Let it Go

I've worked for the same company over the past decade (God I feel old typing that!). It's not a very glamorous job, and the pay is kinda crappy. But the benefits are good, and job security isn't something that I need to worry about at all - even when the economy is at it's worst. Those two reasons alone were enough to keep me put for so long. But after working a dead end job for so long, I started to feel more then a little bit trapped by it. I mean - I could move up and have a career with them easily enough, but I had begun to realize just how much I would eventually hate my job if I did that.

Now, with most of my gender issues largely in the past, it was time I started pouring that energy into improving some other part of my life. I needed to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up, and then actually do what I could to make it a reality. So after 10+ years of keeping the same job, I'm finally letting it go.

Yep! I turned in my two week notice ^_^ Well, to be honest I tried to. My boss asked if I would consider staying on part-time, and I figured it would work out OK (my new boss is pretty awesome). I'll prolly have to quit completely in a couple of months anyway, but for now it seems like a good option.

Financially, I'm doing well enough to make this possible. And it's not like I'm just quitting without having a plan in place to earn a living. I'm going to take advantage of my new-found freedom, and do something I've been needing to do for a long time. I'll be going back to school, this time to learn to become an electrologist. I've given the matter a lot of thought, and it just makes perfect sense. Eventually I'll get to be my own boss, set my own hours, get to help other people, and do a simple repetitive task on a daily basis without the stress of a deadline. In short - it's exactly what I've always wanted to do (I'm weird in that I absolutely love mindless repetitive tasks). And if everything goes well, I'll have the opportunity to make more money then I would have in years of moving up the ladder at my old company! How can I say no to that?

So I've already enrolled in the electrology program - which happens to be in LA. I've got about a month or two where I can do online classes from home, but then I'll have to move out there for about three months for the hands-on classroomy type schtuffts. Once that's done I'll be coming back to the bay (I would have a hard time living out in LA - three months is long enough!). Next week is my last full week at work, and then I'll be dropping down to two days a week so I can focus on school. I'm so excited!!!

This also helps solve one of my other dilemas. For a loooong time now, I've wanted to be more involved in the trans community. I've done a few different things, but I've always wanted to do more, ya know? By working in this field, I'll be much closer to the community then I've been able to be for a long time. Not only will I be able to make a difference and help people out just by doing my job, I'll be in a position to supply first hand information, resources, contacts, etc... to some of the girls just starting out and looking for help since I've experienced what it's like transition myself. I'm thinking it will be a much more rewarding experience then collating business packets for corporate budget meetings ^_^

Is it going to be easy? Prolly not. But transitioning was way harder then this is going to be. Will it be risky? Definitely. But it's certainly a calculated risk - the worst case scenario is that I go back to my old job and start over, so there's no real loss there. In short, I've got nothing to lose, and everything to gain. Change can be a pretty amazing thing.

Lost

Despite the fact that I have been neglecting this blog far too often these days, the truth is I enjoy writing. And there's often a moment throughout my day where I'll stop and think - huh, this would be fun to write about! And then I decide I'm too busy to do the topic justice, and the idea just stays trapped within my head.

Every once in a while though a random thought will pass through my brain as a fully-formed idea. These are very rare, and I consider myself fortunate when they happen, cause it means I can break my silence with very little effort(I'm lazy that way ^_^)

Well, the other day I had one of those grand moments, and I decided 'Hey! I'm gonna actually write this one down!' And I was meaning to do that today, with this very post. Alas! When I found the time to transfer it over to pixel format, I had forgotten what it was that I was going to write about. The strangest part about it is I vividly remember having the thought - I mean, I know where I was standing, and what I was doing the moment I realized it. But I just can't remember what the stupid thing was about. And now it's going to drive me absolutely insane trying to recall it. Grrrrr....I hate it when this happens!

Paper Trail

So last week I opened up a new checking account. Made my initial deposit, got my starter checks, account number, etc... No problems.

Then today I got a call from my banker. He just wanted to let me know that there was a problem with my account. As it turns out, they got a mismatch on my social security number or something and my old name popped* up instead of my current one. Weird. Especially since I updated my information with the SS office the day I had my name changed. Anyway, it wasn't a huge issue. I just had to bring in my name change paperwork to prove it's really my social number, and my account was spared (hooray!).

I should prolly check into why the mismatch came up, and see if there's anything I can do to prevent it from happening in the future. But honestly - I just don't care enough about it to expend the effort at the moment. My poor banker though. He was all confused when I tried to explain to him that the social really did match ^_^


* Odd Fun Fact - whenever I write the word 'popped', I'm always paranoid that I'll spell it wrong, and accidentally write 'pooped'. Since this could end up being a really embarrassing mistake, I end up triple spell-checking the word.

Broken Desires

Sigh...I don't smoke. It's a horrible habit. But sometimes, when I'm honest with myself, I wish I did. In this day and age, if you told somebody that they wouldn't understand. But in years past they knew what I know. The allure. The glamour. How something so insignificant can change everything surrounding it completely. Ah...but we know so much better these days.

People don't stop to appreciate the beauty for what it is. The crack and fizzle of the match or the flick of the lighter. The glow. I'm always mezmorized as the smoke cheerfully spills upward, laughing in the face of gravity. The way it's held - there are hundreds of ways to hold a cigarette, all of them the same. Nonchalance, with an air of superiority. As if you've suddenly evolved the second your lips tasted the death wrapped in white. You're not just glancing beyond the veil, you draw it inside you, pouring it in. The unwilling guest that begs to leave the trap of your lungs. The sigh, the cough, the curse - these are it's escape. Slowly dripping from your lips it continues it's interrupted flight. The twist and turns, expanding and twirling. Dancing on invisible stairs circling around you. Finally, the gentle lingering good-bye. And then there's the smell - wonderfully bitter and dark, yet ultimately comforting, as narrowly escaped misfortune so often is. Clinging to every surface without discrimination. Slow death is so beautiful in it's earliest form. It's a pity really...

No Way Out

I hate lying. I'm good at it (I learned from the best - my sisters a pro). But I reeeaaaalllly hate doing it. It just doesn't sit well with me at all. But sometimes...well, you just don't feel like you have much of an alternative.

So I recently joined a book club (something I've always wanted to do). Somehow we got onto the subject of celebrities and plastic surgery. So one of the girls decided to ask us all "So, if you could have any surgery, without any cost, and if it was completely painless and risk free - what would you have done?" Then she looks over at me and says "Charlotte, you're the newest member of the group, so you get to go first." Ha ha! Lucky me :)

Now this question is really a no-brainer. I mean, I know EXACTLY which surgery I would have done. I know roughly how much it'll cost. I've got a pretty good idea which surgeon I want to perform it, and I've even got a time-table and savings plan set-up specifically for it. So yea - it was a little ironic. But I just met all these women, and I'm not out to them. Nor do I plan on coming out to them for quite some time (if ever). So what do you say in a situation like that? Honesty really didn't feel like the best policy. And so...I lied. I pretended to think about it for a bit and then said I'd prolly get my boobs done (a popular choice - second only to liposuction).

As much as I enjoy the privilege of deciding when to come out to most people, I really don't enjoy the whole feeling of hiding something again. I did that for years, and I don't want to have to go through that again. I mean, it's different now, and not nearly as bad as it used to be. But sometimes it comes close enough to that feeling to be a bit uncomfortable. I suppose the main thing that has changed is that now I'm not ashamed of what I'm not telling someone - I'm just not ready to tell them yet. Before it was something I had to keep locked away, lest anyone find out - the pressure that comes with such a closely guarded secret is just way too intense. So for now, I like the fact that I've got the whole 'compartmentalizing' thing going. It's nice to be able to talk to others about shared experiences, but it's also really refreshing to just take a break from it for a while and forget all about gender issues and transitioning and all the crap that goes along with it.

Oh, and on a side note, out of our group of about 12 different (and some very beautiful) women, not one person said they were fine the way they were without surgery. Everybody always has something they wanna change :)

Downward Spiral

Ring Around the Rosie,

I can't do this alone. I need a partner - a confidant. I know who she is, but I'm scared to take her hand, to start spinning. I cannot eat. I dare not sleep. Days pass but the dread and desire only grow. Finally, in desperation, I clasp her hand. Together we start the dance.

Pocket Full of Posie,

I know how it ends. How many others have spun this same circle before me? Chanted these same lines? And yet the euphoria will not leave. Contrary, it consumes. The world is a blur, and everything is moving so quickly. I cannot tell what is happening; I surrender to the rush of the moment. If only this feeling could be frozen.

Ashes, Ashes...

Now they know. It changes everything.

My mother's grand expectations for my life are unceremoniously cremated, the remains scattered over the depths of her own personal hell. She looks through me now, and though I am dead to her she pretends otherwise. It is a miserable act.

I see tears streak my Father's image, shattering his perfection in my mind's eye forever. I could change, I could undo everything, but this moment in time can never be rewritten. It is seared in my memories for eternity - the day I broke my father.

We All Fall Down.

My sisters join us. My family collapses around me like a fallen house of cards. All that remains of the order amidst the chaos is the memory of what once was, the hope of what could have been. Memories fade over time; hope is ethereal.

We speak with double meanings as we toss hollow words around with longing. Desire for a better future reigns supreme now, but our desires form an anarchy. Love is the magical illusion that binds us together. But we have stopped chanting the magic amongst ourselves, and we no longer dance together.



Please understand that, though this writing is very dark, it does not in any way reflect my thoughts completely. I have never doubted my decision to transition, and, so far, it has been the best decision I have ever made. This piece is merely a reflection of that one particular part of my life, and how I feel about it. But I knew it might end this way before I even took the first step out the door. I was prepared (or as well prepared as anyone can be) for whatever might transpire.

Unfortunately, nothing in life is perfect, and there will be dark times. But I believe that if we look hard enough, we can also find beauty in the darkness. That the power of darkness lies in it's mystery - the sense that you don't know what is really there. But if we become familiar with it, then that power over us is lost. I'm not suggesting that we take up residence there, but I also don't think it's healthy to avoid it completely or pretend it never happened. We should acknowledge it for what it is - relive the nightmare on our own terms. And perhaps if we do, we'll find that the terror of the moment has begun to fade, and that life has moved on despite everything we've gone through. And hopefully we'll become a stronger person for it.

Eye of the Beholder

Somewhere east of the bay, on a slightly busy intersection, you may find a cute little boutique. It has a large plate glass window in the front, as many boutique's do, and if you were to look in that specific window you would find yourself staring at a mannequin clothed in a dress. But not just any dress - it is a beautiful blood red gown, elegantly designed and simply breathtaking. Every stitch of the garment gracefully pronounces the stunningly perfect hourglass figure of the lifeless female form it embraces. My friend and I just so happened to be somewhere east of the bay, on the corner of a slightly busy intersection, and we just so happened to be walking past this particular store-front window. We briefly interrupted ourselves to gaze up at the little red dress in the window. At length the desire was expressed, "I just wish I had the body to wear something like that." The reply: "Don't we all?"

The red dress is more then just another dress. It's the feminine ideal. It's what we are constantly taught by some unseen authorities that we, as women, should be. To be anything less then perfection itself is a horrible shame, and we will never be happy until we achieve such perfection. Or so we are led to believe. In the media, in society, in all forms of marketing. We know they lie to us, but part of us always wants to believe the lie, for the arguments they consistently and relentlessly create and put on display are rather compelling. And like all the best lies, they are based in truth. They appeal to our vanity, and in our weaker moments we believe it.

For many of us women with a trans history, the pursuit of the feminine ideal is even more compulsary then for most. After all, the very label we place upon ourselves implies that we seek after a more feminine state of being then we were originally given at birth. So at what point does it cease being about seeking a relief from the constant onslaught of dysphoria, and where does it begin to shift into the realm of shallow vanity? When will the pursuit to become increasingly feminine reach an end?

I realize that finding a conclusive answer is all but impossible, and that even if you could the result would be completely different from one individual to the next. And to be honest, it really doesn't matter all that much anyway. But still...Oftentimes I wonder where that line, should it even exist, is drawn for me.

I look in the mirror some days, and I can't help but analyze my reflection. My image is completely broken down into tiny little pieces, and each piece is then sorted into a category of 'old' and 'new', 'male' and 'female', 'pretty' and 'ugly'. It takes less then a second, and happens now without any conscience thought. I am so practiced and well versed in the differences that I can do it as easily as I breathe. And if I'm not careful, the unwanted categories are the one's that linger in my mind, and sometimes I convince myself that the good just 'isn't good enough'. It's not perfection. Within that utopian world full of immaculate beauty, flawless skin, and ideal hourglass silhouettes, I fall below the average.

But what of the world beyond the perfect world - the real world. The one with women whose waist to hip ratio is actually further from the perfect standard then my own. Where I pass by women daily with more masculine features in their face then the one in my mirror. Of course, there are many a time when a girl will pass by that reminds me that the high standard for beauty actually is within the realm of possibility. But when it comes to fitting into the average in the real world, I fall well within the bounds. And there are certainly women that I know of personally that, given the opportunity, I would be loathe to trade bodies with, despite my often envious musings. So if I'm reasonably content with my own level of femininity, why does the drive for perfection continue? At what point will a glance in the mirror automatically confirm what I know - that I'm fine just the way I am. Is the quest for beauty really nothing more then the desire to eradicate all visible traces of masculinity from my body, or is it a separate more self-serving drive? Is it still gender dysphoria if I battle the same body issues that a cis-gendered women might have difficulty with herself? If there is a difference, would it even matter?

I suppose the point of it all is that the red dress truly is beautiful. And I would love to own it someday - most women I know would. And I suppose I'll always dream of owning it. But as amazing as it would be to posses it, I don't need it to be happy. I have my own dresses in my own closet. And I worked really, really hard for the right to wear them. And they may not be as beautiful, but they're mine; and that's worth so much more.