So, I have been reading and thinking a lot about "triggers" and "fear". One of the initial reasons I decided to seek therapy many years ago was because I could recognize that sometimes my reactions to things were way out of proportion to the actual event that had prompted those reactions. I felt that there had to be other things going on inside of me that made me react with such fierce emotions at seemingly little or benign things. What I have since learned is all about how the well-known fight or flight response can get activated when something gets linked to a previous "traumatic" event. This throws us into that panic mode and basically shuts down the thinking part of our brain. Ever wonder why you can't remember what you said in an argument? or why you can think of the perfectly witty response 10 minutes after you walk away from that confrontation? Yep, it's the leftover reptilian part of the brain going into overdrive, sensing a credible threat to your very survival. It's interesting to me that something that was once very necessary to the propagation of the species can now be such a frustrating stumbling block to emotional health and happiness. Or is it? This brings me to my question- how does one tell the difference between your gut and well, your gut. What I mean is this: I believe in "intuition". My whole life I have been able to feel things coming before they do. I have been acutely aware of the energy and vibe of those around me. Sometimes it drives people crazy that I can read them like a book. I get this sensation where I just "know". Sometimes I can't quite figure out what I am sensing but I am rarely off that there is something going on. It stops short of the hairs on my neck raising (usually) but you get the idea. I think these two things stem from the same survival instinct. I think they both flood my system with adrenaline and elicit the same physiological responses. Which makes them hard to tell apart. One of them is invaluable and helps me navigate potentially precarious landscapes and it definitely helps me be a good friend, husband, and attorney. The other is just annoying- it makes me overreact, STOPS me from thinking clearly and leads me down the rabbit hole. For years my therapist has been trying to help me get connected to my body, to be able to use it as feedback for what I need, how I feel, etc. Needless to say, if you don't like your body (be it due to gender dysphoria or some other reason) you try to ignore it, silence it, escape it. The last thing you want to do is connect to it. But as science continues to link physical and emotional and even spiritual existence perhaps we can learn to listen, embrace, connect. Many religions and spiritual movements have focused on this for thousands of years. But for me, this is a relatively new concept. And when you feel your body has betrayed your true self - it can be a tricky landscape. There may be missteps and stumbles, scraped knees and broken bones like the ones of my tomboy childhood. My mom used to get so aggravated that I'd get a new pair of jeans and within hours, the knees were torn out from all my rough and tumbling. She'd patch 'em up with rectangular iron on denim and hand then back, shaking her head, knowing trying to hold me back was futile. So I guess I'll stock up on giant band-aids, iron on patches, and Gatorade and get on back out there. Only out there is in there this time - inside my own body, looking for hidden treasures and triumph of a different sort.

Mistake or Miracle?

Coming up on three years...most of life is pretty smooth. Good job, great wife, nice place to live, decent support system. But something that's still broken (although I will admit it was broken LONG before my transition): my family. My dad still refuses to use my chosen pronouns. He's the only one who holds out. Even his parents refer to me by my chosen name and pronoun. My mom is working hard to embrace me and has courageously so, especially since she and my dad are still married and she's sort of stuck in the middle. I am considering calling him by his name, or perhaps by "Mr. [sirname]". Not sure he's really my dad in any way other than biology at this point. This saddens me, of course. But after writing and sending the letter below, I feel I have done all there is to do. April 7, 2012 Easter Weekend Dear Dad, I woke up this morning, anxious stomach churning. Today I get to see my family. And for the most part, that is a good thing. But among the positives, there glares a lingering negative: How many times today will Dad jab at me? Which lead me to the question: Why do I care what he says or what he thinks? My mind raced with questions, searching for some sort of emotional armor, a sense of preparation and grounding. And then it occurred to me that I care about you, what you think, how you feel about me, being visible to you because we as humans are wired for connection. God has created us so that we long for connection with Him, some of which is by seeing Him and His glory in those around us. I believe that He gave us families to provide a built-in connection, to give us a safe place, a guarantee that we will never be alone. The Bible refers to him as Father and uses the analogy of family to describe the inherent connection between all believers, if not all mankind. You, as my earthly father, were supposed to be my sure thing. Your love, protection, devotion, emotional attention and acceptance were to be the foundation of a deep sense of belonging and security. Sadly, there are very few times in my life that I felt any of those things at all. Instead, there was a distance, always a stoic sense of separateness, of judgment, and only if and when I was perfect was there a “reward” of conditional and oh-so-fleeting love. As if loving me (or mom or anyone else for that matter) who didn’t live up to your self-imposed ideals of perfection, discipline and dogma might taint you and contaminate your hard fought righteousness. And as we sit here today, you still feel the need to be right. Being right, sterilized from the imperfections (or as you may see it, “sins”) of those around you is priority over love. You consider it your calling, your moral duty to “hold the line”. You would rather be right, than show me kindness if I “don’t deserve it”. You would rather be right than give me respect if I “haven’t earned it”. You would rather be right, than accidentally love me if I am “wrong”. As for me, my gender, my sexuality, the things about me that fill you with grief and rage and fear, I cannot explain why things are the way they are. It does not make sense. My being a man born into a female body doesn’t make sense. And for a long time, I thought of it as God making a mistake. Of course, we know that God doesn’t make mistakes, so there must be some other explanation. As I lay in bed this morning, thinking about you, Easter dinner, why things are the way they are a memory surfaced. I have just a few individual memories of your sermons, you preaching from the pulpit. And I remember this one evening service and I think you and I went alone. I don’t remember Mom or Amy being there at all. I remember you saying that there are laws of the universe in place- like gravity or inertia. And sometimes God, in his infinite wisdom and for his purposes, “suspends the rules”. You said this is what we call “miracles”. Miracles have no explanation; they must be taken on faith. The Israelites could have said that Moses was just a crazy old man (and no doubt some of them did) but when it came time to cross the river, they just had to believe or die. They could not fulfill their calling, their purpose as the chosen people of God without faith in God and faith in Moses and faith in the miracle. The Bible is full of examples people whose journey lead them smack dab, headlong into a situation that required them take actions and take on roles that made no sense to anyone else. We read about how people reacted to Noah, Sarah, Mary, John the Baptist… the list goes on and on. And we read about how people thought they were crazy, possessed or just wrong. But these people had a purpose. They sought God’s face and through faith lived as they felt called. What they did, how they lived made no sense- because God suspended the rules. There are examples all around us of things that don’t make sense, but we have to somehow take on faith. What if my life, who I am isn’t a mistake? What if it’s a miracle? What if I have been infinitely blessed to have the ability to understand the struggles of both men and women? What if I can now show compassion and bring people together in a way that most people can’t? What if this life I am living right here and now is exactly what was meant for me? All I can do is press forward, seeking my call, living each day with purpose and surrender. That’s all any of us can do and we are called to do it, no matter what resistance, judgment or disapproval we face as a result. God embraces us, protects us, provides for us and never fails to show loving kindness. He loves us so much that he humbled himself to walk among us. He created us, let us fall so that we could choose our own path, sent his son, died for us and then showed us the power we have through him to overcome fear and hate and death to be whole again. He loves us so much, he even sets aside the rules sometimes…and just asks us to believe that he loves us and all things work for our good, even when we don’t understand. Especially when we don’t understand. And his example as a father is to love us and be kind to us not because we are doing right, deserve it, or have earned it but just because. As for us, I believe God’s intent in providing family was to give us a sure thing, a safe place to get that need for connection met. And as I become increasingly more aware of my own mortality and the mortality of others (like Chop Chop) I don’t want us to find ourselves at a place where when we have to say goodbye we realize we have wasted the hellos. I want to know I have a father who loves me enough to welcome me, just as I am. I want to know that our differences can be set aside and I can love you while you live your life and you can love me while I live mine. I want to know that you care about my heart, my dreams and those I love. I want to know that when I struggle, you see it and feel it and struggle too. I want to know that when I celebrate, you celebrate too. I want to know that when I set aside time, to come share a meal or a game of 42 I don’t have to pack my armor because I am not going into hostile territory, I am going to a place of unbridled compassion and acceptance. Because to me, that is love. That is family. Your son, Drew

Cutting Edge

So, it's been a while since I updated this blog. There are a lot of reasons for that. But mostly it's that I am at a place in my transition where not much seems to be changing or going on. Or at least I had been.

I have known for a very long time that one step I wanted to take with my transition is to have "top surgery". Meaning, to have my breasts removed. There are several different procedures available depending on your circumstances but the most common and the one fitting for my body type is a double incision mastectomy. This surgery is not entirely unlike a mastectomy used for cancer treatment, but then again, it is quiet different. This surgery does not include removing the lyphnodes and it is performed by a plastic surgeon whose end goal is to leave a male chest. In order to accomplish this, they make two large incisions under the breast but at the base of the pectoral muscle and remove the breast tissue. They remove the nipple. They make a second incision on top of the breast but at the base of the pectoral muscle. Then they resize the nipple and eventually graft it back on to where a male nipple would normally be. My doctor has perfected a way to do this without having to use drains.

Normal recovery time is about a week of fairly limited mobility in the upper body followed by a slow progression back to normal. The main thing is you don't want to stretch the incisions be lifting your arms too high or too far away from your body. The more rest and healing before taxing those freshly knit tissues, the better the scars heal and the less apparent they are. My stomach and chest have actually spouted a fair amount of darkish hair, so that should help some too.

This whole procedure costs about $6,000 and is not covered by insurance. This procedure is considered "cosmetic and elective" despite the fact that it is listed as a necessary procedure under standards of care for gender dysphoria disorder. Very annoying. But that being said, I have had to wait to gather the funds. Many guys borrow the money but with being fresh out of law school and upside down in my income to debt ratio, loans were not possible for me.

I also felt like when I had the money together, I'd know I was ready and it was time. It was kind of my own check and balance. So, after working extra jobs, skimping, moving to a smaller apartment, giving up my blackberry, living without cable or internet at home and committing to drive (a very cool yet) older car with 180k miles on it, I have done it. I have the money.

One part of all this that it is hard for me to put myself first. And to spend that kind of money on me when I have so much debt, educational, personal and consumer, seems kinda crazy. BUT then my ex sued me for more child support. Well, that actually made me realize that this needs to get done and get done now. It made me realize how absolutely uncomfortable I am in this body and how my confidence and sense of self is seriously compromised.

I tried to picture showing up in a West Texas court and appearing as my children's mother with my body as is. Now, since this is not an illustrated blog let me explain, I am a man. I look like a man. I sound like a man. I am 5'6" and weight 175 with broad shoulders, a square jaw and a deep voice. No one ever calls me ma'am or she anymore (except my family members who are still dredging through 3 decades of speech patterns, neuro connections, memories and their own grieving processes). So, the thought of standing there in a courtroom, representing myself and being addressed as a female in THIS body as it is... just seemed completely impossible. It would just be too much. But when I picture myself there post surgery.. it's like a layer of armor. My body congruent with my mind and my own awareness that I can hold my space. Hard to explain.

So, here I am. One week from surgery. Processing daily. What started out as a vague awareness turned to a hope. Then a need. Then a consultation. Savings account growing all the while. Then a surgery date. And in one week... reality.

Taking the Easy Way Out

"Anything worth having is worth working for." "No pain, no gain." "Blood, sweat and tears."

All of these sayings once resonated with me. Something about how I was raised, or how I am programed, lead me to believe that things have to be hard. Something lead to me to believe that success can and will only come at great personal sacrifice. There is something about blood, sweat and tears that sounds so very deserving, so noble, so honorable.

It has only recently occurred to me that things don't always have to be hard. It has only recently occurred to me that one can ride the flow of the energy and opportunities present in life, rather than fight against them.

Funny thing. I remember about 10 years ago I had this revelation that I had just been going with the flow of life, but not in a relaxed purposeful way. I saw myself as a leaf floating down a stream. I just took the path of least resistance. Which lead to living as a heterosexual female, getting married, having kids, leading women's bible studies, etc. Then, when the dynamic with my ex husband reached a level of dysfunction that I could no longer justify keeping my children in such a household, I begin to gather the strength to push back.

It was at this point that I first admitted my attraction to, and feelings for women. It was at this point, I walked away from being a wife. It wasn't until much later that I would walk away from being a woman, daughter, sister and girlfriend.

So, the pendulum swung. From taking the path of least resistance, to fighting with every breath, kicking down doors, generally leaving destruction in my wake and carrying forward scars and wounds from all the battles. And now, I realize I have battled hard and long enough. I have found safe ground. I have sanctuary here. I can work steadily towards my future, allowing myself to take detours when necessary, stop for breaks when I need them and store up health and well being so that when the need arises to bust through the barricades, rather than take the detour, I can do so.

It's funny how after years of fighting, I just kinda got in the habit of being in defensive posture. I got to where I PUT myself in stressful situations, because it was familiar and comfortable. I made it hard... but maybe that was all just training so my fightin' muscles would be ready for the big one of the last year and a half.

It is something people tried to tell me, "Just relax!"

But I honestly didn't know how. I had submitted to having no control. Then, I realized I could take control and I tried to take ALL the control. Now, I realize there is a middle ground. I can control myself. And that's about it. So, now I plan to do what I can to put myself in the best possible position to learn and grow and LIVE. Everything else, well, that's really not my problem, not my business and not mine to carry. (NOT as easy to do as to say...I will blog more about figuring out how to do this in regards to my transition and gender).

Funny how people always say how brave I am to transition. But as it turns out, this has been one of the least painful times in my life. And who knew you could just go along livin' and laughin' and takin' it as it comes? Who knew the hardest thing I'd ever had to do would prove to be the "easy" way out?

Let Freedom Ring

So, I have had my kids here with me for summer visitation for the last few weeks. I have absolutely loved spending time with them. It is interesting, though, how watching each of them enter puberty, I have such strange and contrasting emotions.

My son is 13 now and is taller than me. His body is growing both in size and strength. I am jealous of his opportunity to swim and hang around without a shirt on. I found myself feeling jealous of his body. I felt jealous of him once before, when I took him to football camp last summer. Seeing him get to have all the things I always wanted when I was his age, all the things I was told I couldn't have or experience, is a strange thing to sort through. It feels, somehow, wrong to be jealous of my kid and his "normal" life. I feel angry sometimes that I wasn't given that chance. I feel angry that now, at 35, my body will never be the lean and naturally muscular body of a young man. I skipped right to middle aged. :(

On a side note, I will say that one of my concerns was whether or not I'd be able to keep up with cisguys in sports and recreational settings. Last weekend we were down at the pool and a water volleyball game broke out. I am happy to say, I did just fine. I easily kept up with the cisguys that were there and even managed to be one of the better players. That felt good. Affirming. Right.

But, I digress. My daughter is also here this summer. She is 12. And while here, she has entered her journey into "woman-hood". It was strange, understandable and a little painful that when she discovered her first cycle had begun, she went to my girlfriend. Now, my GF is awesome. And she handled it beautifully. She took her to the store and explained all the options and products, etc. I have to say I was a bit relieved not to have to navigate that but also, I felt a little sad. I felt like this was proof that I had lost some measure of the "mother-daughter" connection. BUT is also meant that she sees me as a man. BUT... not quite her Dad. Such a strange landscape.

And the exact opposite emotions that I had about my son's coming of age bubbled to the surface. For many transguys, puberty is the hardest part... it's the undeniable moment when you know you cannot get out of being a girl. Your body is rebelling against your heart and mind. And there is nothing you can do to stop it.

I spent the better part of my adolescents in deep depression. Though I didn't even know that is what it was. There was a close brush with death/suicide. There were endless nights of tears and pent up anger. There was a deep confusion and frustration. I couldn't figure out why I was felt so misunderstood, so alone, so "wrong".

It has given me a lot to think about. It has given me a lot to deal with.

And a lot to be grateful for... in that my own kids seem to fall pretty well within the "normal" range as far as gender is concerned. And though they have to fight the battle of having a transparent... at least they will never have to feel what I have felt... at least they are in the right bodies and able to embrace who they are every moment of the day. At least they know that. At least they are free.

And finding freedom is what coming of age is all about. I should know.

Soaring

So, my relationship with my new (2 months now) girlfriend is going really well. And with both of us in our mid-thirties, it is necessary for us to continue to ask the questions about long term compatibility. This brings up conversations about what we want for our lives including marriage, family, kids, etc.

Now, I already have two kids who are now 12 and 13 years old. They do not live with me. I divorced their Dad when they were 6 months and 2, mainly because the dynamic there was unhealthy and abusive. I simply could not raise my kids in that environment. The kids lived with me until I decided to go to law school when their father challenged me for custody, and in a small, conservative county on the outskirts of Austin, won. He was remarried and I was at that point presenting as a single lesbian who was about to move out of state and start law school. The court decided that even absent any assertion of abuse or neglect (which is supposed to be the standard) to overturn custody.

Now, this was an extremely painful time in my life. It felt like some guy with absolutely no knowledge of me or my parenting skills, or the abuse involved in the relationship in the first place and the potential damaging situation my kids might be in looked at me and said, "You are not good enough. He, the one with little education, a temper and malice is a better choice than you." I spent two years and my life savings trying to fight for my kids. Mostly never wanting them to wonder if I wanted them, cared about them, or tried to keep them out of what I saw as a harmful situation.

The years spent dealing with that forced me to confront layers of grief, guilt and fear. Learning to live with the reality of NOT tucking your kids in every night, not knowing what they eat in a day, not having the privilege of looking into their eyes to check in on their souls everyday... it's a really hard thing to do.

But in the meantime, I was afforded the opportunity and time to look into my own eyes. And that made me realize there was a lot of sadness there. I knew that I had been a good parent to my kids. I know I started them out in life right. They are well grounded and happy kids, despite all the weird stuff they have been through.

I felt, and sometimes still feel guilty, that their lives are not "normal" because I am not "normal." I was numb for so much of their younger years. Just trying to do what I knew I had to do everyday when I woke up... to feed them, teach them, pray with them... but I was dead inside. I did it out of love... sheer will to put one foot in front of the other, to cook one more healthy meal, to coach one more team, do one more load of laundry, read one more bedtime story, fake one more smile.

And I have mostly tucked that guilt away. I have thought in the abstract about having more kids, being a dad. I want to be a husband and father, to have the chance at the life I tried from the other side that crashed and burned and never quite fit, though I had no idea why. But now, now that there is someone to actually picture having this future with... someone who wants to be my wife and the mother of my children, new layers of fear, guilt and confusion come peaking out from their respective holding places.

I am so much more alive now. So much more present. I hate that I wasn't here sooner for my kids I already have. I know I did the best I could. But will being able to feel a new child only make the fact that I wasn't emotionally present for them so much more obvious? Do they know? Do they or will they feel cheated? Will they understand? Can they forgive me?

I am trying to work through the process of giving myself permission to be happy. Truly, bone deep happy. Not only today (which I am getting pretty good at) but also to allow myself to hope and dream for tomorrow. To know that a bright future does not have to drown out the past. I want to be free to move forward, to love with all my heart and live with all my life, to bring the positive parts of the past forward into today and tomorrow while leaving the pain behind.

But unfolding ones wings can be painful. And those first flights can be treacherous. Believing in love, in forgiveness, in forever, in myself...I hear that flying is much easier when you glide in the currents of the wind rather than trying to fight it. I guess it's time to find out for myself. It's time to soar.

Missing Her

I recently celebrated my manniversary. It has been just over a year since I was hit upside the head by this brick of revelation. Every now and then I stumble across an old picture of A (the pre-transition me). And it always seems strange to me. She is familiar, like an old friend. But there is a touch of sadness there in that she is gone. I look back at photos of me/her with my kids, at the White House with family and it seems like there is a separation. It feels like a whole other life, a whole other person. It's very hard to explain.

I feel no regret or remorse. I have not second guessed this decision for one single moment since I made it. The thought of going back is completely intolerable. But, I will say, I miss her. I morn her in many ways. That persona served me well. I was able to accomplish so much ... from having kids to a teaching career to law school.


And it is interesting navigating the world primarily stealth. You lose connections. For example, when woman are talking about child birth or some such inherently female experience, I still find myself wanting to chime in. Then, I just kinda laugh at myself and keep my mouth shut. Unless they are in the know... at which time I share pretty openly.

The simple fact is, transpoeple are a group unto themselves.

I didn't have the inherently male experiences through adolescence that cis guys had. And in part, I am grateful for that because I think society makes it really hard for guys to be balanced and in touch with all facets of themselves. But where does that leave me? I was a male mentally, emotionally, psychologically... but having the physical experiences of a female. Such a conundrum.

And sometimes a very lonely place.

So, I try to process the separation and loss as I would any other. I talk to her sometimes, journal about it and now blogging about it. I am not sad, overall. I am not lonely, overall. But I am learning how to let myself feel the full range of emotions that come with actually moving through things which means unexplained aches and tears sometimes... but I try to let 'em flow... let 'em wash over old wounds and let their salt sting...knowing it will promote healing.

Heal on.

Do Overs

So, today is Easter. It is the Christian holiday that celebrates the resurrection of Christ. New Beginnings. It is Spring time in Texas and all the wildflowers are in full bloom.

Religious icons and plants are not the only things enjoying renewal. I am too. It is funny how everything seems new to me. I feel emotions I have never felt before, see colors more brightly, everything is alive, fresh and new.

This new feeling of life and joy can bring on an on slaught of emotions. Of course it is positive but at times I am also sad (and even a bit angry) that I have gone so long without it.

The most obvious example is with my kids. B is here this weekend and I have so enjoyed our time together. He makes me laugh all the time. We wrestle and play and horse around. And I think about when he was little and how very numb I was. I remember a time when he was about 2 years old. He did something adoreable that should have made me swoon with parental oozy love. But it didn't. I remember being aware that it was cute and knowing I should have wanted to scoop him up and smother him with kisses. But I didn't have it in me. That is when I knew there was something very wrong with where I was emotionally. I had no idea if it was post partum depression (R was a few months old) or what. I just knew it didn't feel like it should.

I faught to be present with my kids. Knowing that they needed me and that those years would be gone forever. I think, all things considered, I did a pretty good job of navigating all that. But being here now, being safe and healthy enough emotionally now to adore them, makes me both want to celebrate and cherish each moment and mourn the loss of all that time. And it makes me hope beyond hope that I might get a second chance to have a family.

I have written before about how I am a good old boy who wants the girl next door and the traditional family, etc. I wondered, and frankly was very cynical, about the possibility that I would ever find someone to build such a life with.

Well, funny thing. I have heard all the saying all my life about when you stop looking, you will find it. When you let you, you will get it, etc. Everybody kept telling me that when I was happy with where I was, when I accepted it, then it would free up energy in the universe for things to shift for me.

Now, I am a business owner of a start up firm. I am founding partner and half owner with a friend and colleague of mine. We are up and running and I have everything I ever wanted in a career. And to add to that... I also have met someone and am completely elated with her. We have the kind of synergy that I never thought possible. We have mutual admiration and adoration for one another. We have the spark. We laugh constantly and dream big together.

So, in just about every area, I am gettin what feels like a do over. A chance to begin again. To build a solid foundation on solid ground. I have been afaid to reach for the stars or dream in the clouds because I was not grounded. It is too scary when you don't have a touchstone. It feels out of control and like destruction and disappointment are certain. But now...now it just feels like flying. And I know I am safe and will survive whatever comes my way because this time, I have me to rely on.

And I am enough.

Giving me Grief

It has been a month since I posted. What a month. I have been through some very drastic experiences. I have uncovered years of familial grief. I have had revelations about the fact that I am here as my own entity. And what I mean by that is that I have always felt like an accident, an after though, plan B.

Without going too much into family stuff that is not all my own to divulge to the public at large, I will leave it at that fact that my mother had a baby boy between my older sister and myself. He died at a couple of days old. My family doesn't really do grief...everyone just soldiers on. So, in my whole life, we only spoke of this child (who was always and only referred to as "the baby") a handful of times. I remember when I when I found out about this whole thing. I was in middle school. It was April. My mom was really depressed. I was confused by this because it was so much more intense than usual. My older sister blurted out to me in impatience and seemingly disgust, "Don't you know?!?! This is when The Baby died!" I remember being like, "What?" Now, this may have been mentioned to me before this point, but I think this is the time at which, for some reason, I first really KNEW of what happened. But I didn't have details. I am sure I had heard passing references to The Baby and I am sure I knew it was a boy...but I remember this specific instance for some reason.

So, as I wondered down the shadowy, twisted path of transition, I wondered if his death had something to do with my situation. I knew that it made it hard for me to feel like being male was legitimate...it made it seem like some sort of psychological twist, that I was somehow trying to fill his shoes or something. My parents tried pretty hard after that to make sure I knew that they loved me as a girl and didn't wish they had him instead, didn't miss having a son. But with my particular situation, feeling like a son- a boy, their efforts just confused me and somehow (completely unintentionally) invalidated who I was inside.

Eventually, I just figured maybe I was his soul, reincarnated in the "wrong" body. I heard about how they didn't think my mom could or should have more kids and how she was supposed to have a hysterectomy as soon as she was "recovered". But in the meantime, she got pregnant with me...which sometimes made me feel like a miracle, sometimes an accident.

I have been going to an amazing therapist regularly for over 2 years now. We do mostly cognitive, talk therapy but last month we tried this remapping thing that involves using acupressure points to release cellular memory of certain frequencies and emotions. After one of these sessions, I had this incredible experience of revelation and release... and it finally occurred to me. I am not him.

I am me.

This air I breath is mine, not borrowed or stolen. This life I am living is not a substitute or stand in. It is mine to live as I see fit, to use completely or squander, no excuses.

The baby is a separate person who deserves to be acknowledged and mourned. I am a separate person who deserves my own space in the universe. I started asking my mom a lot of stuff about him. We agreed that it feels more "right" to think of our family as a unit of 5 and us siblings as a unit of 3. It is hard to explain the effect this all had on me. But it was nice to finally be able to compartmentalize some of these emotions. And to finally realize who I am in my own right.

Sadly, a few weeks after this lesson in grief and mourning, I lost a very dear friend of mine ("N") unexpectedly. Actually, the lesbian I met at my neighbor's game night and mentioned in my blog several months back. She was so incredibly supportive of my transition and really saw me as a guy. We connected so well, it is hard to lose someone like that. Then, I was asked to be a pallbearer at her funeral. Her family resisted her sexuality, actually buried her in a pink coffin (NOT what she would have wanted). Her mom even talked to me about how she really didn't think her daughter was a lesbian. I bit my tongue out of respect. Her mom has no idea I am trans. So, not only was it emotional for me to be filling a "male" roll, an honor to be asked by her family to be one of the last people to carry their daughter to her final resting place, but I was also representing a part of N's identity that otherwise would have gone unacknowledged. I could just see N smiling at me.

I am not sure what I believe about the afterlife entirely, but I'd like to think I have two souls on my side somehow. There was more than a small measure of comfort in thinking about her meeting my brother. And them picking up where we left off.

As it turns out... grief is a gift. It allows you to keep loving the one you lost, instead of going numb and just putting the emotions on ice. It allows the memories to soak in, somehow. It allows you to hold on tighter, even while letting go. "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted." Now I get it.

Man in the Middle

Several people have recently asked for the link to this blog and that got me to rereading my entries. It is interesting to go back and read how I was feeling 7 weeks in, 3 months in, or even just last week. The danger of putting all this in writing is that it is there, in black and white. I cannot say I didn't say that or waffle at all about my experiences. They are there.

I could go back and delete entries, but where is the authenticity in that? This whole blog is about my journey. I am aware that if someone sat down and read the whole thing as it is today in one sitting, it would seem that I am full of contradictions. I am not sure that is all that far from the truth.

I guess there is always the pendulum effect. I particularly notice this when it comes to my discussions about who I am attracted to, etc. And I noticed I have not updated on the changes that have occurred for me in this area.

Let me say that I think my initial aversion to lesbians and bi women came partially from my last break up. And my relationship before that. Both of these women said that they were ok with men, hated labels, etc. But one of them occasionally said in a very mean and chastising way, "You are such a man!" This was said with disgust and disdain. Then, the other one got all freaked out at the dynamic shift. She was okay with being with a guy sexually but had never been with a guy in a relationship and once I transitioned, she didn't like it much. (There was more to it than that but me being a guy was central to our parting ways).

So, with these experiences in mind, as well as my own initial fears of anything that didn't bolster my masculinity, I set out on the path certain I would not want to be with anyone other than a purely heterosexual woman.

However, a couple of months ago, I was at a neighbors game night and had the privilege of meeting a woman that I connected with instantly. We talked for hours and have stayed in touch since then. This caught me off guard because I found myself wrestling with whether or not I'd like to date her or was attracted to her. These questions brought me to really think about what is important to me in a life partner/girlfriend/spouse.

And it occurred to me that what is important is the connection. What is important is basic compatibility. I am happy to say (see last post) that I am finally secure enough in my own masculinity that I do not need or want or exclusively seek a fem straight chick to fill that space.

And, more likely than not, I will find understanding and connection with someone who has had to really think through some similar issues for themselves. I know I am attracted to the female body, the feminine energy. And as long as whomever I am with sees me as a man, understands me as a person, then I will not make the mistake of prejudging or limiting myself or her.

I will work to stop the pendulum swing from extreme to extreme and learn to be comfortable as the man in the middle. Open to the Universe and whatever it has for me.

The Gift of Travel

As I traverse this long road... from one little black box sitting inconspicuously beside the innocent word "female" to it's mirror image marked "male"... it occurs to me that this act of traveling, this journey, is a gift.

When you take a trip, you inevitably have to decide what to take with you and what you can do without. And with airlines charging more for baggage -thank you Southwest for being an exception to this metaphor- you start to think a little more carefully about those extra, just-in-case items.

The same has been true for me. I have things that I do, experiences, memories, thought patterns that come from the female box. Things that very few bio guys would ever have been allowed, by society or in some cases nature, to experience. An extreme example would be child birth. I have experienced the good and the bad of giving energy, blood, nutrients, life to another on the most basic, primal level. No cis-male* will ever be able to know that.(*a non-trans male, one who was born biologically and is psychologically male. I feel this term is more accurate than bio-male in that a man like me, on hormones is actually closer, biologically/chemically to male than female not to mention post surgical implications)

On another level there are things I learned and was allowed to embrace by society as female that I likely would have missed out on as male. For example, I learned how to distinguish my emotions and have words for them. Society often tells men and boys that aggression and anger are the only acceptable emotions... add the fact that testosterone does make the fight or flight response so immediate and drastic... and it is no wonder cis-males have a hard time with emotions.

And then there are these little things like cooking and hosting parties and like bubble baths. It took me a little while to admit, post transition that I still like a hot bubble bath, with candles and a nice glass of wine. It felt like that was "too girly" and somehow meant I wasn't actually trans. It was so scary to think about the implications of my bubble bath. [If you haven't seen the Friends episode where Chandler discovers a love of bubble baths, you must! All I need now is a battle ship to take in the tub with me.]

But seriously?!?!? The IMPLICATIONS of a bubble bath?

What in the world are we doing here people? Why do we allow that little box to tell us so much about ourselves? When did we decide that that little box got to tell us how we felt about bubble baths or flowers or football or being the President or being aggressive professionally or sexually?

Is it because it is easier? It is that it is simply easier, when the expectations don't generally clash with your essence, to just go along with them than it is to actually dig deep enough to figure out who YOU are? What YOU want? I mean you say something to yourself like, "I am a girl so that means: I like to shop, pink, to be on bottom, with a man, must be married by age ??, kids by age ??, sit with my legs crossed, be polite, etc." ?? For me, most of those things just did NOT resonate with me at all. I wanted the things on the boy list "play in the dirt, trucks, be with a woman, be the aggressor, protector, provider, sweat, muscles, etc." We use gender to explain things. And like most stereotypes they are stereotypes for a reason... because they are often or usually accurate. But why do we just take this stuff for granted? We should commit the time to ourselves to know ourselves well enough and be secure enough to depart from the stereotypes when necessary. Without fear.

And the flip side of that is that it is easier to put other people in these little boxes, rather than actually stop long enough, look deeply enough, listen hard enough to KNOW them, to know where our assumptions are inaccurate. I mean at the end of the day what are we? We are people and people are complex and complicated. We are not machines driven by binary code, hundreds of on/off switches. We cannot be reduced to flow charts.

But as George Clooney's character said in "Up in the Air"- stereotypes are efficient. Which is true. Without some type of filtering system, we would be paralyzed. You can't actually know everyone you interact with on a deep level, nor do you want to, nor do they want you too. I think we just have to be careful about not FORCING people into them or getting angry when they don't fit.

And yourself is another story. You have to be with you everyday of your life. It seems an investment in getting to know you might well be warranted. So, next time you get a haircut or pick a piece of clothing or accept or reject a date, take a good, hard look and ask yourself why you chose what you chose. Ask yourself it it is because you are "supposed to" or if it is really a reflection of you. But be warned, the worms in that can are squirmy and slippery.

I have gotten used to worm herding. And have come to realize that all this work I am doing is about being me. But that means I have to be willing to LOOK at me. And sometimes that is not fun. Sometimes it means admitting a weakness or cutting of a limb lost to gangrene. And often amputations are followed by phantom pains. But mostly I find when I let loose of the old, diseased, wounded rotten parts, something new and healthy grows in it's place or I learn to do without it... I discover I didn't need it in the first place.

Kinda like those extra socks and underwear I always pack. I mean really, when will I learn that if I have an real emergency, requiring extra underwear, there is surely a stream, sink or wal-mart around. Or, heck, if worse comes to worse I can always go commando. :)

So, I will take what I decide I need and want. I will take what is really important to me to the other side. And after a long hard day of deciding and packing and trudging along, you will find this MAN relaxing taking a nice long soak in my bubble bath, complete with candles and a good glass of wine.

Think Charlie Brown

So, last night I was looking closely at myself in the mirror, monitoring changes and guess what I found? One, lone, long, wirer-y chest hair. LOL! Right on my sternum!

Reminds me of Charlie Brown's head. :) Thank goodness my hairline hasn't receded quite that much!

What Goes Up...

What goes up, must come down. This is a basic scientific principle. The laws of nature dictate balance.

I have recently come to realize that I am a junkie. I love adrenaline, the high. I love the thrill ride of being whole-heartedly invested in something... like being so crazy in love you can't see straight, or throwing myself into school or work, or even transition. I love those moments while having sex when the whole world disappears and you are on an island with intense physical pleasure, wholly unaware of anything around you (except maybe the person that is there with you). I asked myself WHY I love these things... because in reality I can recognize that putting TOO much of yourself into something only sets up disappointment and debt. And, eventually, you must come down.

I have basically lived my life like a gambling addict. I have used my own energy and soul as chips, wagering them against the odds. So, I keep hoping for the big haul: approval/affirmation/love or better yet, escape. That is the jackpot. So, I push a stack of chips out on the table, often going all in, sometimes throwing in my watch, my rings, anything I have of value. And I let it ride. Because what if, what if THIS TIME, I win? And I would win little payouts often enough to keep me coming back. And I keep coming back and coming back until I am totally broke, broken and in debt.

So, understanding that the reality is that I am so much more likely to be disappointed and disillusioned, why do I keep going back? What am I wanting? Why is the high SO important that I will risk so much for it? I have come to realize that for me, it was the escape. That moment when the world stands still and something, anything, is loud enough to drown out my own pain and fear. And then I realized that all those years of trying to be someone I wasn't, telling myself to sit down, shut up, be still... the pain of being invisible was largely what I was trying to escape.

So, now that pain is easing but I still have the habit of thrill seeking. According to my therapist, I need to mourn the loss of that top edge of the high. I will miss that feeling that comes with detaching... the climb... the apex. But, I will not miss the terror of plummeting toward rock bottom, aware of impending impact. And I certainly will not miss the pain of splatting at the bottom. This pain at the end was all part of a sad cycle. Somewhere along the way I picked up this idea that pain is the price that must be paid. "No pain, no gain." "Pain is weakness leaving the body." So on and so forth.

But I now realize that I can CHOOSE to be still, and stable, and safe and avoid bringing pain on myself. I have realized that I can and do deserve to be happy and don't have to risk it all in the process. Self care.

I used to think that going gung ho was indicative of courage. Now, I am learning it takes far more courage to live in the moment, to sit still, to FEEL. It takes more courage to look inside yourself and poke around and to love yourself no matter what you find in there.

That is what I am working on now. I'll still take risks and embrace adventure... but maybe I'll just take 20 bucks to the casino and play for fun. And walk out with my emotional, spiritual and energetic savings account in tact.

It's my own personal bail out plan. :)

The Lonely Road

So, the holidays inevitably bring up a desire for "coupledom". Nobody LIKES to not have a significant other during this time of year. I swear, if I had to sit through one more sappy jewelry commercial, I think I might have puked. Now, if I make it through New Year's I get a brief reprieve until the dreaded Valentine's Day. But even then, Valentine's is just a day this whole Thanksgiving to New Year's stretch is brutal.

In light of this, I think it is understandable why I would be spending a lot of time thinking about relationships. It is no secret that this has not been my strongest area in life. I am no doubt a serial monogamist. I have had three serious relationships, all lasting in the 4-5 year range and, most recently, a one year relationship. But, alas, the "one" evades me.

And now, it seems like it will be harder than ever. The one year relationship ended for lots of complicated reasons, but my transition was not the least of it. As it turned out, I am now "not the person [she] fell in love with". Of course, this monumental shift can occur in life for many reasons, but in my case a "gender shift" was pretty central. Anyway, then I dated a straight woman a few times, who on my disclosure of my status completely pulled away and wanted nothing to do with me romantically because I am a "woman" (that's what she said). Then, I met this really great woman at a neighbor's game night. She identifies as lesbian- we hit it off but SHE isn't interested because I am a man. As it turns out, I think I am that "really nice guy" that everybody thinks is a wonderful friend but nobody really wants to be with.

Then you get the ones like the bimbo at my work who are probably just looking for an "adventure". It was clear to me that she was not interested in ME, but just the novelty of it. [I do have to admit that after the GOLD STAR post, she called me several times and one of those conversations got rather "intense", if you know what I mean. She asked me what I wanted to do to her and proceeded to describe several intimate acts...I gave in to it. Then, the next time she called when she started talking about back rubs, etc. I told her she needed a good chiropractor. She wasn't amused. She also had the nerve to ask me if I had any rich trans friends. Yikes. End of that. And I think I got demoted to a bronze star.]

I have heard people say they are not dating, not interested in a relationship, etc. but I don't really understand this. I WANT a relationship. I WANT to love and be loved. I'll admit it. Now, I do not want to repeat the same cycle of meet, get attached at the hip, move in, dredged through 4-5 years (or even a year) of trying to 'make it work'. So, I am trying to figure out how to break that cycle.

I know I have work to do on myself. I know there are several things better accomplished BEFORE I get back into something serious. And I know that a first date is always where it starts so dating at all is kinda inviting attachment. Not to mention the fact that I am not so sure I am up to rejection at this point. I have to admit, I am pretty frail in a sense, when it comes to this.

I am also learning that you can love people deeply as friends and nothing more ever has to happen. Which leads me to the question of, "How do you know?" How do you know when a really good friendship "should be" something more? I mean I have one friend in particular who I have an awesome relationship with and there is a measure of sexual tension but she lives in another state, so we are both perfectly aware that friendship is where it will stay. And I think we are both grateful for that- a deep connection uncluttered with physical or romantic trappings.

So, I guess for now... even though I might have "feelings" for people in my life I need to deal with those feelings like I do my out-of-state friend. And just know that right now, it ain't gonna happen. Cause I have things to take care of. Is a checklist in order... like I REFUSE to be romantically involved until these things are accomplished? And what about the genuine need for physical (and sexual) attention in the meantime? Because we are talking about a list that would take a year to really accomplish. sigh.

And I am not getting any younger here, people. I am starting to feel like life is passing me by. And it makes me angry that I had to spend 35 years getting to this place where I can finally be me. It makes me angry that I had this huge f'in hurdle to clear before I could even really have a shot at happiness. And it makes me feel like I am playing catch up. And I hate playing catch up.

At the end of the day it seems all I can do is put one foot in front of the other and hope I don't derail myself in the process. I want my road to be straight and narrow, and short... I want to be at the destination- NOW! But I know that is not what life is about, it isn't about the end- the end is actually the boring part. And I really don't think I'd mind the long, windy road so much if I had some company, cause it sure is lonely out here.

Gold Star

So, there is this super hot girl at work. She has long blonde hair, tan, skinny, dresses in that professional yet slutty kind of way. Super sexy in a purely superficial way. She is a Barbi doll type, nails, hair, the whole nine yards.

Well, last week she started hitting on me. Shamelessly. I mean very very forward messages through IM about "making it hard" and "needing a massage" and "needing to stretch" etc. Asking me to sit by her at the Christmas luncheon and "cum" over to her desk. Seriously, I am not making this up.

Well, naturally my ego enjoyed this onslaught of attention from a girl any man at this office has looked at least twice at. I have to say that this girl is also classic in that she is either genuinely dumb or just thinks that is cute. Not sure which. So, as our interactions progressed, I became less and less attracted to her due to her lack of intelligence, though I still got sweaty palms when she wanted to go to the parking garage on a "break" with me.

I could feel all the blood draining from my brain and rushing to other areas if you know what I mean. Anyway, I also know that these exchanges on facebook chat, at work, on a work computer are dangerous. So, I told her we could talk after work, get a drink, whatever but couldn't have this conversation at work.

She asked a few questions about my "status" because of office rumors and was fine with things... which also was very validating. Having completely straight women come on to you is so nice and affirming when new to the hetero club.

Anyway, she got mad that I would not play her games or respond to her beckoning and told me I was being paranoid and "retarded" (which made me laugh considering her incredibly low IQ, or appearance thereof). Several times while talking to her, I had to stop and explain what a word I had used meant. Really?

So, she pouted, then threatened... then deleted me. :)

Many of my guy friends are like, "Dude! What are you doing? Tap that!" but I know that every time I decide how to react to something like that, I am defining myself. I am deciding what kind of man I want to be. And to a small degree what kind of world I want my daughter to grow up in. And probably staying employed, too. :)

Anyway- I have wiped the drool from my chin and am standing slightly more upright now.

Gold Star.

Genisus, of Sorts

So, talking to my sister over Thanksgiving, I realized that in copying important pieces of my old blog which was co-written with my ex-girlfriend, I never copied over the story about that moment in time when I realized I was trans- I mean really realized. So, here you go. This is told from my ex-girlfriend's perspective so the "me" is her and I am "D".

me: Well, it all started when we went shopping at the Round Rock outlets about a week and a half ago.
:P

me: We went into Maidenform because she was complaining that she couldn't wear a tight t-shirt because of the sportsbra uniboob effect.
So I understood her request as: find me a regular bra that doesn't have underwires and is comfortable.
Found it, went into the dressingroom and tried it on. It fit beautifully.
But, as I was looking at her reflection in the mirror, I noticed her face was not pleased.
In fact, it was kind of disgusted and wholly uncomfortable.
She said, "They look like frikken cones!".
I think it'd been forever since she'd really looked at herself in the mirror wearing a real bra.
"That's how they're supposed to look," I said.
"I have to take this off," she said, and she did, and threw her clothes back on.
Then we kind of just sat in the dressing room and stared at each other.
And I saw it in her eyes.
I don't know how, but I did.
And I said, "You don't have to wear this."
And she said, "I really wish I didn't have boobs at all. I wish I could just get rid of them."
"I hate them," she said,
And then she seemed surprised at herself for saying it out loud. Like, women can be annoyed at their boobs, but hate them entirely? That's kind of taboo.
I mean, what does that mean? When you say that? This was the thought that was running through my head.
So we had a conversation that seemed to last about three days off and on.
About her past, and how she's always felt not just masculine inside, but fundamentally male.
At one point after the bra epiphany on the way home, she said, "I wish I could just snap my fingers and be a boy. If it was that easy, I'd do it."
"That's telling," I said.
And then we were off...on the twisty path of transitioning...

6 month update

So, it has been 6 months on T now. I figured you might be wondering about any recent physical changes. Well, at this point, I think my body weight has stabilized,though I am continuing to see a shift in the body fat distribution. I have very little extra weight in my thighs but have to be careful about getting that spare tire thing going.

I recently purchased a pull up bar that mounts in my door frame and have been doing pull-ups (which I have never been able to do before). I am amazed at how quickly my shoulders have bulked up and my abs are tightening up. My body has always responded quickly to exercise but I could have worked out like a maniac before and never gotten this buff. It is certainly nice to finally be getting that tapered look. Thanks to my hips, which due to childbirth will never be slender, I still look pretty stocky. But that is fine. I will say that more muscle in my pecs makes binding even less comfortable. But overall, it is worth the trade off for the increased bulk.

I now have sparse but present whiskers on either side of my chin and upper lip. Not nearly enough to see from any distance or grow as "facial hair" but they are there, some blonde, some black. I shave every other day or so to avoid it being so obvious that there is so little there. I am not sure my Irish/Native American blood is helping much.

I have full on body hair now that has gotten to the point that I manscape pretty regularly. My belly has hair all over it, my upper thighs too. My arm hair is darker and thicker but not curly or anything.

My face has continued to square off. I actually pulled out some old pics of me a couple of my trans buddies were over and we were all amazed by the difference. PC said he couldn't believe that was me- even though he first met me pre-T. My neck has thickened up and this helps tremendously.

My voice has dropped a TON. I never get ma'am'ed or ms.'d on the phone anymore, which is so nice. It is to the point now where people are voluntarily noticing and changing my gender marker to M on accounts and stuff. Also nice.

My sex drive has leveled off a bit. I mean it is still crazy but not like at first. I am single now so I am navigating that and the interesting world of straight women flirting with me, sometimes shamelessly. Their games are complex and perplexing. They know they are attractive and they use their sex appeal to draw you in, to feel good about themselves... but over all women talk about not wanting to be treated like sex object... so confusing. But I digress.

My feet continue to grow, as evidenced by having to loosen my shoe laces every couple of weeks, thought the length seems to be consistent now.

I am able to do much more physically. I run for stress relief and fitness and my times continue to drop, even when I slack a bit. I moved this GIANT planter from my Granny's front porch to the back last weekend and was myself shocked and amazed that I could just bend over and pick up a concrete pot, with dirt and plan and all, and just move it. It was heavy but certainly manageable. Weird. My Granny thought I was going to get a hernia. Funny thought.

My acne is calming down considerably, though I do still get the occasional neck/back volcano type deal. Not pleasant. I am also losing my hair. It has thinned a bit and my hairline has receded significantly. BUT, let's face it, I am a 35 year old man... I SHOULD have a little bit of a receded hairline. And look around sometime, guys have this widows peek thing going most of the time whereas women do not. This whole experience makes me notice these things.

I have been giving myself my shots at home for quite a while now and it has become routine and practically mundane. It is therapeutic, though. Something about drawing the T into the needle and making the deliberate decision to inject every week keeps you connected to and grounded in the process.

Mentally and emotionally I think I am doing ok. I am still seeing a therapist every 3 weeks- she is my hero.

I had some professional disappointments in NOT getting a couple of jobs I thought I was pretty sure to get but I am happy to report that with my new found confidence and disposition, I was able to be present with my disappointment but take it in stride. In the past, it would have freaked me out. Now, I feel sure of myself and that something will work out. I am not saying it is fun to deal with this crappy job market but it sure is easier to do when you are calm and ok inside.

I think that is about it. I will try to write a more reflective entry soon on something a little more insightful. But these are the physical changes for now.

In the beginning

This post is a cut and paste from a previous entry on a previous blog that me and my then girlfriend were writing about the transition. It is her account of the moment of epiphany. I feel it is pretty accurate- so rather than reinventing the wheel, here you go... my apologies to those who have been reading along all the while. In the following conversations "me" is my ex gf, and the "she" and "her" referred to is me, pre-transition.

me: We went into Maidenform because she was complaining that she couldn't wear a tight t-shirt because of the sportsbra uniboob effect.
So I understood her request as: find me a regular bra that doesn't have underwires and is comfortable.
Found it, went into the dressingroom and tried it on. It fit beautifully.
But, as I was looking at her reflection in the mirror, I noticed her face was not pleased.
In fact, it was kind of disgusted and wholly uncomfortable.
She said, "They look like frikken cones!".
I think it'd been forever since she'd really looked at herself in the mirror wearing a real bra.
"That's how they're supposed to look," I said.
"I have to take this off," she said, and she did, and threw her clothes back on.
Then we kind of just sat in the dressing room and stared at each other.
And I saw it in her eyes.
I don't know how, but I did.
And I said, "You don't have to wear this."
And she said, "I really wish I didn't have boobs at all. I wish I could just get rid of them."
"I hate them," she said,
And then she seemed surprised at herself for saying it out loud. Like, women can be annoyed at their boobs, but hate them entirely? That's kind of taboo.
I mean, what does that mean? When you say that? This was the thought that was running through my head.
So we had a conversation that seemed to last about three days off and on.
About her past, and how she's always felt not just masculine inside, but fundamentally male.
At one point after the bra epiphany on the way home, she said, "I wish I could just snap my fingers and be a boy. If it was that easy, I'd do it."
"That's telling," I said.
And then we were off...on the twisty path of transitioning...

Dominoes, Anyone?

So, Thanksgiving weekend is officially over. I am watching the last of the long, long string of football games that have been airing seemingly nonstop since Thanksgiving Day. I have to say that all this football makes me very, very happy. Especially since the college and NFL seasons are winding down.

Thanksgiving has always meant football to me. This year I have watched a ton and even played some with my son and nieces (and 2 year old nephew who loves football almost as much as I do!). Both my favorite teams won (UT and the Cowboys) so that added a little more happy to my happy Thanksgiving. But enough (or maybe too much already) about football. What I really wanted to write about is dominoes.

Though those "bones" have had a regular part of our family gatherings for years, I don't mean the little white rectangles, littered with black dots. I mean the conceptual dominoes. I mean the dominoes we spend our whole lives setting up into neat little rows, creating cognitive patterns and perceptual designs. These beautiful shapes seem so orderly, so perfect. That is, until something or someone comes along and tips just one. Then, that one clanks into the next and it is all "downhill" from there. Every single domino is in danger and when gravity has had its way, there is little more than a pile of bones, scattered in a mess that vaguely resembles the once orderly and perfectly planned and meticulously laid out designs.

When I was a kid, one of my very favorite gifts I ever got was a Domino Rally. This was a set of dominoes and "tricks" (like a pulley activated by a domino tapping a string, freeing the weighted end to pull down the gizmo that eventually sent a marble rolling down a tube to start the other set of dominoes falling). I spent HOURS setting up the rows of dominoes, tinkering with the tricks, spreading my game out all over the house. I remember how beautiful it was when you got it all set up, called everyone one in to witness your genius and with one flick of the finger tip, set it all in motion. Everyone gasped and cheered as the steady click, click, click of dominoes falling one after the other created a hypnotizing visual effect.

But I also remember how frustrating it was when, while I was hard at working setting up elaborate schemes, a domino would rebel and fall without prompting or because I sneezed or dropped a marble or the cat was curious. I remember the desperate feeling of trying to get ahead of gravity and stop the perpetual, premature destruction of my masterpiece. I remember feeling so mad that all the time I had spent setting it up, was gone, and now I just had to start over, setting up the dominoes one by one.

Over the last 7 months I and my transition have been the sneeze, the dropped marble, the curious cat that has sent many a family member, friend and potential date into desperate panic, trying to get ahead of the click, click, click. Most people have a whole room full of dominoes set up around gender, sexuality and how they relate to others around these issues. Our society has created a seemingly "secure" environment in which to say this person is my "sister", "daughter", "girlfriend" etc. But when that person recognizes, and asks others to recognize that their gender does not match with their body, and therefore they are now a "brother", "son" or "boyfriend" the dominoes begin to fall, and scatter, and lose their shape.

Given this is my life, my reality, the truth as I see it, all this gender shifting and bending just seems normal to me. It just seems like it should be obvious to everyone. I have noticed that those who have had the hardest time with it are those who have spent the least amount of time with me over the last five years or so. And even more so over the past year.

The girl I went on a couple of dates with was caught completely off guard by my disclosure and told me she didn't feel comfortable being in a romantic relationship "with a woman." This stung but was almost laughable to me. All I could do was shrug my shoulders and say, "She just doesn't get it." It told me she wasn't able to listen, process or accept what I was telling her. It told me she likely hadn't read the blog at all. It told me her dominoes had been set in cement.

I can't blame her for that. Dominoes in cement are way less frustrating, way less scary, way safer. The only trouble is, that if you set your dominoes in cement, even YOU can't knock 'em down when you are ready. And if you ask me, even as cool as it looks for the dominoes to be all set up in rows, the real beauty lies in the dynamic motion of their falling, the glorious click, click, click of continuous motion up, down, in spirals and through obstacles.

Some of my friends and family have said that they feel a great loss. That they mourn a death of sorts of who I was. Especially those who don't have a chance to know me now, to spend time with me and starting setting the dominoes of our relationship back up again. Some people have set them back up. Some people have seen a way to set them back up in an almost identical pattern as before, maybe with just different colored dominoes. Others have scrapped the old patterns and started fresh.

I know the frustration of someone or something coming along and rendering all your work useless, especially unexpectedly or when you thought you were done with that project. I know the confusion of asking yourself: what now? is it worth starting over? how do I know as soon as I get them all set up again something won't just knock 'em over?

Each person in my life will have to answer those questions for themselves, just like I did. Believe me, 7 months ago I was standing there in a puddle of my own tears and a cloud of my own frustration asking the same questions. But I didn't have a choice, really. I HAD to pick up the dominoes and start again. But the people in my life DO have a choice. They can have their dominoes in cement. OR, through thought, questions and interactions with me risk that the dominoes will topple. And for those whom my transition has more or less created an earthquake under their display, they can choose to start over and set 'em up again. The pattern, the response is up to them.

As for me, despite the frustration of the inevitable act of gravity, I am choosing to set em up, one by one with the hope that when they fall, I'll learn something. Hopefully, I will learn to enjoy the click, click, click even when it happens when I didn't mean for it to, in a way I never intended. Even when it's an earthquake I never expected.

So... dominoes, anyone?

When A Man Loves A Woman

So, as I said on an earlier post, I joined this dating website mostly out of boredom and curiosity. As it turns out, I met an amazing woman there. She is educated, intelligent, creative, articulate, funny, beautiful, and kind with a splash of good humored sarcasm. She is just the "girl next door" type that drives me crazy. BUT, I had never had the opportunity to fully enjoy the dynamic before, since all my previous girlfriends knew me as female and none of them were really that type, either.

Since being on T, there is no denying that my emotional reactions to things have changed. I am much less "emotional". I feel more stable, more thoughtful and less jerked around by which ever way the wind blows. This, of course, is probably also in large part to finally being grounded in my sense of self. But some of it DOES have to do with the T. I was ranting to my male cousin about how I felt angry and frustrated so quickly at things, about how my emotional IQ and intuitive understanding of my then girlfriend had plummeted. He said, "Welcome to manhood. You are telling me what every guy sits on a barstool and complains about to his buddies. It's the T." He went on to remind me that emotions are just the product of brain chemistry and that my brain chemistry was drastically different now. That made sense and was actually kind of a relief. Then, all I had to do was learn how to sort through these feelings and react accordingly. I say all that to say that I was very curious, and a little worried, about if I'd ever feel those butterflies again. I was worried that I would feel like I was falling in love again.

Now, let me preface this by saying that I ended up going on exactly 2 dates with this amazing woman. We talked on the phone some and emailed and chatted some, but not excessively. I knew enough of her story to know that she was someone who had suffered a few unexpected turns in life and had to learn to get back on track.

I did not tell her about my "status" for a couple of reasons. I wanted her to get to know ME without the static of that in the background and I wanted to be able to be myself without worrying that something I did or said would be "too feminine". I was just me and from everything I could tell, she liked me- and was starting to like me a lot.

As far as butterflies go- they were there, in record quantity. The moment I saw her coming from across the street, I thought to myself, "Oh man, I'm in trouble." She was so beautiful that it was disarming. I now know why guys turn into blubbering idiots around woman. There is so much there in the "right" woman. She drives you forward, opens you up and let's you know you are enough with one look, one smile, one touch.

As we talked, we discovered so many commonalities. We talked about everything from pets to our common hometown to food and our respective but VERY similar OCD tendencies. Between dates, I mentioned that I needed some classical music to work to because lyrics are distracting to me. With in a day or two, she had burned me a cd of her favorites.

Funny thing, though I barely know her- and may not be getting the chance to know her better as I haven't heard from her since I dropped the bomb shell- I hear her in the music. One track in particular (Holst- Jupiter the Bringer of Jollity)... I hear what I saw in her eyes. Resolve and Hope. When our eyes locked, I saw Hope. Hope that is forged by flames of grief and turmoil. Hope that was threatened by the extreme heat of deep personal tragedy but that survived. She is not damaged for her journey, she is enlightened and she has confidence and courage that only few find. And I swear I could feel her searching my eyes and dare I say, finding the same.

Now, the silence since I told her, has been deafening. My mind has been flooded with things that I could "do". I am a do-er, you see. I could send her the lyrics to the song she inspired; I could leave a single rose and a note on her car at work; I could send her a letter, detailing her amazing qualities. But after I told her, she said she needed time to process. So, as I see it, the one thing I can "do" is nothing, is give her that time, despite how uncomfortable the silence is to me.

There is an old saying, that I always thought was very cheesy: "If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it is yours; If it doesn't it never was." Now, I am not saying I LOVED her- I barely knew her- but I do think we could have (and who knows, maybe someday still will be) great together. I think we would have been solid and both felt blessed to have the other. But last night, after several days of moping around, I realized I just have to let her go. Like so many other things in my life, I just have to let go.

I am extremely grateful to her for the privilege of spending time with her and what she has done for me, she may never know. She gave me two nights of catching a glimpse, a sneak preview of what it feels like when a man loves a woman.