Restless Musings

She pulled up to the drive-thru window, a middle aged woman, the sort my mother would probably call “eccentric.” She was probably a hippie in her youth. We got to chatting while we waited for her drink.

“Any exciting plans for the evening?” I asked.

“Dancing,” she said with a quiet smile. “He takes me dancing. And he likes to read. And go for walks. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“It certainly is,” I said, handing out her drink.

“May you find someone so special.”

“I have someone that special, as a matter of fact.”

“Well, then,” she said, raising her soy latte in salute, “here’s to you.”

I am not a lady.

I maybe used to be. At least I used to act the part. I think I wanted to be a lady for a while. I think I thought everything would be okay if I could just figure out how to fit what society expected to go along with my given anatomy.

But I am not a lady.

This is not to say that I want to be a man, although sometimes I think I would fit more easily into that box.

It does not mean that I hate my body. I actually rather like my body. I’ve learned to appreciate it, which I never expected to be able to say. But I dislike the societal expectations that come with this particular anatomical configuration.

Gentleman, now there is a label with which I can identify. I know how to play that role. I know how to look the part. I know how to hold open doors and pick up tabs and tie my own tie and wear cufflinks and offer compliments and always be prepared with a pocket knife in my front pocket and a handkerchief in the back.

The “F” on my ID and the body hidden under a binder and baggy jeans and a button down and a tie do not make me a lady.

My heart and my brain make me a gentleman. Or at least a gentlequeer. I get to define my gender; you do not. Please stop putting me into your well-intentioned boxes. I’m never going to fit, anyway.

I love when I find a knitting project that I can’t put down. Between using my favorite yarn and the mathematical wonderfulness that is Stephen West’s Clockwork, I am totally taken with this project. I’m excited for it to be done, but I’ll be sad, too. It’s just so much fun!

I don’t spend enough time at Dunn Bros anymore. I like this place. Even when I think I’ve found a quiet corner and it gets invaded by a bunch of other people.

New friends are exciting.

I am maybe a little too exuberant when I make new friends. Sometimes I wonder why people put up with me.

I really appreciate the gorgeous femmes in my life. They bring out certain gentlemanly parts of me that don’t otherwise get to shine very often.

I am ridiculously lucky. I have a partner with whom I am absolutely in love, wonderful friends, a family made up of more than the people I’m related to by blood, and two jobs that let me live quite comfortably (even if the one that pays the bills makes me want to run away screaming most days).

If that wasn’t enough, I get to be part of an incredible show. Something I wrote is going to be heard by other people. I get to watch something I helped to create touch the lives of other people. How cool is that?

I love that music is becoming a somewhat more regular part of my life again. I let that go for too long. I’m still not making music as often as I should, but it’s happening.

I am really proud of my ability to create safe space for people. I wonder if I can turn that into a career someday without going into something that will totally burn me out.

A strange thing has happened in the last year. I have become…an emotional person.

I never used to be the sort of person who cried easily. Or ever, really. I excelled at bottling my emotions, with few exceptions.

I have a theory as to why this has changed. While it is probably due in part to the fact that 2011 was just a really emotional year (particularly between my grandpa dying and Dragon leaving for Russia), I think the reason is deeper than that. I think it has less to do with my circumstances and more to do with…well, me.

As you know if you’ve been following this blog at all, this past year has involved a lot of intense self-discovery. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I am, quite simply, me, and no one else. Getting in touch with myself has, in part, meant getting in touch with my emotions. I am getting very bad at being dishonest about who I am, and that includes how I’m feeling. (Thankfully, I am still really good at concealing panic attacks. Not that those happen very often, but I don’t think I could handle going public with them.)

In some ways, it’s been a rough transition to the world of open emotion. My ability to hold back tears was a surprisingly large part of my identity, and it’s been hard to let that go.

On the other hand, to go back into hiding is unthinkable.

So I cry a lot, now. (Seriously, I cry a lot, now.) But I laugh more, too. In general I am happier and healthier and more whole than I have ever been, and really, that’s what matters.