Showing posts with label Laments. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Laments. Show all posts

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Family and the Trans Woman

I have been thinking a lot about this (I think a lot about a lot of things, some would suggest I think about things too much).  Here is why it hurts, and here is what is missing.

In every life there are relationships.  There are a few distinct types of relationships that are important for a person's mental health.  In a startlingly excellent book on the subject of belonging, Joseph Myers writes about some of these.  He breaks relationships (or perhaps it was friendships… it has been a long time since I read the book) into four types – public, social, personal, and intimate.  Again, forgive my lapse if this is not completely accurate, but his descriptions essentially are as follows.  Public relationships are those in which you may know each other’s names but little more.  Social relationships are the types you build at social events.  Personal relationships are ones in which you share slightly more detailed information about yourself - the ones in which you might talk about your problems, and the intimate relationships are “naked and unashamed.”  Simple enough?  Myers suggests that one of the most important relationships for personal well being is the social relationship, because those are where you reinforce your positive self-image.  I will link the work at the end of the post if you are interested.  If you want a deeper explanation (and a better understanding of why I agree with him), go read it.

I think there are other distinctions that are important, though, and I am only recently learning this.  Relationships can be defined in terms of depth of information sharing, but I think longevity is another important element.  This is where family comes into play.  In our lives, there are people we have known for "a while," and there are people we have known “forever.”  Generally, those people we have known "forever" are family.  I can interpret a relationship in many ways.  I can say that my relationship with someone is intimate, but what is that when my common experience with that person is limited to just “a while” in my life?  Are not the most intimate of intimate relationships those ones in which your mutual memory has no conscious beginning?  Are those not the people who truly know you, and whom you truly know?

So, our tightest, strongest, and most intricate bond is with those people with whom we have been close “forever.”  Set your emotions aside and think about it.  Is it not true that there are people in your life with whom you share more commonality and history than those people whom you have chosen to call intimate?  I am not faulting the self-proclaimed intimate relationship; I am simply suggesting that there are some relationships in which the intimacy is not chosen but instinctive.  Those are the people who truly know you.  They get you.

But that is the problem for a trans-woman.  Many of us have lived a lifetime with those relationships only to arrive at some point to the revelation that those people who have always known us, those people with whom we have always shared the most naturally, do not, in fact, know us at all.  In a single sentence, an entire history – an entire common existence is unraveled.  Suddenly, we have no instinctively, naturally, unrestrained intimate relationship at all.  Place the blame where you like; I do not believe there is one.  The people, our families, on the other end of that sentence learn suddenly that everything they thought they knew is not.  We suddenly face the fact that we are a stranger to the people we have known “forever.”

It is enough to make a girl cry.  And the people who used to share those tears no longer exist in her world.

It is a train of thought, people.  I am not proofreading or editing; I apologize if it is sloppy… you got an update, so there.

Peace and much hippy talk,
Kate

The book:
TTFN!

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Difficult Choices

It is ironic how a person can live over four decades and with each successive year be less certain about her future.  Frankly, the questions about what I am going to be when I grow up are a little out of season now; I think it is time to start making some hard choices.  Oh, let me pause.  This is not a transition post friends, do not panic –put down your torches!  My life is muddled with half-lived dreams and unrealized passions.  It is time to start weeding my garden.

I have always been a very creative girl: artistic, musical, a good eye for color, and a strong sense of harmony – natural and musical.  My life used to flow on a rhythmical current, and my gifts were many, and they manifested easily.  I could write poetry and music, I could make (reasonably) beautiful music on my violin, I could draw and even paint, and it all came straight from my heart.  That is just not true any more.  On the rare occasions my gifts peak to the surface, they are squelched by a cacophony of discordant influences – not the least of which is my own eroding attention span.  I do not have the luxury of creative expression.  I have the illusion of an eclectic music studio that is inexplicably littered by random shit that exudes from a pit of repugnant filth.

And that is on a clean day.

The truth is that I very rarely choose, willingly, to climb the stairs to my instruments these days.  On the very rare occasions when the motivation overwhelms me, I even more rarely manage to actually play for more than a few minutes.  Between the alien feel of my conquered pets – I no longer even know how my primary synth will start, it has been so mangled – and just the general discomfort I feel at being in that space; my resolve is quickly defeated.  The sad truth is I will not win this battle without losing a greater war.

So there it is.  Time to hit the factory reset on my devices, box them up, and sell them off to the bidder with the most grandiose dreams.  It will be hard to part with some of them, but I think it is probably best.  So, very soon, I will attempt to post a list of the various treasures I have decided to relinquish.  If you are interested in providing a good home and tender attention… and the right dollar figure, of course… my beauties may become yours.

Among the list will be two Yamaha synths (one 88 key stage model and one vintage that needs work), a Korg analog rack synth (plus midi interfaces), a gorgeous Ibanez 5-string wood grain bass guitar with a Yamaha stack (I believe 500 watts), a 6 string acoustic Takamimi knock-off with soft shell case, a cello with all the trimmings barely ever touched, a number of miscellaneous devices – Sennheiser studio mic, various stands, a PA speaker system with effects (400 watt), a slew of cables and stuff, and one final piece.  This is the one that will be hardest to let go.  My violin is a German made instrument built in the early 1920’s.  It is beautiful, if travel worn, but it needs to be played to once again find the warmth and beauty that used to blossom from its strings.  The violin itself will not go cheaply, but I will include the few accessory items I still have for it (most of them were picked up in a pinch, so you’ll need to invest in things like a good bow… not the fiberglass thing that replaced my octagonal stick pernambucco wood bow, which I snapped over a music stand twenty years ago).

This will not be easy, my friends, but it is time to face the reality that my musical dreams evaporated eons ago, and the desire that remains is not strong enough to fight for the freedom to express it.  I have made my decision.

Garage sale at Katgirl’s Lair… coming soon!

Peace and stuff,
Kate

Sunday, March 11, 2012

A Momentary Lapse of Raisin


Greetings dear readers, I have very little to share tonight, except to let everyone know that I did, in fact, get the job.  Yes, Katgirl is a working girl again [cue: banners, ticker tape parade, and book signing].  My groove is completely thrown.  It is good; do not misunderstand.  But I forgot what it was like to be new at a job.  It has only been over a dozen years since the last time I made a career change, after all.

I really do not want to share much tonight, friends.  I am not in a good place.  It will pass, and it has nothing to do with the new job – well, not directly.  I will be honest; I am scared.  I feel alone, and I feel like I just inadvertently pressed a great big pause button on my transition.  Again, I know it is a temporary… and a necessary diversion, but wow.  Having a few weeks (even if I spent half of them in bed with the plague, half of them realizing what an inconvenience my birthday was for everyone, and the other half – a little Yogi Berra for my friends, you like? – actually enjoying being a housewife) to really feel what life was going to be like for Kate when all the pretense was finally over might not have been the best thing for my short term happiness.

Having the time to be myself, to never hide behind a male mask, and to never have to think about how I would cover something during the week (my bright purple fingernails, for example… have I mentioned that purple is my favorite color?  I love all the ways it rhymes with other things... just like me.) was the most amazing experience.  Being able to shed the male crap completely was so incredibly freeing.  Even for just a few weeks, the experience was enough to convince me of the rightness of my choice.  Stop it; I am not being careless with my words.  I am a woman who was born with a physical deformity.  Others patterned my life around that deformity.  I chose to fix it.  I did not choose whom I am or how I was born, but I am choosing how to live my life.  Sorry, back on my original soapbox: having the opportunity to live correctly was a complete affirmation.  But that affirmation brought consequence.  Is anyone writing this down?  It would make a great musical... Mr. Sondheim?

I have to figure out how to get through the next few months without losing myself in my male mask (or more accurately, without losing hope while wearing my male mask).  Worse, I have to figure out how to do that while having no flexibility to engage the resources that are helping me to shed that mask forever.  I mean that my work schedule occupies the entirety of normal business hours – the hours during which most of the many services I require to continue working toward my correct life are available to me.  I forfeited the flexibility that my old job afforded (not because of the people I worked for, but because of their general incompetence).  I have to figure that out.  So it is a good news, bad news situation. 

The good news is that my career change afforded me the financial freedom to pursue my correct life – including all the funds I need to make the first surgical leap (FFS).  The bad news is that my career change usurped my free hours – the hours I need to affect my permanent transition.  So, what the hell is a girl to do?

Okay, sorry folks.  I said I had very little to share, but I sure did type a bunch.  Still, I think I probably succeeded in sharing very little.  Weird, well, with luck I will have my groove back someday soon.  I miss it.

Peace, my friends.
Kate