I don’t know where they come from. Perhaps they’re part of the communal transgender zeitgeist, a pulse we all feel where ever we are like an extended organism. Thrummm, Thrummm, it goes on and it occasionally crossed by a disturbance, a ripple in the fabric.
Are these the sources of my anxiety? Is this why I tense up walking into a ladies room and prefer to avoid them in public? That’s my dirty secret – I pass well and haven’t ever been challenged but feel like a teenager in his dad’s red Porsche waiting to be pulled over by the fuzz.
In fact my public life is this combination of entirely nonchalant I don’t care I see you you don’t see me, with this feeling everyone does see every cell, every mark on every bone that helps creates my body.
These days the stakes are higher and the stress is higher. I feel like some pompous ass is pointing his finger in his face as I turn a corner, someone else with a scary resemblance to my fourth grade teacher Miss Hilyard watching in delight while I’m harangued as in bygone times when she’d ignore my childhood enemy punching me.
How to we package all these anxieties and thoughts and send them out to sea for their well earned Viking funeral? Perhaps it has to start with small steps, by denying our childhood the power to still scare us now. The big boggy man was as big as your dad then, but now you’re bigger than either of them.
You take the steps one by one.
You release your parents hands
You act deliberately in the time you have
You are brilliant
My Gifted Life 