Why I Started Friends, Loves, & Life
Because We Are Not Invisible. Because Stories Are Resistance.
At the gym the other day, my friend Brian asked me what my elevator pitch was for my podcast. I froze—not because I didn’t know what I wanted to accomplish, but because I didn’t know how to say it in the time it takes an elevator to reach the next floor. So… I began to wonder what that would even sound like.
I’ve wanted to do something like this for a long time. A podcast that feels less like an interview and more like sitting across from an old friend over coffee, or wine, or just a walk around the block. One-on-one. Real conversation. No agenda beyond connection. Something rooted in the warmth of friendship, the messiness of being human, and the joy of sharing who we are with each other.
Friends, Loves, & Life isn’t just a name—it’s a reflection of what’s guided me most.
At one point, my husband asked me, “Are you looking for permission—or are you just ready to do it?” That question stuck with me. Because I think, deep down, I was waiting for a sign. For validation. For the moment to feel perfect. But the truth is, connection doesn’t wait for perfect conditions. Neither does storytelling. So I stopped waiting. Permission granted. By me.
But the question of why now kept tugging at me—louder and more urgently in recent months. We’re living in a time when our community—the LGBTQ+ community—is being relentlessly targeted. Not just by fringe extremists, but by elected lawmakers and leaders who are supposed to protect those most vulnerable. Republican politicians and far-right Christian nationalists are working to push us back into the shadows. To delegitimize our lives, our truths, our families, and our futures.
I couldn’t stay quiet. Not when I kept seeing news from places like Florida, Idaho, Texas, Tennessee, Ohio, and Utah. The growing list of states writing bigotry into law. It started to feel like a full-on campaign to erase us. And while I’m not a journalist or a media personality, I do know how to create space. I know how to talk—and more importantly—how to listen.
I’m also figuring this out as I go. I didn’t go to school for podcasting or audio production. I’m learning—sometimes fumbling, always growing. But what I do know is how to show up. How to ask real questions. How to hold space for someone’s truth. And when I don’t know something? I’ll damn sure figure it out—or find someone who can help me.
That’s where Friends, Loves, & Life comes from. A desire to push back with presence. To respond to cruelty with storytelling. To remind people—queer people especially—that we are not alone, and we are not invisible.
For me, this podcast is also a way to keep growing. I want to better understand the experiences of people across the LGBTQ+ spectrum. I want to learn more about the ways we all wrestle with identity, acceptance, shame, joy, and purpose. Everyone has a story. I want to help tell them.
And if I’m being honest, part of this is selfish. I’m trying to better understand who I am, too. Introspection is a gift, and it’s one I never want to lose.
For my guests, I hope this space feels like an invitation—to be real, to be vulnerable, to speak the truth of their lives in their own words. I know sticking a microphone in someone’s face and asking them to tell the world who they are can be uncomfortable. But that’s part of the truth, too. A shaky voice, a nervous laugh—those are windows just as much as polished soundbites.
For those of you listening, I want it to feel like an open window into someone else’s world—and maybe, a mirror into your own.
This podcast is for our community and our allies. I hope it makes people feel less alone. I hope it reminds us how layered and beautiful we are. I hope someone hears a guest’s story and says, “I know exactly what that feels like,” or maybe even, “I never thought of it that way before.”
The title—Friends, Loves, & Life—isn’t just branding. It’s personal. Right now, I’m speaking with people I’ve shared real time with. Long-term friends. Former partners. People who have mattered to me in different ways across different chapters. That shared history makes the conversations deeper. More textured. But the stories aren’t just about the past. They’re about how we’ve changed, how we’ve survived, how we keep going.
Because life happens to all of us. Love happens to all of us. Pain, confusion, fear—they do, too. What I hope comes through is how connected we all really are, even in our uniqueness.
Especially in our uniqueness.
What makes this podcast different? Honestly, I don’t think it needs to be “different” to matter. Every voice adds something to the chorus. There’s no quota on compassion or conversation. What I do bring is my perspective. My lens. A heart that’s been shaped by grief, by joy, by chosen family and hard-won wisdom. I believe we are all searching for the same things: peace, love, acceptance, a place to belong.
My own story is kind of a winding one—a life filled with laughter, adventure, insecurity, delight, heartbreak, and love. I’ve learned that growth doesn’t come from playing it safe. It comes from staying open, even when the world keeps telling you to shut down. And let’s be honest—the world tells us that all the time.
Been there, done that. No more. I’m not shutting down. I’m not retreating into the shadows for anyone. And I’m sure as hell not giving someone else’s words the power to define who I am.
I want to tell my stories through conversations with the people who’ve shaped me—my friends, my loves, and others in my life. And I hope you’ll enjoy coming along for the ride.
A lot of this clarity came after I turned 60. Something shifted. When my mother passed in 2021—after losing my father decades earlier—I began to see myself as the last in line. Mortality took on a new texture. It wasn’t scary, exactly—it was sobering. I started asking, “What am I still holding back?” and “What am I still here to do?”
I didn’t want fear or self-doubt to keep me from putting myself into the world. Especially not now, when older queer people are often made to feel invisible. This podcast is part of my response to that. I don’t want anyone to feel unseen. So this is me, doing what I can—with the tools I have—to shine a little light.
If you listen, I hope you feel something. Seen, maybe. Or moved. Or comforted. Or challenged in the best way. I hope you hear something that makes you laugh out loud or nod in quiet recognition. I hope it makes you reflect on your own friends, your own loves, your own life.
So maybe this is my elevator pitch:
Friends, Loves, & Life is a conversation from the heart—about who we are, how we got here, and what it means to keep going. It’s about telling the truth of our lives, one story at a time, in hopes that someone out there feels a little more seen, a little less alone.
It’s a desire to push back with presence. To respond to cruelty with storytelling. To remind people—queer people especially—that we are not alone, and we are not invisible.
Thank you, Brian, for the question. Turns out, I just needed a few more floors.
I’m just getting started being bold, being free, being me. How about you?
— David
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