The other day it struck me that in my relationships with others, when disagreement arises, were I to be given the choice of being either the person in the right, or the person in the wrong, I'd rather be the person in the wrong.
The reason for this is quite simple.
If I'm the person who's in the wrong, and I can recognize that, I can apologize for my mistake and, hopefully, correct my behavior.
By contrast, if I'm the person who's in the right, I'm then at the mercy of the other party!
Unless they are willing to address the problem and work to fix it, the problem remains and there is NOTHING I can do about it!
One of the hardest things we have to learn as humans is how to admit wrongdoing without making victims of ourselves in the process.
The most valuable change that has taken place in my life since I started transitioning is that I've learned how to forgive myself. Learning to be wrong is proving to be the most profoundly liberating experience of my life. When I have the good fortune to recognize that I'm the one who's making the mistake, once the initial rush of shame and anger subsides, I'm finding that suddenly having the power to fix the problem is amazing. Afterwards I get to feel good about having spotted the error and fixed it rather than geting all defensive and then going off to beat up on myself for being the only person who ever got anything wrong in the history of ever.
I think it's incredibly sad how fallibility and weakness are so often seen to be irredeemable flaws in our society. Learning to concede ones mistakes with grace can be the most empowering lesson you'll ever learn.
Of course, I'm stil learning how to tell when I'm in the wrong and more often than not both sides are often right and wrong in their own different ways meaning it's rare you'll be lucky enough to be completely in the wrong and thereby able to solve the problem entirely on your own.
Trust me though, if you approach every disagreement prepared to prove yourself wrong, you'll almost certainly get a better outcome. At least so long as you value solving problems over inflating your own ego.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Monday, April 22, 2013
Girl enough for government work
This was meant to be another post entirely, but that will come later I guess.
This post should really be a book, but it's not one I want to write, so please excuse the great dis-service of omission I'm doing to this topic. If you want to know more, there should be enough here for you to go hunting for it on your own.
You know how to google right?
I can't think of any good analogy for how odd a situation being trans put you in.
Most people don't spenda great deal of time thinking about their own internal sense of gender.
Having the feeling that you're "in the right body" is hardly something you'd notice, let alone care to think about in any depth.
The favorite narrative for trans people, at least as far as the rest of the world goes, is the story of the little boy who is adamant that he is, in fact, she*.
The child who knows who they are and cannot be persuaded otherwise.
The media likes this story because it's neat and tidy and you can sum it up with the phrase "I always new I was born in the wrong body"
Cis people, as a group, like this narrative too because it's unambiguous. It's clearly about someone else and that means they don't have to worry about it affecting their lives.
Also, when the story features the assertions of a child, then no one has to worry about motives. A four year old can't understand gender and sexuality inter-relate so it makes being transgender more wholesome. It removes that idea of trans people being motivated by sexual deviancy from the picture and so creates a wholesome narrative fit for a tear jerking human interest piece.
Everybody's happy.
Well, except all of us trans folk who don't fit that narrative.
Prior to the 1950's (and through them into the 60's for most people) the most you could expect as far as treatment went if you were trans was a stay in a mental hospital ans perhaps some electro shock treatment or if you were really lucky, a lobotomy.
After Christine Jorgenson's sex change and subsequent cases, the doctors who were willing to treat such patients, along with psychiatrists, developed a set of standards that had to be met in order to receive treatment.
Aside from the onerous requirement for "real life experience" ie. being forced to live in drag for a year before starting hormone therapy, trans women were required to be "sufficiently feminine".
What that meant was conforming to the standars of behavior deemed appropriate by white male academics of the 1960's.
If you wanted to receive medical treatment back then, by go you'd better act the woman you claimed you wanted to be.
Which set us up for a terrible collision with second wave feminism.
Radical feminists during the late 60's and 70's didn't believe in gender as anything other than social construct. Trans people's assertion of an internal sense of gener was at odds with feminist theory of the time. The presence of a bunch of "men" claiming to be women and acting in ways so stereotypical that they were at odds with the women's movement's bra burning agenda of the time were not well received.
In fact they were vilified.
Pro gay rights legislation that was being passed at that time, under pressure from radical feminists, included language that to this day is the reason trans people are second class citizens in many areas but most crucially, in health care. The work done by radical feminists to exclude trans people from the gay rights movement has literally been killing us for the last 40 years.
Trans Narratives don't help trans people. Except for the lucky few who's life stories match up with whatever narrative is most acceptable at the time, these narrative ar really only for the benefit of those people who need to categorize and control us.
For those of us who don't fit the narrative perfectly, we often spend a lot of time worrying whether we're "trans enough".
Even though I have no difficulty in tearing apart the hateful arguments of radfems, and the even less coherent but equally hurtful opinions of the religious right, I still internalize a lot of that gender policing.
I still find myself worried that my friends will decide I'm either trying to hard or that I'm not girly enough to be a "real" girl.
I often have to correct myself to say cis-girls rather than normal or real girls.
Changing my body to be inline with my mind is relatively easy. It's expensive, extremely painful and it is anything but quick, but it has a clear beginning , middle and end to it.
By contrast, the changes that are taking place in my brain as the hormones slowly rewire my corpus callosum and change how I relate to, and experience my emotions will never be finished.
Some days I just feel like a girl. That is, I'm aware of the absence of concern over my transness. For a few minutes here and there I experience what I asume it must be like to be cis.
To be a natural born citizen.
But most of the time I'm reminded that I'm an immigrant i n a country known as Woman. I still have a long way to go before I get my naturalization papers.
Only those of us who have the determination to force their will upon the world at the youngest age, who match that convenient and socially acceptable narrative, if they're really lucky, will ever get a shot at being seen as true citizens.
This post should really be a book, but it's not one I want to write, so please excuse the great dis-service of omission I'm doing to this topic. If you want to know more, there should be enough here for you to go hunting for it on your own.
You know how to google right?
I can't think of any good analogy for how odd a situation being trans put you in.
Most people don't spenda great deal of time thinking about their own internal sense of gender.
Having the feeling that you're "in the right body" is hardly something you'd notice, let alone care to think about in any depth.
The favorite narrative for trans people, at least as far as the rest of the world goes, is the story of the little boy who is adamant that he is, in fact, she*.
The child who knows who they are and cannot be persuaded otherwise.
The media likes this story because it's neat and tidy and you can sum it up with the phrase "I always new I was born in the wrong body"
Cis people, as a group, like this narrative too because it's unambiguous. It's clearly about someone else and that means they don't have to worry about it affecting their lives.
Also, when the story features the assertions of a child, then no one has to worry about motives. A four year old can't understand gender and sexuality inter-relate so it makes being transgender more wholesome. It removes that idea of trans people being motivated by sexual deviancy from the picture and so creates a wholesome narrative fit for a tear jerking human interest piece.
Everybody's happy.
Well, except all of us trans folk who don't fit that narrative.
Prior to the 1950's (and through them into the 60's for most people) the most you could expect as far as treatment went if you were trans was a stay in a mental hospital ans perhaps some electro shock treatment or if you were really lucky, a lobotomy.
After Christine Jorgenson's sex change and subsequent cases, the doctors who were willing to treat such patients, along with psychiatrists, developed a set of standards that had to be met in order to receive treatment.
Aside from the onerous requirement for "real life experience" ie. being forced to live in drag for a year before starting hormone therapy, trans women were required to be "sufficiently feminine".
What that meant was conforming to the standars of behavior deemed appropriate by white male academics of the 1960's.
If you wanted to receive medical treatment back then, by go you'd better act the woman you claimed you wanted to be.
Which set us up for a terrible collision with second wave feminism.
Radical feminists during the late 60's and 70's didn't believe in gender as anything other than social construct. Trans people's assertion of an internal sense of gener was at odds with feminist theory of the time. The presence of a bunch of "men" claiming to be women and acting in ways so stereotypical that they were at odds with the women's movement's bra burning agenda of the time were not well received.
In fact they were vilified.
Pro gay rights legislation that was being passed at that time, under pressure from radical feminists, included language that to this day is the reason trans people are second class citizens in many areas but most crucially, in health care. The work done by radical feminists to exclude trans people from the gay rights movement has literally been killing us for the last 40 years.
Trans Narratives don't help trans people. Except for the lucky few who's life stories match up with whatever narrative is most acceptable at the time, these narrative ar really only for the benefit of those people who need to categorize and control us.
For those of us who don't fit the narrative perfectly, we often spend a lot of time worrying whether we're "trans enough".
Even though I have no difficulty in tearing apart the hateful arguments of radfems, and the even less coherent but equally hurtful opinions of the religious right, I still internalize a lot of that gender policing.
I still find myself worried that my friends will decide I'm either trying to hard or that I'm not girly enough to be a "real" girl.
I often have to correct myself to say cis-girls rather than normal or real girls.
Changing my body to be inline with my mind is relatively easy. It's expensive, extremely painful and it is anything but quick, but it has a clear beginning , middle and end to it.
By contrast, the changes that are taking place in my brain as the hormones slowly rewire my corpus callosum and change how I relate to, and experience my emotions will never be finished.
Some days I just feel like a girl. That is, I'm aware of the absence of concern over my transness. For a few minutes here and there I experience what I asume it must be like to be cis.
To be a natural born citizen.
But most of the time I'm reminded that I'm an immigrant i n a country known as Woman. I still have a long way to go before I get my naturalization papers.
Only those of us who have the determination to force their will upon the world at the youngest age, who match that convenient and socially acceptable narrative, if they're really lucky, will ever get a shot at being seen as true citizens.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Tuning out and the Doubt
Whilst I've been very lucky during my transition so far and have encountered very little open hostility from people, I'm still quite aware that there are a good number of people out there who think I'm just about the worst sort of creature to walk the face of the earth.
In trying to figure out what was wrong with me I inevitably came across the arguments against both my sanity and against the very existence of trans people at all.
Most of the time it doesn't get to me.
Most of the time the fact that I'm happier than ever before, that I feel at home in my own body for the first time in my life, that I'm more mentally organized and competent than I was before I started HRT, these things confirm to me that I am on the right path.
But sometimes I get the feeling that someone who I care about doesn't really get it. Doesn't see me as I see me.
I wonder if I just look insane to them. I wonder if I am insane.
Society doesn't have a lot of time for people making radical assertions about themselves. Asserting that ones internal sense of gender does not match ones physical body is a fairly radical claim to make.
A lot of trans people hate being called brave.
"So Brave" is a trans meme.
I don't think I'm brave, but taking a stand and saying "No, despite what my body has to say on the matter, I am not a man, I am a woman" Is a really scary thing to do.
It was scary when I told Lyssa.
I couldn't even say I was a woman.
I said I was trans.
I think it took at least three months after I came out before I said those words aloud.
'I am a woman."
I said it to myself, alone, because I didn't dare say it to anyone else, and I waited for the universe to refute me.
There are a few women I know, friends who I really respect and who exemplify what I consider a female role model to be, who I haven't spoken to since I started transition because I'm still scared that they might deny me my existence.
Refuse my claim of womanhood.
These are women who, more than anyone, taught me what feminism was, and I get lost because I don't think I can live up to that, because I can't live up to them.
As much as I try to tune it out, the hateful things that are said about transwomen are there in my mind and sometimes the doubt is enough that I sit here, like now, and wonder if I'm not just making this all up. If I'm not just mentally ill. As bad as they say i am.
And so I go through the trans checklist and review my past for all the clues that add up to make me "trans enough".
Because if you're going to reject the gender you were assigned, you'd better have a good narrative.
An approved narrative.
You'd better measure up, because we can't let people go around making assertions like that.
We just can't.
Trans enough.
So Brave.
In trying to figure out what was wrong with me I inevitably came across the arguments against both my sanity and against the very existence of trans people at all.
Most of the time it doesn't get to me.
Most of the time the fact that I'm happier than ever before, that I feel at home in my own body for the first time in my life, that I'm more mentally organized and competent than I was before I started HRT, these things confirm to me that I am on the right path.
But sometimes I get the feeling that someone who I care about doesn't really get it. Doesn't see me as I see me.
I wonder if I just look insane to them. I wonder if I am insane.
Society doesn't have a lot of time for people making radical assertions about themselves. Asserting that ones internal sense of gender does not match ones physical body is a fairly radical claim to make.
A lot of trans people hate being called brave.
"So Brave" is a trans meme.
I don't think I'm brave, but taking a stand and saying "No, despite what my body has to say on the matter, I am not a man, I am a woman" Is a really scary thing to do.
It was scary when I told Lyssa.
I couldn't even say I was a woman.
I said I was trans.
I think it took at least three months after I came out before I said those words aloud.
'I am a woman."
I said it to myself, alone, because I didn't dare say it to anyone else, and I waited for the universe to refute me.
There are a few women I know, friends who I really respect and who exemplify what I consider a female role model to be, who I haven't spoken to since I started transition because I'm still scared that they might deny me my existence.
Refuse my claim of womanhood.
These are women who, more than anyone, taught me what feminism was, and I get lost because I don't think I can live up to that, because I can't live up to them.
As much as I try to tune it out, the hateful things that are said about transwomen are there in my mind and sometimes the doubt is enough that I sit here, like now, and wonder if I'm not just making this all up. If I'm not just mentally ill. As bad as they say i am.
And so I go through the trans checklist and review my past for all the clues that add up to make me "trans enough".
Because if you're going to reject the gender you were assigned, you'd better have a good narrative.
An approved narrative.
You'd better measure up, because we can't let people go around making assertions like that.
We just can't.
Trans enough.
So Brave.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Robotic snakes and drywall mesh
Today was my first experience of surgery.
A bilateral laproscopic inguinal hernia repair was today's menue item, and most delicious it was.
Or rather, I'm sore as all hell, can't stand up straight and I'm still pretty woozy from the anesthesia.
The hernias have been a thorn in my side for the best part of three years now and let me tell you, I am extremely happy to have them fixed at last.
The last year has been one where standing for more than an hour or two at a time became quite painful which has made it hard to work or do much of anything at full capacity.
I'm proud that I've been able to stay in as good shape as I have during that time, but I'm really excited to be able to start exercising again the way I used to and get back to a good level of fitness.
The reason it's taken so long to ge them fixed is that the first one happened just after I was laid off from my last employer before Lastwear become my full time career and the other started to become a problem last year. It's only in the last to months that I've finally been able to afford health insurance and get them fixed.
If you're wondering about how I got my insurance to cove a "pre-existing" condition, it was by assiduously avoiding any medical care since October 2010. It's only pre-existing if it's been diagnosed by a medical professional so I've gotten by the good old British way.
Stiff upper lip, mustn't grumble and all that.
Of course, back in blighty we have the NHS too so in hindsight, this is perhaps not the recomended approach...
The surgery itself was super easy, at least from my point of view.
I checked in at noon to the outpatient surgical center of Northwest Hospital where the staff were all extremely pleasant. After initial confusion on the part of those staff members who had never met me before (my ID and insurance are still under my legal name of"Thomas" and I really need a new photo ID because that guy looks nothing like me) everyone was great about calling me Rowan and I was gendered correctly throughout the whole experience.
If you never get mis-gendered it's perhaps a little hard to understand just how much of a difference this sort of thing makes. Having to show people my ID always kind of sucks because it means there is the now the possibility that someone will call me he of him when just a minute earlier they had been under the impression that I'm a biological woman.
So to have everyone get it right, every time, both when speaking to me directly or referring to me to someone else really made my day.
After getting off to a lat start, I was bundled in warm blanket, given fuzzy booties, set up with an IV and made ready for anesthesia.
Dr. Perrin, who is my surgeon and a delightfully funny lady, arrives and reviews the procedure with me a final time and gives me my post surgical care instructions. Dr. Perrin comes very highly recommended according to Seattle Met and I am inclined to agree with their assessment.
I'm actually kind of surprised at how calm I am even at this point as I'm hardly feeling at all nervous.
Next the anesthesiologist arrives, my memory goes something like this.
"Hi, I'm Doctor Nguyen. I just have to ask you a few questions you've already answered twice today and then we'll get you started ok?"
We go through the list of when I last ate or had fluids, whether I've become allergic to anything new in the last 20 minutes and do I have someone to drive me home.
"Ok" she say "I'll be giving you two drugs, the first one is the "I dont give a shit drug" and the second is the anesthetic"
I have time to think "this lady is awesome" and I'm out.
After I wake up I don't quite remember getting from the operating table to the wheelchair and back to my room but I dimly recall this happening. I'm given apple sauce (my gluten free option) grape juice two 5mg oxycodone and a squirt of dilaudid via IV. I then get to sit around until I need to pee because they want to be sure I can still do that before I'm allowed to leave. After about an hour I manage to go,which is quite a relief. It's also slightly amusing as it's now six thirty and this means it's the longest I've gone without peeing since I started taking Spiro. Having to pee all the bloody time is something we trans*girls do even better than cis*girls.
I decide to dodge home and the daughterling for a few hours and go relax at my parents place for a bit. Besides, they have a reclining armchair which I lack at home and I don't feel like lying down in bed with Saxa crawling all over me just yet. 18mo old's do not make terribly good care givers no matter how happy they are to see you.
So now I'm back home, re-dosed with oxies and clear headed enough to write what I hope is a coherent post. I'm anticipating a nice speedy recovery and it's nice to know i'll be fully active by the time we reach summer.
The one thing that I know will be really hard is that I'm not allowed to lift anything over 20lbs which means I can't pick up my daughter which makes me very sad. We'll manage though, and there will be snuggles aplenty to make up for it.
There you go, that's my report, I'm still alive and should soon be better than ever.
Wishing you all good health for 2013
Ro.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Politics and other Hoodoo
Unlike many people I know who dispair of government altogether, I still hold out hope that there is something left worth saving.
It's a radical idea I know but somehow, the urge to tear everything down and start over that my Anarchist and Libertarian friends seems fond of strikes me as a little lacking in forethought.
I was minding my own business one day, just trawling around the internet, when the EFF were kind enough to bring to my attention the latest assault being waged by corporations upon a free internet.
This was a while ago and not that long after ACTA/SOPA was stopped by online mobilization initiated on Reddit.
It was pretty depressing.
My first thought was, "Shit, really? We have to do this again? Already?"
I'd gone to the great lengths of actually filling in the personal message beyond just the form letter on whatever .org was heading the fight against ACTA/SOPA, contacted my representatives and signed the petition and to be quite honest, that was a bit of an effort.
The trouble is, as I soon discovered after I started receiving emails from MoveOn.org, this stuff never stops!
You get fatigued really quickly trying to keep up with all the stupid laws being pushed through congress by the corporate shills we call the House and the Senate.
But here's the thing.
We stopped ACTA/SOPA.
Enough people contacted their representatives to make said representatives take a second look, and ultimately vote against the bill based upon feedback from their constituencies.
The problem we have is not one of money in politics, it's one of access.
Yes, often money buys access, but if we focus on the Money, we risk loosing sight of the WTF - What's This For.
So here is my first "Good Idea I Don't Have Time Fore" or GIIDHTF as it will never again be called.
Wouldn't it be nice if there was one place you could go, create one user profile, and aggregate all your political action feeds?
Imagine a site where you could see all the political issues you care about in one place. Where you'd never have to enter your name and address again once you set up an account (seriously, I have no idea if I should trust those petition sites with that information).
Just log in and click one button to send a from letter to your representatives and sign the petition for each bill, petition etc. you wanted your voice heard on.
There's a ton of features you could add to such a platform.
Users with a bit more time could post and share the letters they had taken the time to write themselves, and other users could click to resend their agreement with their fellow users in the same district.
Rather than the pet projects of individual groups like MoveOn dominating the signal, an up-vote arrangement would make it easier for people to address issues they really care about both locally and nationally.
Being able to tune your feed to the issues you care about most would help with the information overload problem and keep people more engaged.
Finally, a system of tracking specific issues would create a historical record of victories and losses and that's important.
One of the biggest problems in keeping people engaged is the feeling of hopelessness when we have to fight the same battles over and over again. It makes us want to give up.
But if we could see that the record showed that every time corporations tried to seize control of the internet, we the people stopped them.
If we could see that we can be effective guardians of our own democracy, then perhaps the fact that the struggle between a few with much and the many who have little is, thanks to a rather good piece of writing some 226 years ago, balanced in our favor.
Democracy is hard and it always will be.
We will NEVER be able to stop fighting this fight, but with a little creativity, we could certainly make the process more rewarding, more fun, and easier to be a part of.
So there, a social network for democratic engagement wich tracks the peoples successes and forms issue based support groups to keep people engaged.
I think it's a good idea and I don't have the time to do it but maybe someone out there does.
If that's you, please go ahead and make this thing real. I'd love it.
P.s. Should you feel inclined to comment on this post, detailing the reasons it could never work, I will actually snort coffee out my nose laughing at you. If I wanted to engage in any sort of debate on this topic, I'd be doing it beside a warm fire with a glass of brandy.
It's a radical idea I know but somehow, the urge to tear everything down and start over that my Anarchist and Libertarian friends seems fond of strikes me as a little lacking in forethought.
I was minding my own business one day, just trawling around the internet, when the EFF were kind enough to bring to my attention the latest assault being waged by corporations upon a free internet.
This was a while ago and not that long after ACTA/SOPA was stopped by online mobilization initiated on Reddit.
It was pretty depressing.
My first thought was, "Shit, really? We have to do this again? Already?"
I'd gone to the great lengths of actually filling in the personal message beyond just the form letter on whatever .org was heading the fight against ACTA/SOPA, contacted my representatives and signed the petition and to be quite honest, that was a bit of an effort.
The trouble is, as I soon discovered after I started receiving emails from MoveOn.org, this stuff never stops!
You get fatigued really quickly trying to keep up with all the stupid laws being pushed through congress by the corporate shills we call the House and the Senate.
But here's the thing.
We stopped ACTA/SOPA.
Enough people contacted their representatives to make said representatives take a second look, and ultimately vote against the bill based upon feedback from their constituencies.
The problem we have is not one of money in politics, it's one of access.
Yes, often money buys access, but if we focus on the Money, we risk loosing sight of the WTF - What's This For.
So here is my first "Good Idea I Don't Have Time Fore" or GIIDHTF as it will never again be called.
Wouldn't it be nice if there was one place you could go, create one user profile, and aggregate all your political action feeds?
Imagine a site where you could see all the political issues you care about in one place. Where you'd never have to enter your name and address again once you set up an account (seriously, I have no idea if I should trust those petition sites with that information).
Just log in and click one button to send a from letter to your representatives and sign the petition for each bill, petition etc. you wanted your voice heard on.
There's a ton of features you could add to such a platform.
Users with a bit more time could post and share the letters they had taken the time to write themselves, and other users could click to resend their agreement with their fellow users in the same district.
Rather than the pet projects of individual groups like MoveOn dominating the signal, an up-vote arrangement would make it easier for people to address issues they really care about both locally and nationally.
Being able to tune your feed to the issues you care about most would help with the information overload problem and keep people more engaged.
Finally, a system of tracking specific issues would create a historical record of victories and losses and that's important.
One of the biggest problems in keeping people engaged is the feeling of hopelessness when we have to fight the same battles over and over again. It makes us want to give up.
But if we could see that the record showed that every time corporations tried to seize control of the internet, we the people stopped them.
If we could see that we can be effective guardians of our own democracy, then perhaps the fact that the struggle between a few with much and the many who have little is, thanks to a rather good piece of writing some 226 years ago, balanced in our favor.
Democracy is hard and it always will be.
We will NEVER be able to stop fighting this fight, but with a little creativity, we could certainly make the process more rewarding, more fun, and easier to be a part of.
So there, a social network for democratic engagement wich tracks the peoples successes and forms issue based support groups to keep people engaged.
I think it's a good idea and I don't have the time to do it but maybe someone out there does.
If that's you, please go ahead and make this thing real. I'd love it.
P.s. Should you feel inclined to comment on this post, detailing the reasons it could never work, I will actually snort coffee out my nose laughing at you. If I wanted to engage in any sort of debate on this topic, I'd be doing it beside a warm fire with a glass of brandy.
Friday, April 12, 2013
Of Science and Magic
Growing up I was surrounded by magic. It was all over the landscape. It was in my dreams and if flowed in great abundance at Yule time and other holidays.
I believed in ghosts and fae and all manner of other spirits.
I was also fairly confidant that if I just concentrated hard enough, one morning I'd wake up in the right body.
I stopped believing that in my early teens I think. Although a small glimmer of hope clung on for some time.
I'm not sure when I stopped believing in magic, but I became aware of it's loss sometime after moved to Seattle.
I love science.
I think it's the most powerful tool we poses as humans. But science never quite managed to fill the hole where the magic had been.
I think as humans we need the transformative experience, it's where faith comes from.
It's where hope comes from.
I've spent a long time searching for that feeling, that magical possibility of change that promises everything. I've looked in the dusty pages of religious texts, in the even dustier writings of psychiatrists and philosophers and for a while I looked for it in just about every psychedelic substance I could lay my hands on.
But everywhere I looked, there was science, politely clearing it's throat as if to say "ahem, ah-bollocks".
After a while I started to really resent science and it's apparent refusal to let my find peace because goodness know I was desperate for a respite from myself.
Then last August everything changed.
After looking in every possible place for some way to bring back that sense of wonder I finally gave up fighting what I'd always know I needed.
And this time Science did't clear it's throat.
It held out it's hand.
Science is, in the most literal way possible, providing me with the tools for transformative change. In the last few months Wonder has returned and she dances beautifully around my world and trough my dreams.
Wonder wears a lab coat.
I believed in ghosts and fae and all manner of other spirits.
I was also fairly confidant that if I just concentrated hard enough, one morning I'd wake up in the right body.
I stopped believing that in my early teens I think. Although a small glimmer of hope clung on for some time.
I'm not sure when I stopped believing in magic, but I became aware of it's loss sometime after moved to Seattle.
I love science.
I think it's the most powerful tool we poses as humans. But science never quite managed to fill the hole where the magic had been.
I think as humans we need the transformative experience, it's where faith comes from.
It's where hope comes from.
I've spent a long time searching for that feeling, that magical possibility of change that promises everything. I've looked in the dusty pages of religious texts, in the even dustier writings of psychiatrists and philosophers and for a while I looked for it in just about every psychedelic substance I could lay my hands on.
But everywhere I looked, there was science, politely clearing it's throat as if to say "ahem, ah-bollocks".
After a while I started to really resent science and it's apparent refusal to let my find peace because goodness know I was desperate for a respite from myself.
Then last August everything changed.
After looking in every possible place for some way to bring back that sense of wonder I finally gave up fighting what I'd always know I needed.
And this time Science did't clear it's throat.
It held out it's hand.
Science is, in the most literal way possible, providing me with the tools for transformative change. In the last few months Wonder has returned and she dances beautifully around my world and trough my dreams.
Wonder wears a lab coat.
DJ Krush
Krush is a Japanese DJ and producer on the Ninja Tune label.
I just found this track today and I love it so I'm sharing.
I just found this track today and I love it so I'm sharing.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
In the Begining
This is A post I wrote on a forum I'm active on.
It was originally posted on January 12th 2013
It's all still relevant so It might as well be a first post.
Besides, it saves me having to think of anything intelligent right now.
Today brought news that my financial situation is worse than I thought.
I avoid things that scare me and money is something that scares me a lot.
I've been avoiding certain issues for way to long and they just caught up with me.
My first reaction was to have a panic attack, grab a knife and pace rapidly around my kitchen weighing the pros and cons of suicide.
In the end I concluded my life is worth more than the 16 grand looming over it and put the knife down.
But why? Why can't I deal with these things?
Why have I, for my whole life spent so much time living in my own private reality?
When I was very young, had you of asked me whether I was a boy or a girl, I probably would have said I was a boy.
Case closed.
If you'd asked me whether I thought I'd stay that way, I'm pretty sure I would have said no.
Open that case file back up.
Of course no one ever asked that, and I spent most of my time running around in the fields and woods playing with elves who didn't care and not being terribly concerned about any of that gender nonsense anyway.
My parents were hippies and didn't enforce and strong gender roles, and in my head I was confidant that the anatomy thing would just work itself out.
Magic was real and there wasn't a problem.
I think I was eight or nine when I fist encountered real resistance to my internal sense of gender.
I announced during play time at school that I was one of the female characters in the make believe world we were playing in.
Pause.
"But she's a girl!"
Beat,
and before I can answer,
My friend Mathew (a very astute and compasionate eight year old to be sure) says
"You me a boy version right?"
"Err, Yes, that's what I meant!"
Life ring gratefully received, nothing more was said.
Over the years my disphoria has been mostly experienced as a feeling of total disconnection from the universe at large. A sort of existential dread that has pushed me to look for answers in psychology, religion, meditation and for a long time drugs and alcohol.
I was about fifteen when I went looking for information on how one got a "sex change" and what I found back then gave me the impression that it was all surgical, super expensive and not terribly effective.
Ok, better get used to being a boy.
That was when I fist took acid and started on a ten year crusade against my own mind.
I brought the full power of psychedelic drugs and eastern religion to bear on the problem.
During this time I developed an amazing capacity for existential angst that manifested every time I encountered difficult adult type life choices.
I'd become despondent over the pointlessness of my dead end jobs and ended up cutting to get me through the day at work.
I was angry at the world for not giving me opportunities to use my creative and intellectual talents, all while refusing to face obstacles that I deemed "unfair".
My moral superiority to the way the world worked served as an excuse to ignore things I didn't want to do.
While I quit the drugs and religion (although not the alcohol) about seven years ago and had been getting myself together I still kept ignoring medical bills that needed to be paid and spending money I didn't have.
I kept being overwhelmed by a sense of disconnection from reality which left me unable to understand my own behavior.
Nothing I had encountered in the fields of psychology or spiritual practice seemed to help.
I couldn't figure out what was wrong with me.
Last August I told my wife I was Trans.
She's been amazing.
Friends have been amazing.
I started hormones seven weeks ago and my wife and I are finally communicating for the first time in years.
I stopped drinking and started running.
I'm generally more together than I ever have been.
Aside from the suspicion that I'm faking it all.
For the first time in all these years of searching for an answer to why I'm so screwed up I found something that not only brought me piece of mind but has allowed me to functionally improve as a human being, and I'm trying to undermine it.
I've been wrong for so long I can't tell what's right.
I am terrified of losing this.
I'm terrified of being wrong about who I am.
Because if I am wrong,
If I'm not Trans,
Them I'm just a failure as a human being.
It was originally posted on January 12th 2013
It's all still relevant so It might as well be a first post.
Besides, it saves me having to think of anything intelligent right now.
Today brought news that my financial situation is worse than I thought.
I avoid things that scare me and money is something that scares me a lot.
I've been avoiding certain issues for way to long and they just caught up with me.
My first reaction was to have a panic attack, grab a knife and pace rapidly around my kitchen weighing the pros and cons of suicide.
In the end I concluded my life is worth more than the 16 grand looming over it and put the knife down.
But why? Why can't I deal with these things?
Why have I, for my whole life spent so much time living in my own private reality?
When I was very young, had you of asked me whether I was a boy or a girl, I probably would have said I was a boy.
Case closed.
If you'd asked me whether I thought I'd stay that way, I'm pretty sure I would have said no.
Open that case file back up.
Of course no one ever asked that, and I spent most of my time running around in the fields and woods playing with elves who didn't care and not being terribly concerned about any of that gender nonsense anyway.
My parents were hippies and didn't enforce and strong gender roles, and in my head I was confidant that the anatomy thing would just work itself out.
Magic was real and there wasn't a problem.
I think I was eight or nine when I fist encountered real resistance to my internal sense of gender.
I announced during play time at school that I was one of the female characters in the make believe world we were playing in.
Pause.
"But she's a girl!"
Beat,
and before I can answer,
My friend Mathew (a very astute and compasionate eight year old to be sure) says
"You me a boy version right?"
"Err, Yes, that's what I meant!"
Life ring gratefully received, nothing more was said.
Over the years my disphoria has been mostly experienced as a feeling of total disconnection from the universe at large. A sort of existential dread that has pushed me to look for answers in psychology, religion, meditation and for a long time drugs and alcohol.
I was about fifteen when I went looking for information on how one got a "sex change" and what I found back then gave me the impression that it was all surgical, super expensive and not terribly effective.
Ok, better get used to being a boy.
That was when I fist took acid and started on a ten year crusade against my own mind.
I brought the full power of psychedelic drugs and eastern religion to bear on the problem.
During this time I developed an amazing capacity for existential angst that manifested every time I encountered difficult adult type life choices.
I'd become despondent over the pointlessness of my dead end jobs and ended up cutting to get me through the day at work.
I was angry at the world for not giving me opportunities to use my creative and intellectual talents, all while refusing to face obstacles that I deemed "unfair".
My moral superiority to the way the world worked served as an excuse to ignore things I didn't want to do.
While I quit the drugs and religion (although not the alcohol) about seven years ago and had been getting myself together I still kept ignoring medical bills that needed to be paid and spending money I didn't have.
I kept being overwhelmed by a sense of disconnection from reality which left me unable to understand my own behavior.
Nothing I had encountered in the fields of psychology or spiritual practice seemed to help.
I couldn't figure out what was wrong with me.
Last August I told my wife I was Trans.
She's been amazing.
Friends have been amazing.
I started hormones seven weeks ago and my wife and I are finally communicating for the first time in years.
I stopped drinking and started running.
I'm generally more together than I ever have been.
Aside from the suspicion that I'm faking it all.
For the first time in all these years of searching for an answer to why I'm so screwed up I found something that not only brought me piece of mind but has allowed me to functionally improve as a human being, and I'm trying to undermine it.
I've been wrong for so long I can't tell what's right.
I am terrified of losing this.
I'm terrified of being wrong about who I am.
Because if I am wrong,
If I'm not Trans,
Them I'm just a failure as a human being.
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