I climbed into bed, the cool cotton sheets comforting my aching feet, I switched the light out leaving the curtains open a foot or two. It shone bright through the window with a cold dusting of light with a hint of blue barely adding brightness to the room and an amber street lamp leaving a cross silhouette of the window frame on the bedroom door.
I looked at that bright disc in the sky from the comfort of my bed. I thought how anyone on the dark side of the earth could be looking at the moon at this same time. Having similar thoughts on the upper thoughts of life. May be even having the exact same thoughts. Those times when I think about our place in life, above all the daily nonsense of work, culture, arguments, disagreements, laughter, shopping – club card points in a female name, above all that and how we’re just on some rock under a thin layer of air as a tiny spec in the wholeness of space. With all that, how can a gender problem be so big for me. How can it be almost the size of contemplation of the big question, why?
Yet despite trying to work out the meaning behind everything beyond the stupidity of such things as culture, politics and war that is at it’s height on the news, another thought interrupts as I notice the bright reflection on the moon is being distorted – ‘I really must clean those finger print smudges off the window, it looks terrible.’
May be that’s the answer. We’re all consumed by both the problems of everyday life, no matter how small or insignificant, and that of our place in the universe and what might be beyond it. Or may be the domestic annoyances keep us distracted from the unanswerable questions and that includes something quite so insignificant as changing outward gender, at least it should be insignificant but it just isn’t. Certainly not for me. The thing is I have to live with other people who treat me depending on who I am and how it affects them. The universe doesn’t. It just exists and allows me to exist within it. If I look up at the stars tonight, pretty much every star I saw the night before is likely to still be there. It doesn’t care who or what I am.
Tomorrow might just be another day but it’ll be another day of living half the person I want to be and yet I know that it doesn’t matter how much I look at the stars and everything beyond the insignificant, and know for a fact that life is too short to worry about something so infinitesimally small as changing gender, I still don’t want to disappoint my family or allow them some embarrassment. Then again who am I to be so arrogant to think I know how those people will react or feel. It’s a gamble. It’s that fourteen million to one lottery ticket. A pound in a crappy fruit machine. At least that’s how it feels to me at times but when looked at with a level clear head and putting aside my anxieties, in the near day light of that full moon, the odds really aren’t that big a gamble. Surely the one gamble worth fearing is whether living without sorting myself out is one not worth taking. A bad decision by indecision. I closed the curtains.
– ♥ –
I laid on a blanket on the grass. A cup of Darjeeling tea in an equally delicate bone china cup propped in the grass on multiple stacked coasters balanced against the lay of the ground. My Kindle in one hand while trying to angle myself to the sun so at least both my shoulders would get an equal share. The sun slightly burning my skin and the slight coolness in the light September breeze acting as a lie of an antidote. Despite being content there was a hint of sadness that I’m still not sharing the whole of story of myself with those that matter.
But even so this sadness is a key indication that what and who I think I am is right after all. Like atoms hitting atoms or the undetectable movement of the sun in an instant the answers are in the observation of the affects. If it makes me sad – it must be so. It makes me happy; what more do I need to be sure this is right for me. Months of therapy with a psychologist gave me the tools to figure it out, the ability to cope and the space to discuss it. Even so every day occupying my time, such as laying on the lawn and reading a book and my mind wandering over the gender thing, is enough of a sign that this is right; possibly more so than someone telling me. Even if the scientists and doctors found the exact reason for a conflict in gender identity it would still probably be more telling by my own actions and what I feel is the real unanimous decision of what I should be.
For the umpteenth time I reread the same paragraph again taking in a deep breath and trying to find some kind of utopian position that would both allow me to read the book in comfort and catch enough sun so I wouldn’t at least be half baked. There were a few times when I just laid back with my head on the pillows, closed my eyes, and just felt the sun caress and the air creep inside my lungs and work its way through my hair. All my gender hangups disappeared and I just enjoyed being me, my obvious clothes to my painted nails. Will I have doubts ever again? Of course.
Until next time.