The Wild Art of Belonging
Queer Ecology: Cooperation, Adaptation, and the Rejection of Fixed Roles
In a world obsessed with definitions of success, of gender, of worth, nature offers a valuable lesson in ambiguity and interdependence. To me, it's a wisdom that feels less like clarity and more like liberation.
It can remind us how fluidity is not the exception, but rather an integral rule that shapes both our planet and our lives. As we comb back the tall grass we can reveal that queerness is not a deviation from what is natural, but is in fact nature itself.
For centuries, Western science clung to the idea of a ‘natural order’, a tidy system built on hierarchy, dominance, and survival of the fittest. This framework colors our perspectives, for better or worse, allowing human biases to project our own characteristics, beliefs, and experiences onto the forests, fungi, and finches. But when we look with an open mind not just at nature, but with it, we begin to see something else entirely. Through curiosity emerges a planet in constant dialogue, innovating, transforming and queering the script.
Nature Thrives on Fluidity
Though some of these scientific tools and observations are still valuable in how we examine ecosystems and ancestral lineage of species, many ecologists have set out to re-imagine these protocols by considering a more inclusive and less anthropocentric lens.
Pictured, a pair of Gentoo Pengiuns on the ice. There are multiple stories of penguins who form same-sex partnerships and even raise chicks together.
Nature is not a mirror of our constructs. When we pause to witness each coral reef or forest canopy, we find something far more radical happening: not domination, but collaboration. Not competition, but mutual aid. Not static roles, but constant and creative adaptation.
This is where queer ecology comes in, not as a celebration of gay animal behaviors (though, yes, penguins and giraffes are definitely getting their slay on), but as a recognition that queerness itself is not a divergence from nature. It’s a language spoken across species and ecosystems, and it is one of the oldest, most successful strategies.
Mutual Aid is Older Than Language
Mutual aid isn’t just a social or political framework. It’s an ecological one. Nature’s long history of interdependence reflects this in ways that could teach us something about reciprocity and connection that feels equally refreshing and instinctual. Evolution didn’t favor only the fastest or strongest, it has favored those who could collaborate, adapt, and build networks of support.
Brian Eno once said, “We think in conversation. We create in context. We thrive in community.”
A species that relies on another to survive doesn’t benefit from competition and maximum consumption, but through contributing and sustaining the systems it’s a part of. In this light, diversity isn’t a challenge to overcome, it is the very architecture of resilience.
Schizophyllum commune, commonly known as the Split Gill Fungus, holds the record for having the greatest number of sexes within a single species, at over 28,000 distinct sexes. This helps minimize inbreeding, contributing to the fungus’s genetic diversity and success.
Fungi offers perhaps the most poetic example. Some species have over 23,000 sexes, far beyond the binary sexes of male and female. But they don’t just reproduce, they network. Underground, they form vast mycelial webs, connecting trees across species lines, transferring nutrients from the healthy to the hungry, warning neighbors of threats. Fungi don’t thrive in spite of complexity; they thrive because of it.
The animal world is equally fluent in fluidity. Clownfish transition sexes to stabilize their communities. Albatrosses form same-sex partnerships that raise thriving chicks. Male seahorses carry and birth their young, redistributing reproductive labor in ways that serve the whole. Even a so-called “normal” species becomes queer under pressure: innovating to meet the moment.
Laysan Albatrosses, like many other animals, form same-sex partnerships. A study conducted in Oahu highlighted that a third of the lifelong pairs observed were female same-sex couples.
Humans are no different. Queerness, whether in identity, community, or thought is a force of creation, collaboration, and resilience. It pushes beyond what is prescribed, by forging new ways of living, loving and supporting one another.
In a time when extractive systems push individualism and competition, queer ecology reminds us of something essential: nothing thrives alone. The trees teach us this, sharing nutrients through vast underground fungal networks. The birds show us, warning not just their own kind but entire ecosystems of approaching predators. The rivers, the insects, and flowers whisper the same truth: survival is not about fitting into a predetermined role, it's about how and who we connect with.
A bio-diverse forest floor on the Appalachian Trail, featuring a tree growing out of stone.
Survival depends on connection. Queerness is the creativity that threads this truth together.
We’ve been told that these are anomalies when in actuality, these are time-tested and functional strategies, wholesomely healthy and normal.
Though, queerness is not only relational, it’s also very inventive.
Queerness as Evolutionary Strategy
American poet and essayist Ocean Vuong writes, “Being queer saved my life. I had to make alternative routes. It made me curious.” That curiosity, born from not fitting into prescribed norms isn’t a flaw. It’s innovation.
Queerness is often painted as a lack: of tradition, of evolutionary-prowess, of normalcy. But what if it’s the opposite? What if queerness is an ancient technology: a strategy rooted in adaptation and creativity. On an ever-changing planet when the rules don’t work, queerness rewrites them.
Bdelloid rotifers, or Wheel animalcules have thrived as an asexual species of female organisms, and are the longest lived example of an exclusively female population in the animal kingdom.
Nature does this constantly. Microorganisms like Wheel animalcules (Bdelloid rotifers) have survived 40 million years without sex, swapping genes in unexpected ways. Even Parthenogenetic whiptail lizards reproduce without males. And dolphins? Their ancestors left land and returned to the sea, reshaping their entire physiology for a better future. Over and over, we see species adapt by creating seemingly unconventional ways to not just survive, but thrive.
Yet in human systems, queerness is still too frequently framed as a threat. I’ve heard it argued that trans identities endanger reproduction, as if survival depends solely on conformity and birthrates. This argument overlooks the many other factors that shape access to care, medicine, and support that all families face. Meanwhile, medical research is increasingly censored, erasing vital stories of queer health, like trans-men carrying their babies, and depriving both the public and medical professionals of critical knowledge and lived experiences.
Cnemidophorus arubensis, Aruba Whiptail Lizard resting in a patch of sun.
But queer communities have always created new ways to thrive through chosen families, underground economies, kinship networks, protest, and play. Ballroom culture, for example, emerged from the brilliance of queer creatives like the House of LaBeija, reshaping rejection into belonging, and survival into art and self-expression.
These aren’t just cultural adaptations, they’re blueprints for how humans evolve together. Queerness reminds us we don’t need to mimic dominance to persist. We can mimic collaboration, curiosity, and care.
Breaking Free from Prescribed Roles
Despite meaningful strides toward inclusivity, even some queer spaces can slip into rigid rules and expectations about how to be “lgbtqia+ enough,” measured against invisible checklists. But nature isn’t concerned with proving its purpose or credibility.
Whether a label feels expansive or constricting, queerness in its most natural context exists with and without definition in equal parts. Though it is fascinating as a human to sift through all the biological and sociological components of gender, identity, and romantic preferences, these concepts do not hold the same weight in a meadow.
A butterfly doesn’t cling to its caterpillar past or question its transformation. With time and patience, it simply becomes an elegant pollinator, a vital part of its eco-community. Chimera butterflies, embodying non-binary expression, mate freely without scrutiny.
Polyommatus bellargus, Adonis Blue butterfly expressing chimera wing patterning of both male and female colors next to a thistle bloom.
Nature offers us a mirror beyond binary-thinking and individualism. Identity here is fluid, relational, context-driven. Birds develop regional dialects; whales pass down songs through generations. Culture and connection thrive far beyond human constructs.
Maybe we, too, can unlearn the need to be legible, to be consistent, to be categorized. Maybe queerness isn’t about being something, perhaps it’s about becoming, and showing up authentically in relationship with others.
Joy as a Form of Ecological Resistance
Joy is often dismissed as frivolous, especially in the face of crisis. But in a world that profits off fear, alienation, and control, joy becomes a radical act and a conduit for change.
The outdoors is often coded in the mainstream as rugged, stoic, and reserved for the cis, white, thin, able-bodied archetype of wilderness explorers. But when we show up with our full selves, whether hiking in a whimsical outfit, embracing the softness of our bodies beneath towering trees, or simply getting a break from mirrors and dress codes, we are reclaiming the very notion of who belongs in nature. Nature doesn't care what you wear (but, always pack layers).
Ptilonorhynchidae, or the Satin Bowerbird peaking out from a freshly designed ground nest adorned with many blue-themed treasures.
Just as drag culture redefines beauty, performance, and gender, nature itself revels in flamboyance. Bowerbirds decorate their nests with brightly colored scraps, turning courtship into performance art. Flowers burst into vibrant hues to seduce bees. Birds flaunt feathers in the wildest of displays. Self-expression isn’t an anomaly; it’s a survival trait. It's how beauty communicates.
There is no singular way to "be" in nature. There is only participation. Whether we strut, step, wheel or tiptoe into the wild, we are part of it. Every act of queer joy is a challenge to the idea that only certain bodies, certain aesthetics, or certain expressions are welcome in the wilderness.
Chrysolophus pictus, the Golden Pheasant and a Trametes versicolor, Turkey Tail Mushroom both in iconic showy colors.
When we let ourselves be fully, reverently seen, we don’t just reclaim space; we expand it. Our joy is a declaration: Nature, like us, is meant to be messy, diverse, and infinitely expressive. And in this way, we become part of the infinite creativity that nature embodies.
From Collapse to Creativity
Yes, the climate crisis is real, urgent, and ongoing. However, focusing solely on collapse flattens the full story. The cycle of life may inevitably include endings, but what emerges after?
Green crabs invade the coasts of northern California, and sea otters pivot, turning disruption into dinner. The world shapeshifts. It improvises. It doesn’t give up; it gets creative.
What if queerness isn’t just a metaphor here, but a method? A creative force that refuses to accept destruction as the final act? Bats turned darkness into sound. Flowers and moths co-evolved, learning each other like a love language written in color and scent.
Nothing about survival is linear. Nothing about resilience is rigid. Queerness, like nature, is a refusal to give up. It’s a way of reimagining the future when faced with a challenge.
When we stop obsessing over control and instead tune into life’s improvisation, we find possibility. Not blind optimism, but a deeper trust in creativity as a survival skill. Queerness, in this light, isn’t about limitation. It’s about liberation from expectations and extractive thinking.
You don’t have to identify as queer to practice this. You just have to be willing to reimagine and compost the scripts that no longer serve. Together, we can nurture a future that thrives on curiosity, care, and co-creation.
You Belong Here
You don’t have to know the name of every tree to walk through the woods with reverence.
You don’t have to fit a label to be worthy of love.
You don’t have to solve the universe.
You are here to witness– to notice. To tend. To love.
To ask questions. To follow the birdsong. To build your life like a bog or a gull or a glittering slime mold: layered, collaborative, sometimes strange, and full of life.
A single tree stretched up and surfacing a body of water to catch sunlight.
Queerness is not a departure from nature, it is one of nature’s oldest, truest instincts. It’s the chlorophyll-less plant, the jellyfish, the strange and brilliant ways life insists on itself. It’s in the way we show up for each other. It’s in your voice. Your way of seeing the world.
This world was never meant to be inherited by the few. It’s meant to be co-created. Everything we need to survive is already growing around us: the water, the flowers, the glint of joy in someone else’s eyes when they stand in their truth, and someone witnesses that truth with an open-heart. The world we’re building is not post-apocalyptic; it’s post-binary, post-extractive, post-alone.
Because nature doesn’t just find a way.
It makes one, and so will we.
