Lost in the Snow
Friday, January 17, I landed in Vail, Colorado, en route to officiate the wedding of my dear friends Ginny and Jesse at the breathtaking Beyul Retreat. What was supposed to be a smooth journey quickly turned into an unexpected adventure when Waze led me through a summer pass buried in snow—and I got stuck.
For 24 hours, I was alone in the snow, blessed by the shelter of my car, the snow for water, and (unfortunately) no food. Leaning into my Level 12 Capricorn energy, I stayed calm, kept the car exhaust pipe clear, and repeated a mantra to myself: “In this moment, I am safe. In this moment, I am well.”
What kept me going was the knowledge that I wasn’t truly alone. When I didn’t arrive, the incredible wedding community sprang into action. They alerted the authorities, coordinated with my boyfriend, my family, and local resources, and worked tirelessly to ensure my safety.
Special thanks go to:
- Sergeant Paul Pederson and Law Enforcement Officer Adam Deimert for rescuing me and helping with my luggage.
- The Forestry Service and Eagle County Sheriff’s Office for their swift response.
- The kind Hertz team at Eagle County Airport, who welcomed me with water and pizza—my first meal in 24 hours.
Against all odds, I arrived at the wedding just as Ginny and Jesse began their vows. I was overwhelmed with gratitude for the community that surrounded me, not only at the wedding but in spirit during my ordeal.
The journey didn’t end there. My return to New York was equally challenging. After getting grounded in Atlanta due to a winter storm impacting NYC airports, I boarded the first flight out on Monday, January 20. But just as we were preparing for takeoff, a technical issue forced us off the plane, delaying us another two hours.
On that flight, I noticed the man seated next to me, a large, tattooed cowboy, watching the inauguration. A flicker of panic rose, but I remembered my mantra: “In this moment, I am safe. In this moment, I am well.”
The days that followed felt heavy. News trickled in about executive orders targeting trans people, ICE raids, Nazi salutes, and absurd moves like renaming the Gulf of Mexico the “Gulf of America.” These moments of darkness reminded me of being stuck in my car on that snowy mountain—with the possibility of despair lurking at every turn.
But just as I did then, I’m focusing on what I can control and holding space for what I can’t. I’m keenly aware of my immense privilege, a privilege not afforded to so many in our community—my trans and nonbinary siblings, undocumented immigrants, and countless others living in fear.
Right now, I’m struggling, because although safe and home, I still feel metaphorically stuck in the snow. My high beams are on, cutting through the blizzard, while my hazard lights blink in the rear. To those who may feel stuck too: I’m channeling the abundance of love I felt on that mountain and sending it your way.
In this moment, may you be safe. In this moment, may you be well. And whatever the dawn brings, may you know how deeply you are loved.
There’s so much more to share, but that’s all I have for now.
Fearlessly yours,
Eduardo
