Giving myself wings as I pilot my way in "Red" Idaho

Lately, I've been dreaming about airplanes.

Specifically, being able to pilot one myself.

I joke that maybe I'm becoming some left-wing prepper because I also spend a lot of time thinking about how I could get myself and my family out of Idaho if Donald Trump wins the election. Or, if he doesn't win and civil war breaks out, and we need to flee to a neighboring blue state or Canada.

Idaho, a place my family on both sides has called home for four generations, is a hotbed of far-right politics: a flavor of Republicans led by white nationalist Christian supremacy ideology that makes even Ada County, home of Boise, a weird place to live for a queer person like me.

Some people can look the other way regarding what's happening politically, but I've never been able to. Politics has always felt deeply personal to me as a member of the LGBTQ+ community and someone capable of being pregnant.

Sometimes, I wonder if I'm the weird one.

My son's grandma recently told me I should bloom where I'm planted. And most would say that I have. As queer people, we are accustomed to collecting the receipts that justify our existence and prove we are good enough to deserve love and belonging.

I've intentionally built a company where I can live anywhere and employ people who live all over the U.S. We are intentional about the clients we take on so that I'm not beholden to my home state's politics, which informs how those in the business community here vote and act publicly.

I am fortunate to own a home in an increasingly expensive housing market. I live about a half-mile from a paved path where I can rollerskate and four blocks from my son's public school, where he learns Spanish and English. Boise has a female mayor who is a strong LGBTQ ally. I even worked on her first campaign. I know almost everyone on my city council.

I serve on a board that helps provide rental assistance to help people avoid eviction and homelessness. I also help with the PTA and doors for candidates I believe in.

And yet, while a lot is good about Boise, many bad actions are still happening in the state. In the recent primary, more legislators won who are openly election deniers and who are hostile to trans kids, their parents, doctors, and even teachers who call them by their preferred name and pronouns. There are only two legislators of color out of 105, both from Boise, and trying their best to advocate for people like them and like me.

There are no openly queer legislators right now.

When the local Chamber of Commerce tried to get me to join, I asked if they'd take a stance on Idaho's trigger ban that went into effect after the overturn of Roe v. Wade. I asked if they'd advocate to "add the words" to the state's Human Rights Act so that LGBTQ folks can't be denied housing, employment or public accommodation based on who they are or whom they love.

I was told those are personal issues, not business issues.

If I could leave Idaho, I would. I snapped back to my son's grandma, "We also wither where we are stuck."

I'm tired of trying to make red states better for people like me. I've been doing that since my 20s. Well-meaning straight people here often tell me that we have to stay and fight to make it better. But after helping pass a half-dozen non-discrimination ordinances across Idaho and Montana—where I used to live and served on the city council—only to see them turn redder, I'm over it.

I want my life to be easier. I deserve that.

My best friend, David, who grew up closeted in Idaho too, is now an attorney in Seattle living his best gay life. I'm happy for him, but also jealous that he doesn't have to make micro-decisions anymore about when to come out when talking to clients or colleagues or if it's safe to hold his date's hand in public.

I wish my home state was different, and I hope the more moderate wing of our Republican supermajority wins out. I hope our business community will meaningfully advocate for and acknowledge the issues that matter to me and my business.

The personal is political, especially for those of us from marginalized communities.

I will get my pilot's license since I can't move because of my co-parenting situation. I will buy an airplane or at least figure out a way to borrow or rent one often for the next 11 years. I will give myself literal wings so I can get out of Idaho often and search for a place where I can belong— if only on the weeks I don't have my son.

Caitlin Copple is the founding partner at Full Swing PR. She spent 11 years in Missoula, MT, including serving as the first openly queer person on the city council there. She returned to Boise in 2016, where she lives with her son and ferocious dachshund, Pumpkin.

Voices is dedicated to featuring a wide range of inspiring personal stories and impactful opinions from the LGBTQ+ community and its allies. Visit advocate.com/submit to learn more about submission guidelines. We welcome your thoughts and feedback on any of our stories. Email us at voices@equalpride.com. Views expressed in Voices stories are those of the guest writers, columnists and editors, and do not directly represent the views of The Advocate or our parent company, equalpride.