What we didn't know: A story of friendship

It was March 2022. I found myself based in a small town nestled in the lush, rain-forest hills of the Talamanca Mountains of Costa Rica. Most of my days in Ojochal were spent at the river or doing volunteer work, but things were getting too predictable. Walking down the street, I held out my thumb to the few passing cars hoping to catch a lift out of town. That’s when a taxi stopped to offer me a ride.

“No, no,” I said, waving him away. I wasn’t trying to pay for a ride. I was looking for adventure.

But the passenger rolled down the window anyway. A taxi picking up a hitchhiker is not uncommon. The people already paid for the ride and invited me to join.

I slipped into the back seat with a woman wearing a bright multi-colored bow and fabrics wrapped around her body. Mixed raced with a California accent, Vanessa’s curious demeanor immediately drew me in.

Vanessa wasn’t staying in town for too long, but she was staying in a tiny house not far from mine. After our brief exchange in the car, we capitalized on the limited time we had to exchange stories, wisdom, and on one occasion, homemade arepas. 

I knew she was my kind of people when she matched my enthusiasm about the moon rising. Moments later, my attraction to her resolve became stronger when she recited her poetry to me. On another occasion, Vanessa changed my life for two reasons. First, she taught me how to pee standing up (a revolutionary skill that I have nearly perfected). Second, she gave me a tutorial on how to wrap those fabrics, sarangs, around my body so that I could go commando without showing my private parts. 

One day, close to her departure, we took a trip to the river. Turning right at the bridge, we followed a dirt path upstream for more solitude. The rush of the river was inviting and the wind rustling through the trees regulated my system. We walked in nature’s silence until we came to a spot with rocks to sun bath and pools to dip in. I looked to check if the bridge was visible and when I turned around, Vanessa was already throwing her shirt on the ground. 

Standing barechested surrounded by vibrant green, she let out a soft exhale before noticing my curiosity.

“Are you okay with nudity?” she asked, already guessing my answer. Seeing how comfortable she was beckoned a smile.

“Yeah,” I said with a giggle, slipping out of my shorts. At the time, I was uncomfortable and adjusting to people’s casualness about nudity. It was something I vowed to get used to.

Ten months later, I was back in the United States. 

I was volunteering at Interfusion, a festival in Arlington, Virginia. Known for attracting zoukers, cuddle enthusiasts, and people who enjoy an alternative way of living, this was my second time attending. I first attended in 2020, before travel, just a month before the pandemic. The experience was liberating and exposed me to a lifestyle that better matched my heart.

It was January 2023 and my birthday was two days away. I was looking forward to celebrating at the festival in a similar fashion to 2020. I was standing in line for registration, when a familiar voice floated through the hair. Throwing courtesy to the wind, I stepped out of line to see who the voice belonged to.

“Oh my gosh, Jaye?!” Vanessa exclaimed when she noticed me. We embraced each other in an enthusiastic hug. 

“I think about you all the time!” she continued, “I lost my phone in Mexico and all of my contacts! I can’t believe you’re here!”

During the festival, I got the chance to catch up with Vanessa in direct and indirect ways. There were a few workshops we attended and a few dances we shared. I was working on a sand mandala with an incredible Katie Jo and Vanessa would pop in to check on the progress every once in a while. At the festival, Vanessa’s presence was an anchor of support and represented a layer of safety and ease that I experienced in Costa Rica. She connected me to a version of myself I had only known abroad.

This anchor would be especially helpful at the cuddle party. 

A cuddle party is a structured, nonsexual, social event where people meet to practice communication, consent, and platonic touch. In 2020, my ex boyfriend and I tried to attend it. The facilitator was explaining the rules of consent when my hands started shaking and my body went numb. Hyperventilating and feeling overwhelmed, I left with my insensitive partner for a quieter space. Catching my breath and waiting for the trigger to decline, I felt discouraged and disappointed in myself.

Fast forward to the present and I could now be around naked strangers in the forest. A cuddle party shouldn’t be that bad, right? Only a couple hundred people in an empty conference room with pillows and non-sexual music exchanging touch in massage trains, spoon trains, and caressing each other with feathers and flowers… What could go wrong? 

I spent a lot of time mentally preparing for this cuddle party. 

“Dress comfortably and respect your own limits,” Vanessa reassured me, “Don’t judge yourself and let just being in the space be a win. You don’t have to push so hard. You honoring your needs is the whole point.”

The night of the cuddle party, I was stiff, hesitant, cautious, and present. I spent a lot of time observing. I said yes to a woman who offered to massage my hands, and no to everything else. Walking around the room, I held myself as if I might fall apart when a hand reached out grabbing my leg. I jumped back terrified looking down at a smiling face on the ground. 

It was a familiar face that belonged to a salsero from the night before. We shared a few dances where the musicality and synchronicity was on point. I chuckled trying to laugh off my fear. He was entangled in a mess of other people- some that I recognized and a few that I didn’t.

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Do you want to join?” he asked casually from the ground.

I looked over at Vanessa receiving a shoulder massage close by, then back at the group. I had their undivided attention. They were waiting calmly for my confident yes or comfortable no. I uncrossed my arms and took a deep breath. 

“I’m a confident yes, but I’m also really scared,” I said honestly with closed eyes. When I opened them, the whole group had unraveled. 

“Well, where would you feel the most comfortable joining?” a woman asked, “Let’s start there.”

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On the last morning of the festival, I was dancing in the lobby with my bag packed and ready to go. I was waiting for my ride to be ready, but a few final workshops were being held so I took advantage of the opportunity. Out of nowhere, Vanessa appeared next to me moving her body freely. The two of us shimmy and shook in the back corner of a crowd of people sitting calmly enjoying the music.

“Hey Jaye, let’s exchange contacts on messenger. There’s no way I’ll lose access to that,” Vanessa said when we stopped to rest. 

“Sounds good. I’ll add you!” I said, grabbing my phone and typing in her name. “Wait, what? Did you message me already?”

“Huh, no. Not yet- why?” she replied curiously. 

“Look here,” I said, showing her my phone, “There are messages already. About sharing a room for the festival?”

“This festival? When are these from?” she questioned, looking back at her own phone.

“December 2019?”

“Did we-”

“Share a room?”

“Oh my gosh! We shared a bed!” Vanessa exclaimed and we looked at each other in awe.

In 2020, we were both attending the festival for the first time and had signed up for a random room sharing opportunity.

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Over the years, we’ve maintained a long distance friendship with regular check-ins, photo exchanges, and offered each other ongoing support. After that festival, Vanessa and I became intentional about staying connected. It’s impossible to believe that someone who comes into your life like that isn’t meant to stay.

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