Thing can get hairy, become overgrown gorillas and need a really long, long shave to cleanse them. Step in the shower and wash it all away.
I had such a time, not as a gorilla literally but as a fractured soul looking for answers. I think I found some.
The thing about an issue is it can seem so clear cut, so black and white and you discover it's far from it. I suspect gender was put on this earth to raise the intellectual bar of those who don't feel like they are one or the other. Perhaps this explains why so many friends are so intellectually gifted. Tough company to be a member of this kind of clan.
Some of what a journey discovered has done is woken me up to the idea of a fluidity of gender. Gender is not a this-side-or-the-other but a rainbow of colors streaming from a seemingly colorless source. We can try as we like to find holes, like Swiss cheese, to defeat these arguments, but mostly they end up self-defeating us. We feel bad, we decry the harsh inhumanity of it all and we try to shift gears and change lanes to give some different perspective to things.
Fluid like a river; it weaves and courses, past rocks, limbs, crags and pools. Insects sometimes dance lazily across its surface, sometimes fish swim beneath its depths. Parts are dark and a mystery where pressure can be overwhelming. Sometimes the fluid is warm, sunny and inviting. Other times it is merciless in its cruelty.
So for a while, I have been struggling to come to grips with the term fluidity. Not in the sense of the mathematics and physics of fluid dynamics, but in the aspect of gender and sexuality. Those steps opened my eyes more. I started to question if I was self-defeating my own discourse by 'owning' the term transgender but not really being trans at all. Well, partially trans. In some aspects. Darn, that fluid is getting muddy.
Not to stir up the waters but this hasn't exactly been a new development. Early memories (when I was conscious I was 'different', which happened a lot later than most of y'all) of the 'birth' of Samantha were that she was a lesbian, wore her hair short many times and was not the most 'feminine' of girls. In other words, at the outset Samantha was someone else, a fantasy projection onto a surreal world I was not to be part of. But: Samantha was fluid.
Had I known then what I am beginning to realize now, the gender rainbow was greatly different. I thought I could live through a fantasy universe the part of a girl who is:
a) popular
b) could connect with the ladies, and
c) is attractive and exciting.
The aspects of my life that were missing and vacant. I sought the feminine to make myself look and feel better. It gave me acceptance and assurance of my place in a universe fraught with uncertainty.
As Samantha 'grew' she began to change her appearance. Outwardly and inwardly. She became less of a rationale of immediate pleasure-needs and more of a blend of a different personality with what I thought was 'mine'. *I* wasn't the fantasy, *she* was. Wait, maybe she wasn't. Of course she was! But she thinks like *I* think (head shaking...head shaking...). Again we cross the term fluid in our thoughts.
Charlie Brown used to be "wishy-washy" and perhaps this was me. I was so geared up to separate two halves of dissimilar 'fruits' that should never...EVER...be placed together. The two should never be married, nay not even in the same hemisphere. It was always to be a long-distance relationship.
After all, Samantha had a girl's biology and looks while looking the part of a hormonal youth looking to self-pleasure to eradicate moments of heightened imagination coupled with utter loneliness. Perhaps Samantha became a 'lesbian' because she wanted nothing to do with me. She was too smart, too classy and too avant-garde to be seen having anything to do with me except as a casual acquaintance - you know, like a regular customer at a store. That sort of casual nod, greet, casual talk about current events and then best wishes and that aspects sails on. The mention of a relationship causes a "Soup Nazi" reaction. NO RELATIONSHIP FOR YOU!! GET AWAY FROM ME YOU THOUGHTLESS CRETIN!
So, Samantha rejected me on a deeper personal level but she was OK with me as a top level 'friend'. I felt less and less like she was my improper behavior partner and more like a friend. And as such I became more comfortable with being Samantha. We discussed personal connection on a deeper level and everything else was me OR her, not us.
So go back to the future and here we are, in the 21st century, still on that avenue. Then things change when I start to learn who Samantha probably is. She's not the outsider looking in, nor the controller looking out, denying access to non-believers. We have things we like, and dislike, about each other, but we are finding unity.
In some ways Samantha remains a lesbian, but with different colors on. She transformed from a person who developed a personality (not like Sybil, understand) that totally rejected the creator to being a merged partner and one who pushes in new directions, one I can attest to makes Samantha more unique. It's like a gay man marrying a woman, having children, denying his secret desire to crush that intolerable act of sexual activity with an opposite sex partner and instead focusing on finding a way to be with another man (or woman if we discuss lesbians instead) secretly, fulfilling a life's passionate needs.
Samantha has passionate needs as well, and has spent a long time going against the grain, like someone cutting hair very short. I fear we sometimes spend too much time in that imaginary "barber's chair", cutting off the reality and hoping for something new to grow into place. After a while the same situation repeats itself and perhaps you opt to go shorter, hoping to hide for longer and longer the outcome. Perhaps you decide to shave everything off - the stark and harsh reality will offset the natural perplexity of the situation. But after the cape comes off and time settles on its remorseless course once again, it is a question of when does the re-growth start to work its way out of your brain and into your mind. The escape seems implausible and you usually must find a way to deal with your identity. Just the same as you must learn to come to grips with your perceived 'style'.
So, my "style" is developing...evolving for lack of a better word into the truth I see in myself. Yes, Samantha wants to hold and love that special someone, it's just that her needs and presentations have changed since the first days of 'coming out' - where the thought of being with another was alien and I was deranged, to today where others are like me and sometimes struggle, sometimes accept and all the time share the same dreams and aspirations.
I realize I can go on and on... so...
--- TO BE CONTINUED ---
Monday, February 25, 2013
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Different and Yet the Same...
I had come across this a while back and it sort of hit home about a variety of different things:
"I was an average, everyday woman, I loved wearing dresses and styling my hair. I had complete confidence, even if I was not the most attractive model walking down the runway. I felt complete.
"I got married when I was 23 to a man I thought would fulfill my dreams. I sighed every moment we were apart and I moaned every moment we were together. I figured life was complete, we would have children and I would raise them, my husband would come home and make love to me after dinner and we would we...in essence one word... WHOLE.
"It wasn't to be. After a couple of years being what I thought as 'happily married', I found out we weren't. Then it got confusing.
"I first figured, like many women I am sure, I was the fault. I wasn't loving enough. I tried to please my husband and I found more and more often I was faking orgasms to get him to feel OK about himself. I found myself feeling empty doing this but I wanted to be a wife who made her husband feel complete.
"One day I couldn't fake it any longer and I started to seek avenues to feel complete. I was a woman with urges and my husband wasn't giving them to me. I tried to discuss it with him but he didn't seem to get it. I was a woman alone.
"I found a few sites to experiment and soon I found another man, a man who I figured could sate my desires while remaining a distant partner. A man who would love the interaction...the sex...we shared and let me return to my life. But the hollowness continued, compounded by the fact I had been unfaithful. Now it was a door slammed in my face when I had hoped it would open up and let me fly to freedom.
"Now, after months of having an illicit affair, I felt the cold rush of having to tell my husband. I swallowed a lot of emotional bile and one night I said I had been having sex with another man. I cried, cried, cried!! I was a wreck. My husband was angry and walked away when I wanted to cuddle him and tell him it would never, ever happen again! I was distraught!
"But these things come with a price and my husband told me that he would make an ultimatum with me. I could get my hair cut very short, in a style he picked; or I could get my nose pierced with a chain to my ear and a tattoo on my chest affirming him and I forever, or else he would seek divorce. He knew lawyers so I knew I would never get much, the thought of a piercing, while I initially thought it was exciting, started to fill me with dread. I wasn't big on the idea of the tattoo. I couldn't hide anything I picked. So I had only one option left.
"Having decided, my husband took me to a friend who of his who was a barber and told him to give me a boy's flattop. I was swallowing real bile as he ran the cutters over my long hair, shearing it away! I cried and sobbed, desperate to wake from this nightmare, but it was of my own doing. I sat alone and without a friend, a woman stripped of even her dignity. I was an object of ridicule and emotional despair.
"My husband told me I could keep it like this, having it trimmed every week, if I would not try to hide it. No hats, headscarves, or anything like that. Otherwise, it was to the tattoo parlor with me and a piercing as well. I meekly obeyed and nodded. I would keep myself this way, every week getting a trim to keep up appearances. Men looked at me oddly and women seemed aghast, seeing a mans haircut on a woman's frame. It was shocking for them, it SURE was shocking for me!
"Sooner or later the shock wore off and I was left standing on the shore of what was I to do? I wanted to keep my husband, but the weekly trims had me feeling so humiliated. So I sat, many times, crying and weeping away my unfortunate mistakes. But my husband never relented, I could grow my hair out if I got a piercing and tattoo. I had the choice. After all, I was the one screwed up.
"After almost a year of distance and little romance, my husband came home after I had a fresh haircut and said he was done with the charade. It turns out he was in love with another man and I had never satisfied him. I was shocked. I had followed his discipline to the letter and I gave up my dignity for the chance to make things right, then he returns home and tells me he can't do this... he has had another man and he likes it. I am not fulfilling his needs.
"I cried for a long time, figuring my unfaithfulness had something to do with this, my punishment was not enough. What could I do to repair this? Did I need to attend the academy of acting like a man and get a sex change? Did I need to walk and talk like one of the boys? Was I supposed to shed the outside and act like the gender my husband preferred?
"As I talked to my best friend Cherise, I came to see her side of things. Her husband had left her for another man as mine had, then she felt she needed a new man to satisfy her. She found a handsome black man who was 'well-endowed' but he started to get more distant to her too. The sex was less and less. They experimented for a little bit to try and get things going again, but it was short lived. So she cried, alone, not knowing why he spent so much time away from her and being with 'the boys'. He was growing apart from her as her husband had done. And for the same reasons, he liked other men too.
"So, Cherise and I spent more and more time talking and comforting one another, and one thing led to another. I still had that short boy's flattop, hoping my husband would change his mind, but it never happened. He was set in his ways and one day, in a fit of emotional despair, Cherise and I gave into our emotions. I felt like I had ruptured my soul and my body... but it felt SO GOOD!!
"I had tried to walk a walk I was not really prepared for, so I went against my emotions and lifted myself to a different plane. But I was lying to myself, I was now in love with another woman and she with me. My husband had also been living a lie and Cherise's husband had as well. The circle was finally closing despite the tumultuous turbulence we had lived through. I was becoming whole and so was my (now ex) husband and Cherise's too.
"We finally settled on an amicable breakup, my husband moving in with the man he had always dreamed of being with; and me, I settled my external affairs and moved in with Cherise. We got everything in order and were married a few months later. I still kept my hair extremely short to remind me, although a human failing, I had once been unfaithful to the one I thought I loved. Now I knew who I loved and I was determined to keep it strong, so my hair remained extremely short and cut like a boy's. I smile when Cherise tells me how cute I look - she does that almost every day!
"The moral, I guess if you're looking for one, is to remain faithful to yourself and stop pretending to be someone you aren't. Affirm yourself and your own goals. Be complete for who else will tell you that you can't be? Every week I settle into the barber's chair for another trim, no longer afraid, no longer forced, but dedicated none the less. I smile as my hair is cut and the smile reaches into my very soul. And every night, when I get home, Cherise and I kiss and snuggle over a little wine and dinner and I imagine my ex-husband is doing the same with his man. We finally gave up the childish need to 'act the part' and were now just normal people. We gave up being fake and started being real. We gave up the toys and started acting like adults. We stopped being robots acting the way society expects us to, and started acting like people, madly in love and acting the way nature gave us!
"In short, now I have found happiness and so has my new wife, she and I share so much love and emotion. We share a bond that will not be destroyed. My infidelity is cured and her need for a loving partner is too. I willingly sit in the chair for my haircut to this day, and she never fails to compliment me. That is the true meaning of love!!"
Truly wonderful!! Be yourself, people, and let the world evolve around you!! :)
"I was an average, everyday woman, I loved wearing dresses and styling my hair. I had complete confidence, even if I was not the most attractive model walking down the runway. I felt complete.
"I got married when I was 23 to a man I thought would fulfill my dreams. I sighed every moment we were apart and I moaned every moment we were together. I figured life was complete, we would have children and I would raise them, my husband would come home and make love to me after dinner and we would we...in essence one word... WHOLE.
"It wasn't to be. After a couple of years being what I thought as 'happily married', I found out we weren't. Then it got confusing.
"I first figured, like many women I am sure, I was the fault. I wasn't loving enough. I tried to please my husband and I found more and more often I was faking orgasms to get him to feel OK about himself. I found myself feeling empty doing this but I wanted to be a wife who made her husband feel complete.
"One day I couldn't fake it any longer and I started to seek avenues to feel complete. I was a woman with urges and my husband wasn't giving them to me. I tried to discuss it with him but he didn't seem to get it. I was a woman alone.
"I found a few sites to experiment and soon I found another man, a man who I figured could sate my desires while remaining a distant partner. A man who would love the interaction...the sex...we shared and let me return to my life. But the hollowness continued, compounded by the fact I had been unfaithful. Now it was a door slammed in my face when I had hoped it would open up and let me fly to freedom.
"Now, after months of having an illicit affair, I felt the cold rush of having to tell my husband. I swallowed a lot of emotional bile and one night I said I had been having sex with another man. I cried, cried, cried!! I was a wreck. My husband was angry and walked away when I wanted to cuddle him and tell him it would never, ever happen again! I was distraught!
"But these things come with a price and my husband told me that he would make an ultimatum with me. I could get my hair cut very short, in a style he picked; or I could get my nose pierced with a chain to my ear and a tattoo on my chest affirming him and I forever, or else he would seek divorce. He knew lawyers so I knew I would never get much, the thought of a piercing, while I initially thought it was exciting, started to fill me with dread. I wasn't big on the idea of the tattoo. I couldn't hide anything I picked. So I had only one option left.
"Having decided, my husband took me to a friend who of his who was a barber and told him to give me a boy's flattop. I was swallowing real bile as he ran the cutters over my long hair, shearing it away! I cried and sobbed, desperate to wake from this nightmare, but it was of my own doing. I sat alone and without a friend, a woman stripped of even her dignity. I was an object of ridicule and emotional despair.
"My husband told me I could keep it like this, having it trimmed every week, if I would not try to hide it. No hats, headscarves, or anything like that. Otherwise, it was to the tattoo parlor with me and a piercing as well. I meekly obeyed and nodded. I would keep myself this way, every week getting a trim to keep up appearances. Men looked at me oddly and women seemed aghast, seeing a mans haircut on a woman's frame. It was shocking for them, it SURE was shocking for me!
"Sooner or later the shock wore off and I was left standing on the shore of what was I to do? I wanted to keep my husband, but the weekly trims had me feeling so humiliated. So I sat, many times, crying and weeping away my unfortunate mistakes. But my husband never relented, I could grow my hair out if I got a piercing and tattoo. I had the choice. After all, I was the one screwed up.
"After almost a year of distance and little romance, my husband came home after I had a fresh haircut and said he was done with the charade. It turns out he was in love with another man and I had never satisfied him. I was shocked. I had followed his discipline to the letter and I gave up my dignity for the chance to make things right, then he returns home and tells me he can't do this... he has had another man and he likes it. I am not fulfilling his needs.
"I cried for a long time, figuring my unfaithfulness had something to do with this, my punishment was not enough. What could I do to repair this? Did I need to attend the academy of acting like a man and get a sex change? Did I need to walk and talk like one of the boys? Was I supposed to shed the outside and act like the gender my husband preferred?
"As I talked to my best friend Cherise, I came to see her side of things. Her husband had left her for another man as mine had, then she felt she needed a new man to satisfy her. She found a handsome black man who was 'well-endowed' but he started to get more distant to her too. The sex was less and less. They experimented for a little bit to try and get things going again, but it was short lived. So she cried, alone, not knowing why he spent so much time away from her and being with 'the boys'. He was growing apart from her as her husband had done. And for the same reasons, he liked other men too.
"So, Cherise and I spent more and more time talking and comforting one another, and one thing led to another. I still had that short boy's flattop, hoping my husband would change his mind, but it never happened. He was set in his ways and one day, in a fit of emotional despair, Cherise and I gave into our emotions. I felt like I had ruptured my soul and my body... but it felt SO GOOD!!
"I had tried to walk a walk I was not really prepared for, so I went against my emotions and lifted myself to a different plane. But I was lying to myself, I was now in love with another woman and she with me. My husband had also been living a lie and Cherise's husband had as well. The circle was finally closing despite the tumultuous turbulence we had lived through. I was becoming whole and so was my (now ex) husband and Cherise's too.
"We finally settled on an amicable breakup, my husband moving in with the man he had always dreamed of being with; and me, I settled my external affairs and moved in with Cherise. We got everything in order and were married a few months later. I still kept my hair extremely short to remind me, although a human failing, I had once been unfaithful to the one I thought I loved. Now I knew who I loved and I was determined to keep it strong, so my hair remained extremely short and cut like a boy's. I smile when Cherise tells me how cute I look - she does that almost every day!
"The moral, I guess if you're looking for one, is to remain faithful to yourself and stop pretending to be someone you aren't. Affirm yourself and your own goals. Be complete for who else will tell you that you can't be? Every week I settle into the barber's chair for another trim, no longer afraid, no longer forced, but dedicated none the less. I smile as my hair is cut and the smile reaches into my very soul. And every night, when I get home, Cherise and I kiss and snuggle over a little wine and dinner and I imagine my ex-husband is doing the same with his man. We finally gave up the childish need to 'act the part' and were now just normal people. We gave up being fake and started being real. We gave up the toys and started acting like adults. We stopped being robots acting the way society expects us to, and started acting like people, madly in love and acting the way nature gave us!
"In short, now I have found happiness and so has my new wife, she and I share so much love and emotion. We share a bond that will not be destroyed. My infidelity is cured and her need for a loving partner is too. I willingly sit in the chair for my haircut to this day, and she never fails to compliment me. That is the true meaning of love!!"
Truly wonderful!! Be yourself, people, and let the world evolve around you!! :)
Thursday, July 19, 2012
"I've Always Wanted to Get My Hands on One of These!"
In, around, late 1966 a little known character actor put on women's clothing and played an old washer woman on a popular national TV show, portraying a woman in 1745 when ladies were not, perhaps, as widely admired as they are today. This change may seem commonplace today, but in 1966 it was not. The actor's name was Patrick Troughton and he had just taken over the role after a very successful 3 year run by another actor. He was trying to 'shake the tree' as it were.
Still, appearances like this were few and far between. In fact, it was not until 1973 in a series called 'The Green Death' that another character appeared, in the same series, as female. In this case it was a self-affirmed "all-action man" dressed as a cleaning lady answering to the name of Doris. One of the male thug characters spoke to her and she made a muffled response. She continued of this charade carried on until she caught the eye of a person she wanted to talk to. Then the mystery washed away and the illusion vanished. Pretty soon it was back to "all-action" and the idea that the leading man was dressed up as female vanished. By then, Monty Python had often crossed gender boundaries. In fact Graham Chapman often appeared in 'drag' as a feminine character with some male characteristics, such as playing a policeman. Jon Pertwee who played that 'cleaning lady' clearly had no issue playing a feminine role when the role required him to. It was a different time back then.
Or was it?
After 1973 the co-stars got more notice as being sexual inviting females and the idea disappeared. Perhaps it was because Tom Baker did not ever think of dressing as a woman. His successor played a boyish innocent who might have tried on a female persona when the role changed after 7 years of a curly-haired charismatic alien with an incredibly long 22 foot scarf knitted by an old woman who wasn't told to stop knitting. So Tom was wrapped by a woman's touch. But he never crossed that boundary.
In 1981 his successor had played the boyish prankster Tristan Farnon in the series All Creatures Great and Small. He had a preference for smoking Woodbine cigarettes, womanizing and pulling pints at local pubs. He was rather an abject failure as a veterinary student, but he was entertaining. You could see his playing up a female to shock and joke with his brother's colleague, James Herriot (an amazing author I might add) onto some wild goose chase. Sadly as 1981 emerged, the new character-actor never delved into the part and it remained disticntly male.
In fact until 1999 with the attempted rebirth of the series Dr Who was the boundary to be crossed again. With stars like Rowan Atkinson (Blackadder, Four Weddings and a Funeral, Mr Bean) and Hugh Grant, opposite Jonathan Pryce (best known from the James Bond film Tomorrow Never Dies as the villain) the boundary got ripped down and renewed. At the end the Doctor changes into the lovely and amazing Joanna Lumley. As she eyes her now female body she exclaims as she finds she is female: "Oh! I've Always Wanted to Get My Hands On One of These!!" She rubs her body admiringly.
Joanna apprears in the cult favorite (and I love this series) Absolutely Fabulous. She plays Patsy, a sexually active man-attractor who thinks she is 25 years younger than she is and guzzles martinis like a dehydrated person pulls down cool, fresh water. It's great. In fact the 'daughter', the amazing and VERY pretty Julia Sawalha, is planning to marry Rowan Atkinson's Doctor at the start of Curse of the Fatal Death.
What am I getting at here?
My point is the way Joanna does (for comic effect of course) exudes how her new female body is something she always wanted to 'get her hands on.' For me I often dreamed of being awakened as a woman, like a transformation of Franz Kafka's Metamorphosis. I can recall waking, bitterly disappointed not being a woman from a vivid dream where I was a woman. Later on, I experienced dreams where women would only talk over their shoulders to me and not turn to face me. It was like I was fighting two distinct existence engines, one that knew I should be a woman and the other which shunned the idea. The brain gives often contradictory information.
Of late, I started reading a tale from a friend who shared a somewhat similar experience to me in the terms of shadows you wish were lit, but they remain forever in the gloom. As she shared her experience I felt very similar even though, of course, my life was steering a different course. I was seeing a 'greatest common denominator' as I looked back at my own life.
Years ago, which seems like ages now, I imagined a "reboot" of Dr Who with a woman as the Doctor. I even thought of line changes and then the main character having new outfits. In fact. the 'reworked' 1966 episode The Seeds of Death (I think I had unimaginatively called it The Deadly Seeds) had the Doctor's (female) character flying to the Moon in a rocket. In a prom-style gown. The shadow of my woman was growing longer...
I never understood, at that time, why I was focusing on the idea of the main character as female. I had often had daydreams of being "the Doctor" and saving the Universe from some menace. But when I started to think of the Doctor being a woman did I stop this 'fantasy'? No. In fact it seemed to grow more affirming as I grew.
Imagine an awkward child who has always wanted to get my hands on one of these and slowly waking to realize you wanted to get your hands on yourself. In an esoteric way, but still...
Fast forward many years after I actually *had* danced as female to many admirers on my friend Kristy's cam, I felt that it was coming full circle. The inner girl finally hitched up her skirt and dropped her inhibitions. I had always wanted to get my hands on my inner woman, and here she was dancing and having fun with her new friends.
It's like I "regenerated" and was, though confused, feeling like things were slowly falling into place.
I never want to get my hands OFF of one of these! :-)
It's too special.
Still, appearances like this were few and far between. In fact, it was not until 1973 in a series called 'The Green Death' that another character appeared, in the same series, as female. In this case it was a self-affirmed "all-action man" dressed as a cleaning lady answering to the name of Doris. One of the male thug characters spoke to her and she made a muffled response. She continued of this charade carried on until she caught the eye of a person she wanted to talk to. Then the mystery washed away and the illusion vanished. Pretty soon it was back to "all-action" and the idea that the leading man was dressed up as female vanished. By then, Monty Python had often crossed gender boundaries. In fact Graham Chapman often appeared in 'drag' as a feminine character with some male characteristics, such as playing a policeman. Jon Pertwee who played that 'cleaning lady' clearly had no issue playing a feminine role when the role required him to. It was a different time back then.
Or was it?
After 1973 the co-stars got more notice as being sexual inviting females and the idea disappeared. Perhaps it was because Tom Baker did not ever think of dressing as a woman. His successor played a boyish innocent who might have tried on a female persona when the role changed after 7 years of a curly-haired charismatic alien with an incredibly long 22 foot scarf knitted by an old woman who wasn't told to stop knitting. So Tom was wrapped by a woman's touch. But he never crossed that boundary.
In 1981 his successor had played the boyish prankster Tristan Farnon in the series All Creatures Great and Small. He had a preference for smoking Woodbine cigarettes, womanizing and pulling pints at local pubs. He was rather an abject failure as a veterinary student, but he was entertaining. You could see his playing up a female to shock and joke with his brother's colleague, James Herriot (an amazing author I might add) onto some wild goose chase. Sadly as 1981 emerged, the new character-actor never delved into the part and it remained disticntly male.
In fact until 1999 with the attempted rebirth of the series Dr Who was the boundary to be crossed again. With stars like Rowan Atkinson (Blackadder, Four Weddings and a Funeral, Mr Bean) and Hugh Grant, opposite Jonathan Pryce (best known from the James Bond film Tomorrow Never Dies as the villain) the boundary got ripped down and renewed. At the end the Doctor changes into the lovely and amazing Joanna Lumley. As she eyes her now female body she exclaims as she finds she is female: "Oh! I've Always Wanted to Get My Hands On One of These!!" She rubs her body admiringly.
Joanna apprears in the cult favorite (and I love this series) Absolutely Fabulous. She plays Patsy, a sexually active man-attractor who thinks she is 25 years younger than she is and guzzles martinis like a dehydrated person pulls down cool, fresh water. It's great. In fact the 'daughter', the amazing and VERY pretty Julia Sawalha, is planning to marry Rowan Atkinson's Doctor at the start of Curse of the Fatal Death.
What am I getting at here?
My point is the way Joanna does (for comic effect of course) exudes how her new female body is something she always wanted to 'get her hands on.' For me I often dreamed of being awakened as a woman, like a transformation of Franz Kafka's Metamorphosis. I can recall waking, bitterly disappointed not being a woman from a vivid dream where I was a woman. Later on, I experienced dreams where women would only talk over their shoulders to me and not turn to face me. It was like I was fighting two distinct existence engines, one that knew I should be a woman and the other which shunned the idea. The brain gives often contradictory information.
Of late, I started reading a tale from a friend who shared a somewhat similar experience to me in the terms of shadows you wish were lit, but they remain forever in the gloom. As she shared her experience I felt very similar even though, of course, my life was steering a different course. I was seeing a 'greatest common denominator' as I looked back at my own life.
Years ago, which seems like ages now, I imagined a "reboot" of Dr Who with a woman as the Doctor. I even thought of line changes and then the main character having new outfits. In fact. the 'reworked' 1966 episode The Seeds of Death (I think I had unimaginatively called it The Deadly Seeds) had the Doctor's (female) character flying to the Moon in a rocket. In a prom-style gown. The shadow of my woman was growing longer...
I never understood, at that time, why I was focusing on the idea of the main character as female. I had often had daydreams of being "the Doctor" and saving the Universe from some menace. But when I started to think of the Doctor being a woman did I stop this 'fantasy'? No. In fact it seemed to grow more affirming as I grew.
Imagine an awkward child who has always wanted to get my hands on one of these and slowly waking to realize you wanted to get your hands on yourself. In an esoteric way, but still...
Fast forward many years after I actually *had* danced as female to many admirers on my friend Kristy's cam, I felt that it was coming full circle. The inner girl finally hitched up her skirt and dropped her inhibitions. I had always wanted to get my hands on my inner woman, and here she was dancing and having fun with her new friends.
It's like I "regenerated" and was, though confused, feeling like things were slowly falling into place.
I never want to get my hands OFF of one of these! :-)
It's too special.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
I thought I saw a...jigsaw?
This morning I came across a blog by another author describing the search for clues as to whether men were transgender or not, like finding a field guide to natural and unnatural male behavior and thumbing through looking for the characteristics to identify a species of men by their behavior and outward signs. It's like this: If your 'man' likes to talk about hair and reads Cosmopolitan, he may be exhibiting signs of female desire. But then he marches off to Home Depot and starts building a shed in the backyard and you decry the observations noted. It's just another confusing pitch in the game of life. Likewise you can have a burly muscle-bound man who rides Harleys and can open beer bottles with his teeth and plays hockey without pads. *Leaf* *leaf* *leaf* - sure enough guide says "manly man". But when he's alone he dresses in dainty feminine clothes and puts on a pair of heels, maybe even going out with friends dressed like the woman they feel inside is true. So pull the recycle bin over and toss the guide away. Clearly you aren't getting on very well with it.
So people would try to figure out the clues and signs, especially after a partner comes out as transgender. Some partners (the best ones, IMO) are supportive. Yes they need guidance and understanding but they accept the part of the personality that brings about the changes that manifest themselves as exterior markings. Talking about or fantasizing about getting the ears pierced, growing hair long, perhaps going shopping and feeling good to be out and about as one's true self, these are signs. But there are men who are not transgender who have pierced ears and long hair. Heck they may enjoy shopping too. Likewise there are women who do not have pierced ears, short hair and hate shopping. They may (or may not) be transgender either.
So, the blog author (it was a wickedly funny post) wrote about having these feeling and burying deep down an abandoned mine shaft, covering it with cement and barbed wire and prowling tanks, topping off by posting sentries miles away in the form of "rabid baboons". You see this setup and you think "well, wouldn't it just be better to get going on these other things I need to do?" Sure seems like it, doesn't it. But after you claw through, escaping mortars, barbed wire, cement contractors and worst of all, banana target practice, the old ways re-emerge into the daylight, blinking and stumbling as they once again see the light of day. It takes a while for the legs to get accustomed to walking and the eyes are unused to the light. But at least the baboons have quieted down for the time being...
I liken it to opening that closet and jammed in between the corset collection and some naughty nighties is a box. The box has a jigsaw puzzle but no indication what it's a picture of. It's just there. As you examine pieces, some will look like they fit together and some will be at odds. It's a frustrating jumble, you just wish someone would know what to do and just do it. You know what you want the end results to be but you can't figure the jumble out. Friends can certainly drop by and help out a bit, but in this case the building of the puzzle is your own call, your own task. My friends can support me, guide me, help me and encourage me, but they can't transition for me. One friend said "I always dreamed one day I would wake up and be a girl," which I nodded silently in agreement with. "Sadly," she continued, "it never happened." But then she took steps to break that incongruity and find new shapes and dimensions to her existence and now is living happily as a woman. The psychological ramifications of being transgender are hidden from view and only going to the peace found in the corners of one's mind, in the depths of privacy, can we begin to explore those feelings and give them substance. We touch our dreams and they seem real. The sunlight from sensing the sensuous nature of our interior happy place is comforting after all the stormy rain clouds of life. We don't know, we don't care, we just long to remain and be happy. It's a place that when I go there, I feel complete and happy. and almost free.
So when the dawn breaks on the new day, the FIRST day of the REST of your life, the change is almost palpable. You can taste the air anew and you can feel the fresh breeze on your face. As Dylan sang, "the times they are a-changin'" and so they will. But until the box gets found, opened and one starts in on it, in earnest, you may never get a complete sense of the finished piece of art. Some people are fine with it and I had felt for a while *I* was fine with it. But I am starting to feel less fine with it and more like I want to start working on that puzzle and building something new that my friends and my fellow transgender human beings can see as progress forward. It's perhaps time to set aside some time to start working on getting that box out of storage and setting it up to show a new piece of art for the future to admire and enjoy.
And before I go one word of caution: Look Out for Flung Bananas!!!
So people would try to figure out the clues and signs, especially after a partner comes out as transgender. Some partners (the best ones, IMO) are supportive. Yes they need guidance and understanding but they accept the part of the personality that brings about the changes that manifest themselves as exterior markings. Talking about or fantasizing about getting the ears pierced, growing hair long, perhaps going shopping and feeling good to be out and about as one's true self, these are signs. But there are men who are not transgender who have pierced ears and long hair. Heck they may enjoy shopping too. Likewise there are women who do not have pierced ears, short hair and hate shopping. They may (or may not) be transgender either.
So, the blog author (it was a wickedly funny post) wrote about having these feeling and burying deep down an abandoned mine shaft, covering it with cement and barbed wire and prowling tanks, topping off by posting sentries miles away in the form of "rabid baboons". You see this setup and you think "well, wouldn't it just be better to get going on these other things I need to do?" Sure seems like it, doesn't it. But after you claw through, escaping mortars, barbed wire, cement contractors and worst of all, banana target practice, the old ways re-emerge into the daylight, blinking and stumbling as they once again see the light of day. It takes a while for the legs to get accustomed to walking and the eyes are unused to the light. But at least the baboons have quieted down for the time being...
I liken it to opening that closet and jammed in between the corset collection and some naughty nighties is a box. The box has a jigsaw puzzle but no indication what it's a picture of. It's just there. As you examine pieces, some will look like they fit together and some will be at odds. It's a frustrating jumble, you just wish someone would know what to do and just do it. You know what you want the end results to be but you can't figure the jumble out. Friends can certainly drop by and help out a bit, but in this case the building of the puzzle is your own call, your own task. My friends can support me, guide me, help me and encourage me, but they can't transition for me. One friend said "I always dreamed one day I would wake up and be a girl," which I nodded silently in agreement with. "Sadly," she continued, "it never happened." But then she took steps to break that incongruity and find new shapes and dimensions to her existence and now is living happily as a woman. The psychological ramifications of being transgender are hidden from view and only going to the peace found in the corners of one's mind, in the depths of privacy, can we begin to explore those feelings and give them substance. We touch our dreams and they seem real. The sunlight from sensing the sensuous nature of our interior happy place is comforting after all the stormy rain clouds of life. We don't know, we don't care, we just long to remain and be happy. It's a place that when I go there, I feel complete and happy. and almost free.
So when the dawn breaks on the new day, the FIRST day of the REST of your life, the change is almost palpable. You can taste the air anew and you can feel the fresh breeze on your face. As Dylan sang, "the times they are a-changin'" and so they will. But until the box gets found, opened and one starts in on it, in earnest, you may never get a complete sense of the finished piece of art. Some people are fine with it and I had felt for a while *I* was fine with it. But I am starting to feel less fine with it and more like I want to start working on that puzzle and building something new that my friends and my fellow transgender human beings can see as progress forward. It's perhaps time to set aside some time to start working on getting that box out of storage and setting it up to show a new piece of art for the future to admire and enjoy.
And before I go one word of caution: Look Out for Flung Bananas!!!
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
It's a Blend
So of late I had been thinking more and more about gender, sexuality and my role in both. Yes, you can let the room clear of smoke before continuing to read... I apologize if your eyes are watering.
So treading this ground of gender and feelings is a tough one but I have a few things on my side (at least I hope they are!):
-- FEELINGS: I know what I enjoy, what I dream about, what fires my desires and ambitions and they are valid because they are mine. No one can take that away from me.
-- EMOTIONS: Yes, they are like feelings but deeper down. The chord of truth is struck when you do something that makes you feel good, even if it's perhaps in conflict with your other emotional responses or those responses others would have to project upon you.
-- PHYSICAL: One cannot deny the existence of the physical self. It's there. When you shed all the worries, the baubles, the concealments and the clothes there you are. You are in plain sight of yourself and some will know it's not congruent with who they know they are. That is totally fine with me since I am often torn about it myself. I'm happy for those who can conform the one to be the shape of the true inner self.
My body shape isn't always conducive to projecting a true female persona, but she's leggy and smart and well she's got a little chunk of the world in her cup.
But like mixing your morning cup (coffee, tea, cocoa, whatever suits you) you mix the ingredients (milk, sugar, honey, etc.) together and you come up with a blend. And of late, that is what I have found is that I, like the coffee, am a blend.
I'm not the binary that many people I know are. I am bits of several different beings condensed into one form. It's not traditional male or female, but I am not traditional male/female inside either. It's tough to explain but it's like this: My body has emotional senses which are mostly female, but some deep emotional needs respond male and are enjoyable. I figure if you read that a few times you might get what I am saying without me having to spell it out.
Now what's a girl to do with these feelings?? I just wanted to know if I was alone, something I have felt before. I feared exclusion from people I knew and loved but I was sure would not understand the split. I have had dreams upon dreams torn between the two realms, the kingdom of light and the kingdom of ... pleasure, shall we say?
Now my body is no temple to be adorned and venerated, but it's mine and I generally know how to use it. I have that sense, deep down of being two entities that seems to ying and yang, mix and coalesce. It's not like oil and water. It's more like smoke and fog, from a distance you can't tell one from the other. And I can't tell you my one from my other.
I was often told it was "wrong" to think one way or the other. It was flat out wrong to feel that although I enjoy being female the other side of the tracks was off limits. I was told you are one or the other, not both or neither! It's not allowed!! Play by the rules, dammit, or go to bed without any supper!!
Crossing gender boundaries is nothing new and, even though I suspected it would never work out, I learned something new in the journey. I was not ashamed to admit that certain senses of mine I enjoy and they give me great happiness. It's one of the few ways to express the inner self that is there, waiting, just below the surface of the skin ready to well up and burst through to the surface. For the first time I was not ashamed of being one versus the other. My life was not a vat of hatred over who I was and what I looked like.
I was becoming whole.
I am not saying this journey is done, nope. It's just beginning but life has changed in a different way of late. I have felt more like who I am is not a mistake and is not wrong. I realized that my feelings are valid, whole and part of the fabric of the person within. I am not binary and I am not nothing. I guess I am the solvent in which thoughts and ideas become interspersed with each other and they form this completeness. I don't know what this journey means to me, but it's sure changed a lot since I first started experimenting with clothes all those years ago. And I am still experimenting, although on a more adult level. I am finding out who I am and who I am I am finally beginning to see joy and enjoyment. I am beginning to feel there is a unique me waiting there, ready and willing to be more and more open about who she is and what she feels.
She is me and I am her. Together we are a blend. It's as complicated and yet simple as that.
So treading this ground of gender and feelings is a tough one but I have a few things on my side (at least I hope they are!):
-- FEELINGS: I know what I enjoy, what I dream about, what fires my desires and ambitions and they are valid because they are mine. No one can take that away from me.
-- EMOTIONS: Yes, they are like feelings but deeper down. The chord of truth is struck when you do something that makes you feel good, even if it's perhaps in conflict with your other emotional responses or those responses others would have to project upon you.
-- PHYSICAL: One cannot deny the existence of the physical self. It's there. When you shed all the worries, the baubles, the concealments and the clothes there you are. You are in plain sight of yourself and some will know it's not congruent with who they know they are. That is totally fine with me since I am often torn about it myself. I'm happy for those who can conform the one to be the shape of the true inner self.
My body shape isn't always conducive to projecting a true female persona, but she's leggy and smart and well she's got a little chunk of the world in her cup.
But like mixing your morning cup (coffee, tea, cocoa, whatever suits you) you mix the ingredients (milk, sugar, honey, etc.) together and you come up with a blend. And of late, that is what I have found is that I, like the coffee, am a blend.
I'm not the binary that many people I know are. I am bits of several different beings condensed into one form. It's not traditional male or female, but I am not traditional male/female inside either. It's tough to explain but it's like this: My body has emotional senses which are mostly female, but some deep emotional needs respond male and are enjoyable. I figure if you read that a few times you might get what I am saying without me having to spell it out.
Now what's a girl to do with these feelings?? I just wanted to know if I was alone, something I have felt before. I feared exclusion from people I knew and loved but I was sure would not understand the split. I have had dreams upon dreams torn between the two realms, the kingdom of light and the kingdom of ... pleasure, shall we say?
Now my body is no temple to be adorned and venerated, but it's mine and I generally know how to use it. I have that sense, deep down of being two entities that seems to ying and yang, mix and coalesce. It's not like oil and water. It's more like smoke and fog, from a distance you can't tell one from the other. And I can't tell you my one from my other.
I was often told it was "wrong" to think one way or the other. It was flat out wrong to feel that although I enjoy being female the other side of the tracks was off limits. I was told you are one or the other, not both or neither! It's not allowed!! Play by the rules, dammit, or go to bed without any supper!!
Crossing gender boundaries is nothing new and, even though I suspected it would never work out, I learned something new in the journey. I was not ashamed to admit that certain senses of mine I enjoy and they give me great happiness. It's one of the few ways to express the inner self that is there, waiting, just below the surface of the skin ready to well up and burst through to the surface. For the first time I was not ashamed of being one versus the other. My life was not a vat of hatred over who I was and what I looked like.
I was becoming whole.
I am not saying this journey is done, nope. It's just beginning but life has changed in a different way of late. I have felt more like who I am is not a mistake and is not wrong. I realized that my feelings are valid, whole and part of the fabric of the person within. I am not binary and I am not nothing. I guess I am the solvent in which thoughts and ideas become interspersed with each other and they form this completeness. I don't know what this journey means to me, but it's sure changed a lot since I first started experimenting with clothes all those years ago. And I am still experimenting, although on a more adult level. I am finding out who I am and who I am I am finally beginning to see joy and enjoyment. I am beginning to feel there is a unique me waiting there, ready and willing to be more and more open about who she is and what she feels.
She is me and I am her. Together we are a blend. It's as complicated and yet simple as that.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Stressful Things...
Some of you know, some don't that I spent the last week watching over 3 very active cats for a friend. I have always had a cat growing up, let me rephrase that: I have always have a cat growing up. A = 1(One).
The cats are friendly to me, they greet me and meow greetings. They rub furniture and my legs. They act so adorable. But once they eat, the dark side comes out. They gallop through the house I am surprised they don't break the sound barrier. They attack each other and chase each other. The words "settle down" have no meaning, nor any effect. It's a fruitless gesture to try. The worst parts are treated to a stint in a closed room for them to settle down and calm their nerves.
This week has given me some pause, truth be told for other things in life you might take for granted. For example, one might decide that some things are stressful and they become not so stressful when you take them into context with other things. I figured this week would be relaxing and relatively care-free. I knew the cats were used to being up early and that was no problem (I get up early anyway). But an increased commute meant I had to plan to leave earlier, have less time when I did finally get home, and then have to contend with two of the three playing a little rough.
I got there Saturday afternoon after they had left and was curious to discover the fiercest one was abjectly afraid of me. She is a very pretty cat, but she is VERY active. She's the feline equivalent of a Dyson vacuum as well. But once feeding time came around she grew fond of me. In other words the threat disappeared when she saw I was not threatening and I was giving them something they wanted. They are not overly affectionate, but to me they weren't really aggressive either. It was a neutral gray area.
So what does this have to do with anything, you might ask?
In the past week I have come across others who are stressed out, circumstances at home, with the family and so on. It's interesting thing. I knew I would be under more of a load at work, since we are short-staffed. But I thought the peace of coming home to three cats and being able to relax, chill out and have some well-deserved dinner were shattered quickly. The fact was that once I stopped at my "real" home I was able to just feel the ebb of relaxation, even knowing how I was going to have to go back and my stomach churned. What if the cats were hurt? What if there was a problem with the house? What if... the list goes on. And my friend was unreachable by any means for a long span of time. The supposed quiet peace of chilling, relaxing, sipping on a cold beverage and unwinding on a comfy sofa in front of a TV... they all vanished. Literally almost like they were the puffy seeds of a dandelion wafting downwind to their new homes. Poof, gone.
The idea that things could be "relaxing" were replaced with the dread, going home to what...? Naturally the female side of me expressed abject concerns for their behavior and I finally called my friend just before they departed. They laughed after I expressed my fears about them. "They are like that, it's fine." Still queasy, I then talked to my friend's partner and there was laughter on the other end of the phone "they are used to being by themselves all day, they will be okay," they said comfortingly. But still my stomach churned, even as I settled down on the laptop to check some email and do a little extra work. I felt the dread of coming home to the furniture in shreds and destruction equivalent to Hiroshima wreaked by the fearsome trio. It was gnawing at me all day. I kept thinking about what they were up to and how I would explain it to my friend when they got home. "See, I know you used to have this structure known as a 'house' but now it's a smoky hole in the ground..." and meanwhile the cats would be on their haunches, grinning madly and smoking cigars, pontificating how I should have been just this little bit more nice to them... perhaps then they might have left one wall standing.The reflection of my fears chewed somewhere into my imagination and I was queasy. The idea that staying with the cats was going to be relaxing was gone. Now I just worried. Since they weren't my cats it made the stress quadruple.
Pets are often a worry, even more so when they aren't yours. You have a permanent lump in the back of your throat.
So thinking back with a fresh mind and clarity of space, I began to wonder if there weren't ways to relieve these stresses. Certainly one way is to dress up and go out for a night on the town. But no matter what they do they come home. Sometimes I go online, with the same dread, someone has had a really bad time and I know they are going to need help. Sometimes the stress just makes you lie in bed, the covers pulled up. It's not an easy solution.
But in thinking back I always remain hopeful that the light at the end of a tunnel is not a train headed back at me. Sometimes it feels like it is. But my fluid nature allows me also to feel a little more at ease, a little more sensitive of the time I need to spend for myself. So I plan some different activities for this weekend to take my mind off of everything, catch up on rest and perhaps just take an evening out.
We can't escape these stressful things, but I am sure going to do my best to avoid them for the next few days! :-)
The cats are friendly to me, they greet me and meow greetings. They rub furniture and my legs. They act so adorable. But once they eat, the dark side comes out. They gallop through the house I am surprised they don't break the sound barrier. They attack each other and chase each other. The words "settle down" have no meaning, nor any effect. It's a fruitless gesture to try. The worst parts are treated to a stint in a closed room for them to settle down and calm their nerves.
This week has given me some pause, truth be told for other things in life you might take for granted. For example, one might decide that some things are stressful and they become not so stressful when you take them into context with other things. I figured this week would be relaxing and relatively care-free. I knew the cats were used to being up early and that was no problem (I get up early anyway). But an increased commute meant I had to plan to leave earlier, have less time when I did finally get home, and then have to contend with two of the three playing a little rough.
I got there Saturday afternoon after they had left and was curious to discover the fiercest one was abjectly afraid of me. She is a very pretty cat, but she is VERY active. She's the feline equivalent of a Dyson vacuum as well. But once feeding time came around she grew fond of me. In other words the threat disappeared when she saw I was not threatening and I was giving them something they wanted. They are not overly affectionate, but to me they weren't really aggressive either. It was a neutral gray area.
So what does this have to do with anything, you might ask?
In the past week I have come across others who are stressed out, circumstances at home, with the family and so on. It's interesting thing. I knew I would be under more of a load at work, since we are short-staffed. But I thought the peace of coming home to three cats and being able to relax, chill out and have some well-deserved dinner were shattered quickly. The fact was that once I stopped at my "real" home I was able to just feel the ebb of relaxation, even knowing how I was going to have to go back and my stomach churned. What if the cats were hurt? What if there was a problem with the house? What if... the list goes on. And my friend was unreachable by any means for a long span of time. The supposed quiet peace of chilling, relaxing, sipping on a cold beverage and unwinding on a comfy sofa in front of a TV... they all vanished. Literally almost like they were the puffy seeds of a dandelion wafting downwind to their new homes. Poof, gone.
The idea that things could be "relaxing" were replaced with the dread, going home to what...? Naturally the female side of me expressed abject concerns for their behavior and I finally called my friend just before they departed. They laughed after I expressed my fears about them. "They are like that, it's fine." Still queasy, I then talked to my friend's partner and there was laughter on the other end of the phone "they are used to being by themselves all day, they will be okay," they said comfortingly. But still my stomach churned, even as I settled down on the laptop to check some email and do a little extra work. I felt the dread of coming home to the furniture in shreds and destruction equivalent to Hiroshima wreaked by the fearsome trio. It was gnawing at me all day. I kept thinking about what they were up to and how I would explain it to my friend when they got home. "See, I know you used to have this structure known as a 'house' but now it's a smoky hole in the ground..." and meanwhile the cats would be on their haunches, grinning madly and smoking cigars, pontificating how I should have been just this little bit more nice to them... perhaps then they might have left one wall standing.The reflection of my fears chewed somewhere into my imagination and I was queasy. The idea that staying with the cats was going to be relaxing was gone. Now I just worried. Since they weren't my cats it made the stress quadruple.
Pets are often a worry, even more so when they aren't yours. You have a permanent lump in the back of your throat.
So thinking back with a fresh mind and clarity of space, I began to wonder if there weren't ways to relieve these stresses. Certainly one way is to dress up and go out for a night on the town. But no matter what they do they come home. Sometimes I go online, with the same dread, someone has had a really bad time and I know they are going to need help. Sometimes the stress just makes you lie in bed, the covers pulled up. It's not an easy solution.
But in thinking back I always remain hopeful that the light at the end of a tunnel is not a train headed back at me. Sometimes it feels like it is. But my fluid nature allows me also to feel a little more at ease, a little more sensitive of the time I need to spend for myself. So I plan some different activities for this weekend to take my mind off of everything, catch up on rest and perhaps just take an evening out.
We can't escape these stressful things, but I am sure going to do my best to avoid them for the next few days! :-)
Monday, March 26, 2012
Island in a Confusing Stream (Part One)
It's funny how people will tell you "nothing is in black & white" or "cut and dry doesn't exist" or whatever. Take a prism and a beam of sunlight, you'll see an explosion of all the visible colors exploding forth from what looks like a single intense beam of the purest white light. A princess bride, walking down her aisle, her hair, makeup and dress so perfect, so right, so, well, perfect. And then the prism shifts our perspective and in a flash that exterior perfection is made up of so many other details glossed over by the prettiness of her appearance is augmented, shifted, subtly changed by the facts of her background, her life and her spirit. Makeup, a pretty dress and hair done to perfection can cloud our eyes to the inner realms of what the lady is like outside of such formal attire and circumstances.
In many cultures, people are obsessed with beauty. A man needs to be handsome and debonair, ripped abs and oiled, tanned skin, preferably in a skimpy bathing suit. A woman needs to have unblemished skin, long flowing hair and a thin, curvy body that seems to crave the beach and overwhelms nearby butterflies and small children.
I've said it before, I don't believe any of us ever fit into that category of beauty. We can't have others see us through a set of rose-colored Photoshop glasses in real life. We don't fit into one position or the other. Some people have a terrific outgoing personality and are very loving and sensual, but they have an issue with their weight. Others have an "eleven on a ten scale" body, a vision of loveliness but their personality is acrid, scathing, rude and even bigoted. There are so many shades of human character and personality.
I'm not dwelling on the physical beauty and personality traits of human culture, but I wanted to draw your attention to it because I personally believe gender is the same way. We are put into a box because we "have a Y chromosome" or we have genitals that are defined as 'male' or 'female'. Our gender identity is based on a physical manifestation of something only the person inside can actually feel.
For example:
Most people will look at the photo and try to guess 'are these people male or are they female". Admit it, you found yourself thinking that. You found yourself thinking that way as well... it's human nature to classify and want to organize your thoughts to fit a certain specific set of equations that you may or may not actually believe you have the answers to. You become uncertain, rather as Darwin did when voyaging on the Beagle. Did this creatures come about by chance or were there larger forces at work to sculpt them into the shapes and forms and features that his direct scientific observation found by looking at what he saw with his own eyes. Admit it, you don't know what you are seeing, totally, as fitting into a gender-conforming idyll. You may or may not want to but you do. You classify the people in the picture as "Gee, I think that's..." or "I'm almost positive that...", etc.
I don't conform either. I admit that. I look at the photos and I see a human being, who perhaps being a lot like me, perhaps doesn't feel they fit into that mold. I have a friend who is growing their hair out and long (and it is beautiful hair as well) and they get met with ignorant phrases like "dudette". I can't express how terrible this is that a person can treat another this way. I tend to rather think if they were built like Lou Ferrigno in the days of 'The Incredible Hulk' or they were, perhaps carrying a machete or a machine gun, the reaction would be subdued and respectful. Because you can taunt someone else you feel empowered, but the truth is the taunters feel cheap and hollow inside, so they try to drive up the ante of popularity by laughing at someone else. The others in a group often feel just as uneasy and they laugh nervously at the presupposed 'witticism'.
I find myself a blend, a mixture of feelings. Although I always felt myself as being internally geared to be female, I am also geared in a male way as well. I have feelings that blur and reshape the gender boundaries. My gender expression is leaning more and more to the androgynous, I want to wear what I am comfortable in. I am lucky that I got to know a person who is very similar in how they feel and it got me thinking. Later I expressed a whole whale of different feelings and questions to another friend. They expressed, not that this should be a shocker, that they "didn't understand how I could move back and forth" and yet they still supported me and tried to equate their feelings with how I felt. I don't feel black and white, cut and dry. Unless you have been there or are going through this, you don't get it. "Oh, but you MUST be one or the other, darling," is a typical exclamation. You can't be expected to play for both teams, you must choose. "Du mußt Amboß oder Hammer sein." You cannot be both! That is strictly forbidden.
Yet somehow I sense in myself that I ebb and flow, a stream of consciousness that is not binary. The weather rarely is, why should I be? Because I have that inner feminine creature, a beauty to be sure, I can't have that exterior creature as well. Someone said it's because of the "male privilege" but I don't think it's that. It's more complex than that.- I know some of the factors in that as-yet-unsolved equation. I don't have all the answers, probably I never will.
But for someone who is always being told or thought of as one or the other, I am neither. I am lucky that most of the aspects of maleness passed me by, I believe that my inner self spared me the ravages of being "macho" and "rough and tough" and instead washed me in sensitivity and caring, nurturing my way through life instead of driving a steamroller over it. Androgynous people have always been a, and I apologize if this is "TMI", a big turn-on for me.
This person again makes you question, makes you wonder, even though you are once again classifying this person asking which gender this person is. Instead of looking at who this person is. I see a person who can blend both genders into one. I find people like this deeply attractive, not for the basic surface things like hair, makeup, clothes, etc. but that the person is perhaps feeling a little like both are an expression of their true selves. They are not "in a box". They have been described as having the best of both worlds and it is true.
We are so used to the classification systems that we grew up learning. I hear this time and again "girls play with dolls, boys play with trucks." I was often the "mother" character growing up. I was comfortable liking that role and being in that persona. I was not vilifying my supposed gender by pretending to be something I am not. I am probably more 'genderqueer' in reality that I supposed. As I aged, I was informed that this was not how things were. Boys didn't want to dress up as women for Halloween. Feeling comfortable in silky lingerie was taboo. People laughed at you because you were different. You were taunted, bullied, harassed and pushed around. Sounds like any other non-"normal" black and white group. If you weren't heterosexual you were outcast. If you were a girl who wore all black, Doc Martin's and jeans all the time, you were an outcast. If you were supposed to be "a man" and you like wearing girl's clothes, you were an outcast. I am surprised more weren't in the outcast group since it seemed like anything you did that was slightly different would be all over the place in next to no time at all.
I thought and feel so many different feelings, it is hard to keep it all in one blog... this one I need to continue. In the meantime feel free to rethink those gender "norms" and don't be afraid to love the person you are, even if you don't fit in entirely with what people would have you be.
(TO BE CONTINUED...........)
In many cultures, people are obsessed with beauty. A man needs to be handsome and debonair, ripped abs and oiled, tanned skin, preferably in a skimpy bathing suit. A woman needs to have unblemished skin, long flowing hair and a thin, curvy body that seems to crave the beach and overwhelms nearby butterflies and small children.
I've said it before, I don't believe any of us ever fit into that category of beauty. We can't have others see us through a set of rose-colored Photoshop glasses in real life. We don't fit into one position or the other. Some people have a terrific outgoing personality and are very loving and sensual, but they have an issue with their weight. Others have an "eleven on a ten scale" body, a vision of loveliness but their personality is acrid, scathing, rude and even bigoted. There are so many shades of human character and personality.
I'm not dwelling on the physical beauty and personality traits of human culture, but I wanted to draw your attention to it because I personally believe gender is the same way. We are put into a box because we "have a Y chromosome" or we have genitals that are defined as 'male' or 'female'. Our gender identity is based on a physical manifestation of something only the person inside can actually feel.
For example:
Most people will look at the photo and try to guess 'are these people male or are they female". Admit it, you found yourself thinking that. You found yourself thinking that way as well... it's human nature to classify and want to organize your thoughts to fit a certain specific set of equations that you may or may not actually believe you have the answers to. You become uncertain, rather as Darwin did when voyaging on the Beagle. Did this creatures come about by chance or were there larger forces at work to sculpt them into the shapes and forms and features that his direct scientific observation found by looking at what he saw with his own eyes. Admit it, you don't know what you are seeing, totally, as fitting into a gender-conforming idyll. You may or may not want to but you do. You classify the people in the picture as "Gee, I think that's..." or "I'm almost positive that...", etc.
I don't conform either. I admit that. I look at the photos and I see a human being, who perhaps being a lot like me, perhaps doesn't feel they fit into that mold. I have a friend who is growing their hair out and long (and it is beautiful hair as well) and they get met with ignorant phrases like "dudette". I can't express how terrible this is that a person can treat another this way. I tend to rather think if they were built like Lou Ferrigno in the days of 'The Incredible Hulk' or they were, perhaps carrying a machete or a machine gun, the reaction would be subdued and respectful. Because you can taunt someone else you feel empowered, but the truth is the taunters feel cheap and hollow inside, so they try to drive up the ante of popularity by laughing at someone else. The others in a group often feel just as uneasy and they laugh nervously at the presupposed 'witticism'.
I find myself a blend, a mixture of feelings. Although I always felt myself as being internally geared to be female, I am also geared in a male way as well. I have feelings that blur and reshape the gender boundaries. My gender expression is leaning more and more to the androgynous, I want to wear what I am comfortable in. I am lucky that I got to know a person who is very similar in how they feel and it got me thinking. Later I expressed a whole whale of different feelings and questions to another friend. They expressed, not that this should be a shocker, that they "didn't understand how I could move back and forth" and yet they still supported me and tried to equate their feelings with how I felt. I don't feel black and white, cut and dry. Unless you have been there or are going through this, you don't get it. "Oh, but you MUST be one or the other, darling," is a typical exclamation. You can't be expected to play for both teams, you must choose. "Du mußt Amboß oder Hammer sein." You cannot be both! That is strictly forbidden.
Yet somehow I sense in myself that I ebb and flow, a stream of consciousness that is not binary. The weather rarely is, why should I be? Because I have that inner feminine creature, a beauty to be sure, I can't have that exterior creature as well. Someone said it's because of the "male privilege" but I don't think it's that. It's more complex than that.- I know some of the factors in that as-yet-unsolved equation. I don't have all the answers, probably I never will.
But for someone who is always being told or thought of as one or the other, I am neither. I am lucky that most of the aspects of maleness passed me by, I believe that my inner self spared me the ravages of being "macho" and "rough and tough" and instead washed me in sensitivity and caring, nurturing my way through life instead of driving a steamroller over it. Androgynous people have always been a, and I apologize if this is "TMI", a big turn-on for me.
We are so used to the classification systems that we grew up learning. I hear this time and again "girls play with dolls, boys play with trucks." I was often the "mother" character growing up. I was comfortable liking that role and being in that persona. I was not vilifying my supposed gender by pretending to be something I am not. I am probably more 'genderqueer' in reality that I supposed. As I aged, I was informed that this was not how things were. Boys didn't want to dress up as women for Halloween. Feeling comfortable in silky lingerie was taboo. People laughed at you because you were different. You were taunted, bullied, harassed and pushed around. Sounds like any other non-"normal" black and white group. If you weren't heterosexual you were outcast. If you were a girl who wore all black, Doc Martin's and jeans all the time, you were an outcast. If you were supposed to be "a man" and you like wearing girl's clothes, you were an outcast. I am surprised more weren't in the outcast group since it seemed like anything you did that was slightly different would be all over the place in next to no time at all.
I thought and feel so many different feelings, it is hard to keep it all in one blog... this one I need to continue. In the meantime feel free to rethink those gender "norms" and don't be afraid to love the person you are, even if you don't fit in entirely with what people would have you be.
(TO BE CONTINUED...........)
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