If the sun refused to shine...

That's the start of a Led Zeppelin song called "Thank You." Good one to have in my head these days.

Today I was told about an awesome article in the Wall Street Journal about gratitude (LINK). I generally hate the themed articles around Thanksgiving or Valentine's Day or whatever but this one is about psychology studies and makes a point that I like: gratitude is better for you year-round than you realize.

I was talking with a coworker about Harry Potter today and some other coworkers thought we were a little extreme having an intense discussion about the virtue of the Cuaron-directed "Prisoner of Azkhaban" versus the Yates films (not bothering to go there with the Columbus films)...My retort was about how great it is to get involved with a set of books that are all, essentially, about hope. And that there's no such thing as having too much of that around.

Makes me wonder - are we all born with hope? Is it something that gets drained out of us through disappointments, or if we're lucky, reinforced by having a modicum of stability? I sort of feel like I was just born hopeful but what if it was something my mom whispered in my ear once when I was four? Makes me wonder how to pass that on to my son. My mom started out hopeful and idealistic but by the time I was out of elementary school that was pretty much gone. (Reminds me I should really write a "mom" tab like I did for my father...soon.)

Certainly another thing on my list - have to be it to pass it on, right?

So here's to gratitude and hope, which to me are closely related in world-view and perspective, and for this Thanksgiving season and all seasons may we be able to feel it deeply enough to meaningfully pass it on to someone we love.

That must be a banana in your pants

I was talking with some friends the other night about the new security xray contraptions at the airports and how it would feel weird to walk through one. To have the four people standing behind the monitor, the ones with the power to impede my progress, see that I'm a guy without a penis. Will they register that, or won't notice because they don't see a weapon? Or will they peer around the corner at me, like the people in the Social Security Administration office when I went to get my gender changed on my SSN?

The thing that upset the lady at the Social Security office, and what gets some people flustered when I tell them I'm trans, is that they can't but imagine what is in my pants. And see it as some sort of personal betrayal because all this time they were thinking I had a standard-issue penis down there. Gay, straight, it doesn't matter. I have even gotten asked by a total stranger if I had bottom surgery, and if I did, does my penis work. Is that really what being a man is all reduced to? Can I be a transman without people invading my body-space?

I was used to it, as a dyke; people asking inappropriate questions. Do you miss having sex with a man? How do you have sex? You didn't have a good relationship with your last boyfriend, did you? I usually replied to the tune of "if you don't know what we do in bed then you're girlfriend is probably really dissatisfied," and "if having sex with men is so good why aren't you doing it?" Sort of juvenile, I admit, but they didn't expect those answers so it was fun. As long as they weren't dangerous idiots I didn't mind a bit of circular logic.

There's a big difference between strangers imagining what you do when you are having sex and what appendages you may or may not have on your body. It seems way more personal to me. I'm sure that the conversation turning from an abstract act in someone's mind to my physical being standing there is a big part of it. And I know I'd rather have been born with a penis and it's sort of a sore spot with me, y'know, a little bit of tender subject. So I might be reacting a bit strongly on this one. As a dyke, I didn't care as much about the sex questions because I could just sneer at them or flip them off. I looked like a big dyke, pretty much all the time for over ten years. Nothing was hidden. This is a conversation that has to happen  because there's something private and unknown being shared.

I do not want to be one of those guys who goes around whining about how messed up it is that I had to be born trans. I am very proud of my journey, glad for my experiences, and eager to continue to grow into the person that is me. However, it does stink that I can't wake up one day and poof! it's there. I am interested in seeing how the surgeries evolve and hopefully one day will be able to at least get something done down there. It's a lot to learn how to love yourself in this world regardless of gender or sexuality and I'm not going to let anything I can control make it even harder for me to slog through. I have chosen to be patient and to be here in the now with who and how I am.

All of that is well and good, but I still don't want to go through those xray machines in the airport. I would prefer it to be my choice when people around me know that I'm trans and I feel vulnerable when I do not have that choice.

Continued Gratitude and mixed feelings

Even on the days when I wake up groggy from disturbing dreams, carrying some hidden anxieties or fears under paper-thin skin, I walk down the street and I feel lucky. It's a visceral thing, as real as the pain, but it's warm and solid and strong. I don't have to work for it as much as I used to, and it's not ringing hollow like a pithy bit of advice that people seem to sling about out of the discomfort of not knowing what to say.

I am grateful for this love I never thought I would have, from my wife and friends. I am so very grateful for this beautiful child that will be my expensive and exhausting charge for the rest of my life. I don't have any horrible illnesses, although I have some aches and pains that come from aging (and not stretching enough). My job is intellectually satisfying, even though it will not pay the bills if my wife does not get a new job by the end of next summer. I feel cared for and regarded as special by my wife and friends but sometimes these relationships take more work and energy than I want to expend.

I think the key to the gratitude is its coexistence with the crap, which for years I tried to run away from or numb or deny. Feeling all of it right now, thankful I remember to breathe, stand up straight, walk tall, eat my vegetables, and have patience. Truthfully, sometimes I have to force that through clenched teeth, but it generally seems to be some sort of autonomic response.

If I can only manage a whole night's sleep without feeling so unrested. I suppose it's normal to feel sad or stressed with all that's going on, maybe I have a tight cap on everything in order to get through the day and make things happen. Maybe being grateful and seeing the darkness is not enough. I don't have a lot of room here for my feelings and there isn't someone to take care of me anymore since my mom died. It could be I just need a little vacation but I'm not so sure. I think that's a cop-out.

I am worried about my brother, continually mourning my mother, missing my guitar and record collection that's stored in my father's house, wanting to make art, concerned about my wife's job situation, scared that I might not get the raise/promotion I need to move up and on and help support my family, mostly hate my body, feel distant from my friends and need my temporary injuries to heal so I can exercise again.  None of that is going to go away if I just have a vacation.

Maybe my gratitude is a side-effect of my realization that all of these things are just simply what is going on and just recognizing that there's only so much I can do about it all right now. Soon I'll figure out how to get my stuff from my father's house without having too much discomfort at dealing with that relationship. Maybe I can even get a record player and listen to the music. Practice on my guitar and finally learn how to play it properly (or at least double my repertoire to six songs). Do the art. Time takes care of the other things, the not under my control things. I guess. Still kind of sad this morning. Time to walk down the street and feel lucky again.

Randomness

Alright I hate it that my father is my Facebook friend. I didn't answer his email about him wanting to engage me in conversation and now he has resorted to commenting on absolutely everything that I post on Facebook. I know I'm going to have to send him something soon - aside from saving my wife from his chat requests, it would be the mature thing to do. And may pave the way for movement towards a better relationship.

Sometimes I think I just get really angry that I am the one who has to be the grown-up here and rebel by being stubborn and intractable. And even as I pause to question myself, search for another perspective to ensure that the story isn't stuck, I cannot find a situation where I felt that he was managing our boundaries or putting my feelings first. I feel mean and heartless sometimes, like there's this sad puppy who wants to play and I have to work in silence without distraction. Poor guy just wants to know everything's okay, needs some attention, wants to endlessly process his feelings about something deeply personal and painful to me without understanding the effect of his words. Deep breath.

Yeah, I'm not ready to talk to my father again, yet. But when I do, I intend to at least try to say I will not discuss anything regarding his feelings about my transition. Ever. If he needs some support he is going to have to join a group or get a therapist. And I don't want to process his faults re: fatherhood anymore. It keeps both of us victims and that is a bad orientation for our relationship. If he agrees to leave these topics behind, I may be able to have a limited trial relationship again.

Johnny, Are you Queer?

It's been a couple of days since I posted; yesterday I was super hungover. It was nice to go out and blow off some steam with some good friends and yesterday I just stayed on the couch and watched Dr. Who reruns all day. One of my favorite things to do in the whole world.

We started off the night at a gay bar - one that I used to hang out in when I was a dyke. It was fun to be there but slightly weird. I used to go there with my softball team on Sundays after games. That should fill your head with pictures.

All the girls and boys first thought I was a gay man, then perhaps a straight man. I have been told by my wife that I get extra gay when I'm hanging out with the 'family'. Oh yes I do. Flame on, as they say. But it would be nice if there was a secret handshake or a signal I could flash to be obviously trans. I know it's convenient to want to be seen as queer in some places and straight in others - that is a luxury and a privilege that I cannot but take in with each breath. As complex and storied as my identity, the divergent needs of my public/private self causes me no small amount of consternation and discomfort. I have decided to live without guilt, however, as much as I can, and being myself with my own needs is a hard-won victory.

Earlier in the week, my wife and I went to a queer prospective/to-be parents support group type function. There were a few gay men there, looking for lesbians to perhaps act as surrogates. The first guy seemingly never heard of FTMs, or most certainly never met anyone FTM, and said some awkward and really rude things. I think he was borderline or something. The second guy I spoke to started the conversation asking how I got hooked up with my wife, assuming she was my surrogate. It was another awkward coming-out conversation but he was more embarrassed than rude.

I'm realizing that I spend a lot of time in queer spaces thinking about whether people read me as queer and if they get me as trans. Maybe I spend too much energy on thinking about how I'm perceived.

We capped off the night, by the way, at a karaoke bar, where we rented a room for a couple of hours and sang Eminem, Depeche Mode and Journey. Talk about gay.

Power of community

I have been lucky enough to surround myself with some amazing people; giving, intelligent, creative, not bad to look at, and adequately strange. I didn't have a group of friends until I went to college. The prevailing theory is that someone circulated a memo when I was in first grade and everyone said "not it" before me. By the time I was circulated around to other groups of children years later, the weird stuck on me so I spent a lot of time alone.

I had one other weirdo friend when I was in junior high school, but all of the things we had in common could not combat one or two barriers to real friendship. Going to different high schools might as well be different universes, and she started hanging out with a girl who could have been the token 14 yr old alcoholic on a Degrassi episode. I was very much against drugs and alcohol (my response was, "I'm weird enough I don't need to drink") which may have been one bonus to growing up with alcoholics and drug addicts. But the thing that really broke us apart is that she is a racist. We would have epic arguments where she insisted that black people were more dangerous than white people, and I would berate her for dating guys who wore swastika belt buckles and point out how dangerous white people can be. Sadly, she was taught to be racist by her mother, who was a high school typing teacher in the Bronx. So that means hundreds, if not thousands of black and latino kids had to not only suffer through typing class, but with a racist white lady seething as she guided their fingers over the keys.

My first friend group was not ideal, but could have been worse. They were idealists, artists, writers, and anarchists - a little self-righteous, well-read-poor-kid-that-got-out-of-the-neighborhood, but in the end, more independent film and New York Times than scrappy street urchin. I had fun with them, learned how to hold my tequila and bong hits, saw lots of live music and talked until dawn about dead philosophers. I was still the weird kid with them though. They made fun of me to my face: how I walked, that I was Jewish, I couldn't possibly be smart enough or cool enough, my poetry was bad... If I had any self-esteem I would have found another group of friends, but, things being as they were I was pretty lucky. I could have fallen into a crowd that was into heroin or something. I was sleeping with this guy who was part of the group, but he didn't want anyone else to know, and that felt pretty horrible. But I didn't even catch a cold from him or any of the other guys I slept with.

The group after that was awesome, though, and I'm still friends with a lot of those people. I came out around 21 and had a nice dyke community around me. We also talked until dawn about politics and philosophy but they were loving and supportive. And we were all weirdos and didn't turn against another, which I think is a nice part of the queer community. Well, for the most part. People are still a-holes sometimes but I have more faith in some circles than others. I should mention that I'm nearly 40 years old so it's been a couple of lifetimes since then.

After moving cross-country a couple of times and going to grad school I feel like I have a couple of disparate friend groups scattered about and nobody who lives in my neighborhood. I ache for the ability to text a friend and walk a couple of blocks to his house. Pop out for one beer at the neighborhood bar and go home less than an hour later. Run into a friend on the street. Everyone is so busy, without having the proximity I have to make plans days and weeks in advance to see people. Some friends, who I love dearly, I see them months apart. My friends have kept me going and I feel so loved and supported. But I'm often lonely, too. Maybe that's normal when someone gets married and starts a family - it's just a matter of time and priorities cleaving off chunks of community. Maybe the apex of it all was the wedding and after that it's all downhill, so to speak.
That's making sense to me but it's sort of depressing. I think I just need a best friend, someone I talk to every day or couple of days just to say hi. I think I had that more when I was a dyke too, maybe men just don't get those? Not sure how it all works, really. The gender thing and friendship is a whole other blog entry.

Work and life and balance

For so many years I was not working in a professional/corporate setting - now that I get to wear a suit and tie every day I'm really happy. I think I was in the wrong corporate uniform (read: women's clothing) and I wasn't really emotionally or psychologically ready to play nice with others. A skill which you need, in spades, when you get in these places.
Now I've been to enough therapy and have a masters degree so I feel like I've had the experiences I've needed - and now that I get to collect fun ties (no cartoon characters - just fashionable) the character that is my work self is complete.
Except now that my wife was laid off and we're having a baby I feel sort of powerless - at the mercy of the workplace. It may be imagined, but I worry about setting boundaries or asking for things now that I need the job a heck of a lot more than it will ever need me. It's a primal thing, I think. I'd like to say that I am secure in my abilities enough but I'm dealing with personalities, not hard facts or data. That's the trick in offices, isn't it.
I think I also feel extra vulnerable because it is my first office job since getting out of grad school, and after transitioning. I've got to make sure I don't get too anxious - nobody likes a worry wart and I need to present as strong and confident or they'll see my doubt as weakness. It may be that I think about appearances vs. reality a lot but it may be something I've learned in order to survive. Hard to tell.
At least until the baby is born I'll be able to work late without any real ramifications - even though my wife may get mad at me sometimes. Turns out she likes spending time with me.
If I get to where I want to go in this career it won't be too big a problem and I'll be able to draw boundaries with a little more juice behind my decisions. I think for now it's all about getting along. It's a good think I don't take a lot personally and I can swallow my pride - otherwise this would not work out. It aches sometimes - wanting to do so much for my little family and wondering how I'm going to make all these dreams come true. It's a blessing to have something to fight for (rather than against) and with that I get ready for another day.

Other administrative nightmares

Yesterday's post made me think of other administrative issues that are irksome, not the least of which is a problem I'm having getting life insurance. I actually didn't think it would be an issue but it seems that they found a prescription in my name somewhere and then got some information from my doctor's office and for a mysterious reason have denied my application. Because of HIPAA they won't tell me what the issue is - which is weird because I thought HIPAA protected me from unauthorized people knowing about my business. I did, in fact, sign a waiver that gave the insurance company access to my medical records, but I did not think that there would be an issue.

So now I'm finding it necessary to go to my therapist and my doctor and have them write letters to the insurance company stating that I am not a life insurance risk. I can only guess that I'm being denied because I'm trans, but since there's nothing else on my records it really can't be anything else. If the letters don't work, then I'm going to have to get a lawyer, which costs money. I'd really rather not have to go there. But I don't really have a choice - I would like to be insured so that my wife and child get something if I am not around anymore to help support them. 

I would like to be more angry about this than I am and wonder if I'm not playing magical denial games in my head. Right now, I'm just annoyed that I have to spend energy on this when I'm feeling so tapped with everything else going on. Maybe it is because all of the other things are so big. Perhaps I'm inured to administrative headaches and/or discrimination. I would like to think that it is because I have a positive outlook and am content with knowing that I'll take care of it one step at a time. 

I'm starting to wonder if there's ever going to be a time when I don't have to deal with these issues, but I guess it would have to be when people like me aren't seen as freaks of nature, or worse. Some nights I'm just so tired of it all - I feel like my life is one big workaround. Resiliency is a great gift but I think I can be grateful and still want a vacation from it all. 

I didn't get to feel the baby kick today. Maybe tomorrow. It always makes me smile.

Daddy-brain

Okay so they say that expectant mothers can be forgetful at times due to resource allocation issues in their bodies. I wonder if it's catching? Yesterday, I was all ready to get our considerable amount of crap to storage (we seasonally store our stuff due to space constraints) and I could not, for the life of me, find the storage key. I literally turned the apartment upside-down, taking the opportunity to vacuum as I went. No time like the present for mulit-tasking.
So I had to go to the storage unit to get a new electronic card entry key thingy. The big stress-out of all that is that my former name is on the lease agreement. It gets tiring to update everyone when the paperwork is settled and I think there are one or two places I still have to go and deal with the name change. It gets to a point where you just don't feel like administratively coming out anymore.
Then I had to tear up a different part of the apartment looking for an old ID that would work. In the meantime I tore the calf muscle in my left leg rather badly. Which is a bummer because I just started running again after another unrelated injury was healed. Just got into the groove of going to the gym every morning before work.
After all of that, I went to storage, and they didn't ask for ID at all. Not once. Just gave me an electronic card key when I presented them with the account number. Even charged the cardholder on the account for the extra key. Seems like a ridiculous hole in security was in my favor, but I am considering moving to a different storage facility after that. Really? Just a number? The queen's jewels will not be safe there, I'm afraid.
The best part is that I got home, the same parking spot was empty, as if to say "I was waiting for you to come home," and my wife had made an awesome dinner.
Sometimes the stress of the little things gets squashed by the beneficence of the universe. Just sometimes. But I appreciate it all the same.

In the beginning

My wife is six months pregnant and I am starting to be able to feel the baby move around when I touch the lower part of her belly. I cannot describe how wonderful it feels, and each day I love my wife and child more and more. It's going to be a very quick (ack) less than four months until the baby is born - and we have a lot of work to do.

Our one-bedroom apartment needs a makeover and the storage unit is going to be filled to the ceiling, I'm afraid. On top of getting ready for the baby, my brother is in the process of selling the house we grew up in and I'm going to have to go and retrieve whatever of our late mother's possessions that I want to keep, and my own, very soon. It's a big tragedy that he lost the house (the mortgage is 2 damn high) and it's going to be sad to say goodbye to the physical memory of the space my mother inhabited. There will be no place left, after the house is sold, where I can stand and say, 'I breathed air here with my mother,' or 'I can remember her sitting just there and saying...'  It is going to be equally difficult to go through her things again, this time with a need to reduce her life to one or two boxes, as well as her parents and family (who are also all dead). 

I suppose I wouldn't be as stressed out right now if my wife wasn't unexpectedly laid off last week from her job of six years. There is no way anyone is hiring a visibly pregnant woman in this or any other economy, and there is also no way that my salary will be able to support us on its own. First things first, though. I may not be able to make anything better, but I need to be there for my wife emotionally as she goes through all that is involved with getting laid off. I went through all of that after 9/11 so at least I have experience. It's difficult to translate the sense of injustice and powerlessness and fatigue. On top of all of that, the hormonal fluctuations and moodiness that come with pregnancy is proving challenging for her. She's doing a lot better than many might, but that doesn't mean it's not a struggle, for sure.