I feel, so often, that I have lost too many years by not having come out as transgender earlier in my life, yet the past also feels brief and momentary, the present ever-present. Everything becomes a moment.
The world feels like it has gotten at once bigger and smaller, with all these transitions.
Last night North Carolina's legislators held a special session in order to prohibit local governments from passing anti-discrimination laws, particularly targeting an ordinance in Charlotte that would have allowed trans people to use public restrooms corresponding to their gender.
I’ve been trying to think of the right metaphor to describe this experience -- the way I can and can’t see real, tangible changes in my body, my mood, my place in the world; the way I have faith in the process and am exasperated by it, because from where I’m standing it will never end. The word transition implies that I started out as one thing and am becoming another, and that at the…
When I came out to myself as trans two years ago, one of the first things I said was that while maybe I preferred men's clothing and haircuts, I (probably) wasn't "trans enough" to want surgeries or to change my pronouns. Two years later and I'm counting down the days until top surgery and telling people they can call me Marco, and that she/her doesn’t really refer to me anymore, if it ever did.