhoods. I mention this because I’ve never felt such a familial connection to folks who on paper seem so different. I think that’s what I love most about the melting pot that is LA - learning, listening and loving so many viewpoints. My LA family has been the single most beautiful cluster of individuals and finding them changed my entire perspective of that whackass West Coast - for the better.

As a writer, my chosen family has permeated my noggin for years now both in a series I’ve been concocting (For Now Project) about the unique ways folks come in and out of one another’s lives during very specific chapters, as well as a feature film I keep re-breaking/re-working as I continue to also mature (Nevermore, Bernadette) which contrasts the eclectic chosen family of its leading drag queen against his complicated bloodline.

As an editor (and queer filmmaker), my chosen family has graced me with some truly unforgettable collaborations that have crossed generational barriers even. Conversations with Gay Elders taught me how unified we all are as queer people no matter how much our lives have felt so different from one another. I’ve been able to create friendships and connections with individuals that not only paved the way for me to live as openly as I prefer but have instilled in me the art of patience and looking towards the bigger picture. Who Is Reno Martin is currently teaching me just how expansive, inclusive and vibrant chosen family lines go back (particularly on the East Coast). It’s teaching me how authenticity and utmost trust between good friends has always been there even when history-writers try to paint a different picture. 

In short, I foresee this topic and those that make up my many families continuing to creep into my life as I chug along. I for one hope that’s the case.

Sendin' all my Frigay lovin' to Lockwood51 for my newest director cap. Can't wait to make queer magic whilst wearing it. 🎦 #StayQueerAsFuck

Unfinished business is the worst and a couple things have consistently hovered over my conscience over the past few years. The first being a bundle of beautiful footage sitting unused on a hard drive (from a scrapped music video o' mine) - the second being the way I ended a rather delightful little summer rendezvous. Both contain content recorded during completely different chapters (even cities) of my life yet for some reason, when I connected the two, all felt right in the world and I'd even argue it was almost as if they were waiting on the other to be a complete(d) piece. That piece is now viewable in the form of a short titled “Note to Self."

All I will say as a disclaimer is that what it lacks in length I hope it makes up for in honesty, heart and vulnerability as it’s filled from start to finish with a good deal of mine.

Sincerely with Sincerity,

This weekend I received a message from someone I haven’t much talked to in quite some time. In fact, I believe the last time we talked she was sporting a different last name and neither of us had even finished college yet. Her name is Megan and she just so happens to have been one of my dearest friends during the most awkward years of my adolescence. This is what she wrote:

“At one point in my life you were my best friend. I remember being infatuated with who you were and your ideas. Your mind had this indescribable brilliance that no one else had. My small town girl ideas quickly expanded and you helped shape and mold me into the woman I am today. I know that our friendship was only a blip of time on the radar of life but I had to let you know the impact you made on me. I had to make you aware that even to this day certain songs take me back to you. You expanded my worldview and even now you show me that being different is more than acceptable. I love you Alex Bohs. I always will. Your beautiful soul stole a piece of my heart in middle school and I don't care if that sounds ridiculous.”

To say I was surprised by receiving this on my Facebook wall would be an understatement - not by Megan reaching out (as she is one of those special individuals whom you can pick right back up with no matter how long the time apart) but rather how quickly I was brought back to the days before driving, before jobs and even days before the internet bombarded onto the scene. It was as if I was receiving one of Megan’s hand-written letters I used to look so forward reading in between classes (or during let’s be honest). 

So, after letting her beautiful words simmer inside, I finally have something to contribute back and I’m going to do so publicly in hopes that whomever is reading this may also be inspired to reach out to any / all friends you may not have chatted with in a while but who made a big impression on you. Reading her experience of our friendship has meant more to me than I could have imagined so Megan, this one’s for you:

Dear Megan,

I still remember the guttural feeling of finding you (in gym class of all places). If I remember correctly, you were initially the carrier pigeon of correspondence between a mutual friend of ours and myself back before the internet when we had to actually navigate friendships in person (either with writing or - gasp - face to face), which soon just turned into you and I talking about anything and everything while pretending to be physically contributing to the class neither of us took seriously.

You were one of my first introductions to chosen family, Megan. Before you the majority of my friendships were simply with those who treated me nicely but didn’t necessarily get me. You saw me and got me in ways so many others glossed over and I will forever be thankful for how dear of an individual you were for me during a chapter in my life that actually provided me a lot of stress and discomfort. I was always safe to be myself around you and I hope you realize the hundreds of hours we spent over the years not only being pals but being speech team partners and theater companions are some of the warmest memories, and heartiest laughs.

You challenged me as a friend and taught me what it meant to hold onto secrets and that it was okay to trust. I know that sounds so silly but it was much harder for me to do at that time than you realize (I guarantee it) and so while I agree that if we count the years in total, our friendship was a blip on the radar of life, however it warms my heart to no end knowing that we both had such an impactful experience together. I love you Megan and always will. Thank you for helping me find my voice.

Your blip,