Walls, Dinners, and Leaves

You're in a new place, living a new life. You constantly have tons to do--the endless readings, needing to be ready for class discussions, papers to write. You have endless opportunities presented to you to do exactly what you've always wanted to do--actively work to make the world a better place. And you take them--how could you not?! Then suddenly, you find yourself in the middle of a huge fight, against people telling you to your face that they don't think you're equal. It's nothing personal, they hope you can still be friends, but they don't think you're deserving of the same rights as they are, that deep down they feel you are morally repugnant, and they are willing to spend tens of millions of dollars to prove it.

You find yourself in this fight, not where you are comfortable. Not in a place with your long time friends and family around you. True, with a strong number of budding new friendships, but not the time-tested, weathered ones that you can truly lean on. Not in a familiar place, with comforting changing leaves, soothing rainy days and invigorating crisp ones. But in a place with alien looking palms stretching starkly to the sky, and only bright, intense days. The rays of the sun call for constant energy, but little true relaxation.

And little by little you feel yourself losing pace. The water rises, centimeter by centimeter (which is odd, seeing as it never rains). The readings go from being read thoroughly before class, to read quickly before class, to now and then not being read before class, for those professors who don't cold call. Readings begin to take twice as long, because concentration comes hard, as well as staying awake. You hit rough spots in class and don't feel quite like the competent intelligent person you were convinced you were after the rousing convocation speeches. Exams begin to loom on the horizon, and with them the feeling that you should be doing more to prepare, even now. You're not doing enough. You don't remember the last time you got six hours of sleep. Your shoulders and neck turn into knots, and the headache from the stress, lack of sleep and poor blood flow becomes somewhat constant. The enthusiasm with which you tackled everything just a couple weeks ago is fading fast.

You tell yourself, it's just until the election. You're tired, and you're stretched a bit too thin, but the end is in sight. The hours of phone banks, debates, meetings, stress, and angst will be over on November 5th. All you need to do is find a way to push through these last two weeks, just stick it out, and you'll wake up November 5th with fewer obligations. But until then, every moment has to be productive. Every second has to be working towards the larger goals, whether it be school, new friendships, old friendships, or justice for someone somewhere.

And finally, fuck it. You just can't do it.

This is all a long and dramatic way of saying I really learned the value of taking a little time off this week. Friday rolled around, and I just couldn't do anything. No matter how much I wanted to insist on trying to write, read, work, or whatever, I was simply not going to be any good to anyone, anywhere. So after class ended, I caught the first bus home, slept for three hours in the middle of the day, then took the evening off with an amazing dinner out with some new friends, and some good old hockey. Today was back to work for most of the day, phone banking and school work, then a movie with some other new friends. (W...it was OK...given the subject matter, they didn't have to make a phenomenal movie, and it showed.)

Earlier this week I was talking to one of the faculty members at school, and he was asking how things were going. I said they were going OK, I was pretty tired and stressed from all the election work, and was looking forward to the election being over. He commented that yeah, it's a hard thing to learn how to balance yourself, and that it's not just now for the election, but it will always be this way. I didn't think too hard about it right at that time (too busy, ya know) but I realize now that he's right. It's not as though after this election there won't be anything else to work towards, no other causes that I'm passionate about, people who need help, justice that needs to be fought for. That's never going to happen in my lifetime. So, for this election, however it comes out, I'm certainly taking away the lesson that I'm only one person, and I'll need to work on my skills a bit when it comes to picking and choosing where and how thin to spread myself. It's a good lesson, that I'm grateful to have begun to learn without (hopefully) any consequences worse than stress headaches and sleep deprivation.

An added bonus is that in taking a bit of time off this weekend, I've gotten to begin to connect more with those budding new friendships. At school, it's been connecting and realizing that, while not everyone has quite the number of obligations I've committed myself too, we all have had our moments of feeling like the class dunce. We're all feeling overstressed, and we're all feeling like we're hitting a bit of a hump. At the election work, it's been connecting and realizing that these don't have to be transient acquaintances, but the beginnings of lasting bonds with amazing, hard working, passionate people.

And then, the feather in my rejuvenation cap, I got a package in the mail today, containing genuine, honest-to-goodness, Western PA leaves of various shades and colors, courtesy of MT. And along with a few minutes of misty eyes, they brought final added strength of remembering that even if we're on opposite sides of the country, the love and support I have with all those crazy people stretches infinitely.

Send It

You have the birthday card but you're not sure how it would be received. Would it be welcomed, and hopefully help a foundered friendship? Would it be an object of ridicule? Would it be a source of hurt for one or both of you? Are you sending a thoughtful message, or being an idealistic fool?

There are two questions that only you can answer: 1) Are your intentions genuine? 2) Are you in a position to protect yourself but still be fair? Yes? Then send it. Send the card. SEND THE FUCKING CARD.

I did. And today I'm glad of it.

Holy shit I need to get some sleep.

Xylophone

Later than I intended, I finally find time to reply to the supportive and loving comments from my earlier post. This is long, so grab a drink, be comfy, doze off, whatever.

I am a xylophone.

Confused? OK...let me start from the beginning.

I consider myself to be part of the transgender community. I hesitate to call myself simply transgendered, because a lot of people automatically translate that to "I feel like a man trapped in a woman's body," which is not at all an accurate statement. I've known for a long time that I'm not comfortable in the category of "woman" but at the same time I never felt like I was or ought to be a man. Over the past year, I've encountered the incredibly liberating concept that gender does not have to be an either/or proposition; it does not have to be binary. Many amazing and beautiful people are both, many are neither, many are some mix or nonmix that defies description within the language that we have today. I am queer. I am a xylophone.

MG mentioned that she didn't realize I was going through a crisis. Actually, it's not a crisis at all. If anything, it's a welcome liberation from a long time of being unsure how or if I fit into the world. I spent a lot of time growing up feeling embarrassment and discomfort without knowing why or being able to explain it. Take, for example, clothing. Wearing a dress was humiliating and embarrassing for me. It wasn't just that I was wearing clothes I hated, it was something much more profound and visceral that I couldn't put words to. Because I could not give voice to my frustration and embarrassment, in the eyes of people who loved me it was nothing more than a typical tomboy-having-to-dress-up situation, which (as it should in any good group of sarcastic, fun people) led to lighthearted schadenfreude and merriment. Unfortunately, this magnified the shame, embarrassment and humiliation that I felt.

That was just the completely unintentional hurt that unfortunately came from those who actually love me and didn't wish me harm. Extend the situation to everyday life in an American childhood, where other people, especially other kids, are not nearly so caring. It's not just the occasional special event, but every day that assails you with messages reminding you that you're not what you're supposed to be. You can't give voice to it, you just spend every day knowing that you are somehow wrong inside. And, kids quickly pick up on such a fundamental difference, and make you pay for it. It was difficult, and not being able to figure out what was different about me made it worse. I had a female body, so I must be a girl. But very little about being a "girl" connected with me. I had heard about transgendered people, but I didn't feel like a boy, so that must not be me. I must still be a girl...just a fundamentally incorrect one.

But my point isn't to lay out a "woe is me" thing here...my point is that this realization for me has been wonderful. It has given a voice to my frustrations, and as a result has given me validation. Growing up, we learn about two genders--man and woman. If you don't feel like you are really either one, where does that leave you? There is no language for you, no place for you. It's so much easier knowing that you're just different, not wrong. I'm not anyone's sister or daughter, but I'm also not anyone's brother or son. And I know that that's OK.

OK, so what's this xylophone thing?

People say that words are only words, but words also shape the reality that people recognize on a daily basis. If something does not have a word, there is no way for people to know it and explain that it exists. It's been very liberating finding my place (or non-place, as the case may be) in the realm of gender, but it can still be very frustrating not having a word for myself, an answer when people ask, "So what are you, then?"

There are a lot of labels surrounding gender and folks who don't fit in the gender binary...queer, genderqeer, trans, boi, butch, androgyne, and on and on. Well, let me tell you...with something as intensely personal as gender identity, words are a hot topic. While some people think someone's particular label isn't as important, other people get very defensive and protective of words. Words can become very politically charged, and each label has its own particular connotations that come along with it. I'm still relatively new to all this territory, so I haven't had the chance to decide which, if any, of the existing notions I'm comfortable with. I just haven't met and talked to enough people out there yet.

In the meantime, xylophone is a fun little thing that LT and I came up with, in our many endless talks about gender and identity. There is a book by S. Bear Bergman called Butch Is a Noun, in which Bergman makes a joke about a hypothetical green-haired kid with safety pins sticking out of hyr face who says hyr gender is "xylophone". (I apologize I don't have the book with me for the exact quote.) LT and I chuckled about that, and at some point discovered that there is an Indonesian instrument called a gender, which is very much like a xylophone. So, in our usual don't-even-take-serious-stuff-seriously manner, we decided that one arbitrary label was as good as the next, and this one didn't happen to be accompanied by any existing sociopolitical baggage. It became our own personal code word. At least for the time being, it works for me!

Thanks, by the way, to LT, for joining me in my continued exploration and discovery, helping to calm my fears, and not just recognizing, but celebrating my xylophone self. And thank you to everyone who has expressed support and love for me so far as I've started walking this path.

Coincidentally, today is the birthday of the person who really opened me to the possibilities of gender and my place within those possibilities. I'm still figuring things out, but in three short weeks last year he opened my eyes enough to set the wheels of thought in motion, and in doing so started me down the road to finally feeling an identity that I am at peace with. It started with one comment: "You don't look like a Cheri, you look like a Chris or a Mark...I mean that as a compliment," and blew wide open from there. sj, you truly are a teacher. I can't thank you enough.

Good Morning

It's about 11:00 on Sunday morning, I'm on the couch working on my last few law school applications. It's been snowing outside since I got up, making for a beautiful winter neighborhood scene outside my balcony window. Even though I'm not outside in it, I can feel the world being peacefully muffled by the white blanket. LT and Whiskey are sleeping in the bedroom, Tiki is on my lap, simultaneously cuddling and playing with my hoodie drawstrings in that way that only Tiki can, making it fairly difficult to type.

My little world is peaceful, the future is hopeful, and it's a good morning.

I Guaran-Damn-Tee It

The following is guaranteed to make you smile.  Perhaps even dance around a bit.  If it doesn't, there is a possibility that you may be lacking a soul.



The Holloways - Generator

It Goes By Quick

LT and I went to see the Chihuly exhibit at Phipps yesterday, as part of a fun day that also included a triumphant display of LT's boat-building prowess, and lots of snow. We went around the conservatory, enjoying the day, the exhibit and each other's company.

There was an older lesbian couple going through the exhibit, and we kept sort of crossing paths but not interacting with them, just ending up in the same general vicinity. It happened that we all ended up at the exit at the same time when we were done. As we were walking out, one of the women said to us, "We just want you two to know, it goes by quick. It goes by quick."

It was such a small interaction, but so impactful. Certainly there was the obvious impact which she intended; I had already been thoroughly appreciating the beauty of the day, but having her say that made me take even additional time to take everything in and soak it up, cherish it, for the rest of the day. And not just the day, but LT--being able to share it with her, being a part of her earlier success and current happiness.

The other piece of it, though, was the joy that came from that acknowledgment of us and our relationship. For those of you who are straight, it may be slightly difficult to understand why it meant so much along those lines...I will take a shot at explaining, because I want all of my friends to understand how I was touched.

A young straight couple in love, they can wander around holding hands and staring into each other's eyes, letting all the world see that feeling of adoration and joy. People say, "Awww...how sweet," and are happy for them (provided they aren't being obnoxious). For gay couples, it isn't always that easy. You can just hold hands and risk anything from uncomfortable stares to derisive comments to physical violence. Something so great as love can become a source of deep hurt when other people, including even family, use it as an excuse to be cruel to you.

LT and I are generally very comfortable as a couple. We often hold hands and hug, and even when we don't I feel like our interaction and the way we position ourselves relative to each other mark us off very definitely as a couple. At most, I generally just hope for no "incidents" as a result, that even people who are uncomfortable with us will just live and let live. So, it was an incredibly pleasant surprise to have this validation of our relationship, this acknowledgment of what we felt.

"We see your happiness and it is beautiful."

It's not a message that I get to hear spontaneously from strangers very often. Apparently when I do, it makes my day.

My Friend Lex

I started becoming reacquainted with an old friend today. We'll call my friend Lex. No, I'm not a huge Superman fanatic, that's my friend's name...or something like that.

At any rate, I spent a lot of time with Lex a few years ago. We were introduced through a mutual acquaintance, Dr. K. We quickly started hanging out a pretty fair amount, between 30-40 m every day. (M = minutes? Sure, why not.) Lex helped me out during some really rough spots; things got dicey for a while but every day there was Lex, right on schedule. Gradually things got easier, and after a year and a half or so, I saw less and less of Lex. Eventually we stopped hanging out at all.

So, I ran into Lex today for the first time in years, again brought together by a mutual acquaintance, Dr. S. We decided to start off easy, just seeing a little bit of each other for the time being, see how our friendship works itself out this time around. I always have that fear that I'll let myself become overly dependent on this friendship, and not exert the energy required to conquer my demons on my own. But, I guess in all of life our friends are the ones who help us in those battles. You have to fight the battle yourself, but it doesn't hurt to have more friends in your corner. I don't see why the same shouldn't apply to Lex.

I'm tired of speaking in riddles now. I'm going to bed.

Another Best Cartoon Ever

Again, clicky clicky.

Happy Birthday MT!!

Today is my good friend MT's birthday, so happy birthday to you! You survived long enough to have the privilege of your age no longer starting with a "2", so congratulations--in another 10 or so months I'll be right behind you. I think you and I might be the only two people in the world who are happy to reach that milestone.

At any rate, it's been, what, five years now since The Nameless Evil was late for public skate but it was so obvious which two people didn't belong amongst the high school dudes and chickies that we didn't need her around to make the introduction. Five years, jeez. Five years full of ups, downs, foot surgeries, shoulder surgeries, mmmmonkeys, tears, smiles, hugs, antidepressants, anti-inflammatories, Lower Wildcat backwards, ffffourty-nine, new relationships, new heartbreaks, ciclon, vodka fireballs, ham-cheese-onion-pickle sandwiches on potato bread, 8 cats, 4 tempcats, Buffalo, 9 residences, Patrick the Starfish, and pork fried rice stuffed in a pickle jar. (Just the rice in the jar, not Patrick.) And oh yeah, some hockey in there somewhere too.

And through it all has been the comfort and knowledge that I have found in you a true, lifelong friend...even if we had to work out a few kinks along the way.

Just before my birthday this year, someone told me that age 29 marks one of the great times of transition in life--that you truly begin to become the adult that you really want to or will be. I can definitely say that I've seen that happen in you over the past year. It hasn't been an entirely easy year, but as it's progressed I've seen the seeds of real happiness finally firmly taking root for you. My wish for your birthday is that they continue to flourish.

And by the way, nice lederhosen.

Rainy Ruminations

It's Sunday and it's raining. There's something about going out for a good bike ride in the pouring rain that is so great and refreshing. I can't quite describe it. The water drives in your face, kicks up from the road, every inch of you is drenched in sweat and rain and dirt.

It seems odd to call dirty road and rainwater cleansing, but it totally is. You're filthy and soaked, and you don't care. We spend so much time worrying about maintaining a proper physical state. Oh, I don't want to get wet in the rain. Oh, I'm sweaty and smelly. Fuck that--I'm out busting my tail, sweating my ass off, water dripping from every inch of me, every piece of clothing soaked through and through. And I don't give a shit.

Liberation. Liberation from all the bullshit of how I appear, trying to keep things clean and neat and in it's place. I'm existing in my natural state, here I am and that's the way it is, and I don't give a shit what the people safe and dry in their cars think as they drive by and stare like I'm a crazy person.

Anyhow, I'm in a very weird mood today. It's Sunday and it's raining, and life is uncertain and I have no idea what's going to happen next, and that kicks ass.

The Best Cartoon Ever

Clicky clicky.

Word.

Two questions...

1) Ever have one of those times when you realize you haven't been using your naturally given abilities for any good, and instead have spent the last seven years sitting in a cube like veal?

- and -

2) What is it about unexplored potential that plagues you and just leaves you wondering, what if...? I hate it when crap won't leave my brain.