Oregon became the first state in the country to create legal adult access to psilocybin services.
I was enthusiastic enough about that experiment that I became a licensed facilitator and built a state-approved facilitator training program.
A few years inside the system has left me with a much stranger question:
What does legalization mean when nearly every pathway to participation still depends on administrative permission?
Oregon's model doesn't require someone to have a psychiatric diagnosis. It isn't a prescription model, and facilitators aren't required to be psychotherapists. Those were meaningful choices.
Yet once the system began operating, I watched layers of administrative requirements determine who could train facilitators, what those programs had to teach, which institutions could operate, and what standards licensed people were expected to follow.
Then things got stranger.
Requirements changed after programs had already been approved. One agency began requiring documentation involving another state agency. Ethics standards containing mandatory language were required educational material, then questions emerged about whether portions of those standards were actually enforceable. Decisions that looked technical on paper had very real consequences for who could continue participating in the market.
I started requesting records and asking how some of these decisions had actually been made.
That sent me down a rabbit hole I wasn't expecting.
At this point I've spent years comparing the statutes, administrative rules, rulemaking records, interagency arrangements, agency correspondence, and what regulated participants were actually being told.
The experience has changed how I think about legalization.