So…the crown jewel being the concert, the whole weekend was so special and meaningful to me on a couple of other levels as well, and yet it was tinged (as always with me, it seems), by sorrow and the desperate clawing at the edges of joy as I slid back down the precipice of a heavenly couple of day and into the…gawd I have no word…of daily work, and the hiding and skulking that I must engage in to survive.
See, we are hoping to move to Seattle in a few years, and by then I will be far enough along that I can legally change my name and gender markers on my ID papers, and perhaps even take the very significant and serious surgical steps that I dream of.
To be clear, I do not consider SRS to be any sort of “proof-text” of one’s gender, and the options for transgender women in terms of transition are as numerous as the women themselves. We are women first and foremost for the very same reason any woman is one…we know it of ourselves within ourselves without thought or choice. It is who we are. Surgeries and medical assistance are powerful allies to help diminish and disappear the dysphoria and pain of misaligned body and being, but they are not the “brands” that prove anything.
But I know for myself that they are important to me, because of the way I answered the magic button Q: “if you could push a magic button, and immediately be bodied correctly, whether by surgery or other means, would you do it?” Or another way to say it…”if money and social barriers were not an issue, and you could go today and get the necessary body corrections, would you do it?” In each case my answer was an unhesitating and overwhelming YES.
So, that is my position on that, and I will write at length another time on gender expression as a philosophical idea, and the notions of what define we humans in our gender.
Anyway, Seattle is a huge city, and I am not known there in any capacity as anyone or anything at all, really. My daughter and her room mate have made it clear to me that their neighborhood is LGTB friendly, and that as they themselves have both witnessed and done, trans people overall have a fairly safe and non-confrontive experience in that city. Thus, when I am there, I am free to not cross-dress, free to walk openly and with unbridled joy in my being, and free to be myself in all ways.
This experience has happened only twice so far.
What is it like? How to tell someone who is cis-gendered in aligned ways what it feels like?
It is like a burning torturous fire not only goes out, but the blessed coolness that begins is refreshing, restoring and renewing. It is like getting a bad tooth out and no more throb. It is like getting rose thorns out of your palm or arm that had been inflamed and infected and hurt even it you thought of brushing up against something. It is like being let out of prison…
…in fact, I wrote a poem about this sort of experience back at this link: The Yardbird Sings …go ahead and read it, I will wait…giggle.
I still have neatly trimmed facial hair, so I was a gender bending mess to cis eyes that weren’t used to seeing someone who was blurring the binary. There I was, with pretty hair clips in my hair, a beautiful necklace on that was a bold combo of brass and red inset stones, my cute jeans and top along with my earrings and Nike Flats flashing Hot Pink, and the sweater/shawl I love to wear which is long and flowy and disguises the lack on figure I have…and my big red stunning Vintage Coat made from an old Hudson Bay Blanket and genuine old fur.
I was walking with my darling, my daughter and my friend who is roommates with my daughter, and I felt like I was in heaven. People were friendly, helpful, complimentary, and interactive. I felt received as a human being! I didn’t have to have a sign on my back saying anything at all about me, I was just myself and as such was able to touch hearts with other humans.
It was divine. (I mean that, by the way).
Watching from the bottom of my eyes, or their corners, I did not see any disgust, sneers, rejection, revulsion, or dismissal. I was complimented on my clothes and jewelry…I even tried on things at a vintage store without any policing or revulsion. One patron was a retired Nordstrom’s buyer, and she absolutely insisted I try on this beautiful dress, and proceeded to give me teaching on what to wear with it and how to accessorize with it.
We went to book stores, coffee shops, clothes shops, stationary shops, florists and finally food places.
That was Saturday, and I wanted the day to never end. I had nothing else in mind, no fears of future days, no dread for the bondage of what work entails for me being-wise…only them moment, and living free and flowing.
But Sunday came…