never alone – a paradox

It’s a hot sunny day.  I just had one of those enigmatic lunch meet-ups where you make clear to the other party that you’re really, actually, truly gay (really).  And they lose interest; I’m walking back.

A foreign family is taking photos on the sidewalk, and I swear I can feel the cold vacuum of space – stretching off into non-existence.

We are alone in the world.  And all we have is each other, that is all.


I’m never alone.  Between the coffee shops, the cafes, my officemates, my roommate, the people I date; I’m rarely actually out of the presence of other human beings.  This is an unexpected outcome of the transition.  I used to spend a week at a time in isolation, occasionally coming out for air, to go to the office, find food, whatever.  And the world was so big, the sidewalks stretching out to distant vanishing points; the air lacking the clarity of virtuality I became accustomed to, staring into an abyss of pixels.  Never again.


I’m bad at being human, which apparently makes it so.  To be imperfect, fragile, pained, and needy.  Desperate, beautiful and young.  People see themselves, extend constant minor assistances, tell me things.  And I think of them.

All I had to do was to become ambitionless, and lost.  I can see it in their eyes, ‘welcome home.’


“I’m sorry about all of that stuff I said last night.”

“It’s okay.”



hope and predictability

I am beginning to feel better about being trans.  I don’t feel the burden to tell everyone that I talk to, which was awkward.  I’m not as worried about my future and how things are going to become.  I feel more in control of the process, if it is a process.


I met up with my friends the other day, people I haven’t seen in a couple of months.  I was avoiding them during the worst of my gender existential crisis because I didn’t want to seem stressed-out for no apparent reason.  I wasn’t prepared to face the old boys club, the circle of guy friends I’ve known for years.

Anyway, I finally met them for a movie but I was nervous.  I really wanted to tell them what’s been going on, why we haven’t seen each other.  I wanted to tell them that I’m transgender.  I’d been thinking about how I was going to say this for days.  There’s no elegant way to say what I wanted to say, nothing that would avoid a litany of awkward questions.


We were hanging out after the movie and there was no way I could tell them.  It wasn’t worth it.  I went home and breathed a huge sigh of relief.  I was surprised, floored, that an enormous burden was lifted from my mind and body.  I didn’t have to tell everyone.  It’s not always relevant.  I am what I am.  Some people may see it and others may not, I don’t need to turn it into a discussion or a debate.  It was one of those duh moments.


All of this is happening very quickly.  I practically woke up one day and realized I’m trans.  And life is profoundly less predictable because I realize that anything can happen.  But it also means that the clouds can clear just as quickly and chaotically as they appeared.  There is hope in unpredictability.  Even good things can happen.