I kissed a girl and I liked it.

And then I kissed another. And another. And somewhere in the middle, I met myself.

“I wonder what it would be like to grow up today,” I said to my friend over drinks a few years ago. She’s a lesbian, and I was a few cocktails deep into curiosity. “I wonder if I would have explored my sexuality more when I was younger.”

Without flinching, she replied, “You’d still be straight.”

At the time I thought, honestly? Who knows. But I love that there's more room now for curiosity, for fluidity, for not knowing exactly where you land, and letting yourself play. Even if, in the end, you come back to something familiar. Even if all the exploration just reaffirms something you already kind of knew.

I love that it’s portrayed more and more in media now. I wish (as I’m sure many of you would agree) I’d seen that growing up.

P.S. Join me on Wednesday, May 21 in NYC for an intimate, unapologetic evening of creativity, and taboo-smashing conversation around sexuality, relationships, and shame (plus a spicy goodie bag!). Only two days left to snag the early bird tix so grab yours now! Vanillacooldance Sip & Sketch

The first time I really wanted to kiss a woman, not for attention, not for performance, not just for fun, was in Tel Aviv, ten years ago. She was a friend of a friend, magnetic in that effortless way. When she spoke to you, her full presence was entirely on you. Fully seen. We were dancing, maybe flirting, and I remember thinking, I hope she kisses me.

But she didn’t. And I didn’t either. Still, I think about that moment more often than makes sense for something that never even happened.

Years later, at a Pride festival in Amsterdam (yes, the same one where I sprained my ankle thinking I was a professional equestrian), it happened again. Only this time, it did actually happen. We’d gotten to know each other throughout the day, and when we finally kissed, it felt exciting. Passionate. And definitely sexy. I remember how soft she felt, delicate in a way that made me want to be careful with her, but also completely pulled in.

I’d already told her I was “straight-ish,” and she didn’t seem to mind. We went on a date afterward. But it didn’t go further. I remember thinking during the date: I can’t imagine doing anything more than kissing a woman. That was my edge.

Could it have been because I was a newbie? Maybe. God knows when I was a young teen, I wasn’t like, OMG I cannot wait to suck a dick. I was probably more like… ew.

Could it have been some internalized discomfort with pussy? Also possible. I don’t really know!

Then a few years later, something shifted again. Not in a tada, I’m queer kind of way, more in a maybe there’s more here than I thought kind of way.

And maybe I have some unlearning to do.