I ADMIT IT. I BROKE THE GOLDEN GAY RULE: Thou shalt not leave The City. I left New York -- and headed West. I’d been a proud and arrogant Manhattanite for 17 years, with a high-powered corporate job, a busy social life, a supportive circle of friends (gay and non-), a share in a Fire Island house and a membership at one of the fiercer gay gyms. It was everything a good gay yuppie could want. But there was the nagging feeling that something more important was missing. So I took to the road to find it, giving myself six months to wander before figured out what to do with the rest of my life. Having always been in the center of things, I assumed I’d end up in some other urban setting, most likely L.A. or San Francisco. Much to my surprise, I landed in a canyon in rural Montana, 25 miles from the nearest city (Bozeman: population 28,000). And I was never happier in my life. While I missed some New York attractions, I quickly came to appreciate what the Northern Rockies offer in abundance, things gay men aren't supposed to care about: hiking trails, mountains, pristine rivers, clean air. Just walking out my front door made me smile. But what about gay life? What about my people? Actually, after so many years in the heart of the urban gay scene, it was a relief to be so far away from it. It was hard sometimes, especially at the beginning, to go through a day feeling like the only homo on the range. But then I noticed that the tape that had continuously looped in my head during the New York years (“you're not successful enough...you need to work out more...you're not good looking enough...you need more stylish clothes...”) had finally stopped playing. That in itself was worth the cost of my self-imposed exile. I did start feeling a bit homosexually challenged after a few months, though. Living in the rural West requires a sense of adventure and exploration, including the search for gay life. Fortunately, we are everywhere, even if we don’t have bars everywhere. Through my (straight) realtor I met a dynamic gay male couple. They introduced me to their friends, who introduced me to their friends. And as my Montana gay circle grew, I realized that my attitude about meeting people -- that is, people I wasn't physically attracted to -- had changed. Back in New York, if a first date didn’t generate sparks, there was rarely a second. “I don’t need new friends; I have enough of those already,” was my rationale for dumping someone without boyfriend potential. But as the new guy in a rural Montana town, I did need friends. Just because I wasn't interested in dating a certain guy didn't mean I couldn't enjoy his company. Ho-hum first dates, in other words, can make great ski buddies. There’s another nice thing about being in a small place: it’s easy to make a difference. I experienced that directly when I imported a Big Apple tradition to Big Sky Country by throwing an Oscar Party to benefit the Southern Montana HIV/AIDS Coalition as well as (I secretly hoped) my own social life. When I called the Coalition with the offer to host, I was afraid they’d tell me that someone else already had first dibs. Instead, I found that I had to explain what an Oscar Party was. Despite whatever hesitations people may have had, their Montanan spirit of adventure got the better of them: on Oscar Night 40 people crammed into my living room, every one of them glued to the TV, marking ballots and offering gown critiques as catty and clever as any I’d ever heard in The City. The evening was not only a blast, it was a success: the money we raised covered about one-eighth of the Coalition's 2000 budget. A year later, half a dozen Oscar parties benefiting gay causes were held in Montana. Try starting a statewide trend in a New York City apartment some time and see how far you get.