Want.

Over the last few months, many things have changed at the homestead. With the influx of loan money, we made improvements that we had barely dreamed of making.  We now have a proper chicken coop, a fridge and oven, a roof on our porch, a tractor to plow our road - and that's just the tip of the iceberg.  Our quality of life has improved drastically. But we're beginning to see the curse in our blessing, because with each improvement comes the wanting.

The wanting, I realize, is a human problem. We're far from the only ones to suffer from this sickness. In fact, it's so common in this country that we have Black Friday to show us just how sick it has made us. The want is so bad, we will harm others in our pursuit of TVs and iPads.  Harming another person for an electronic device is the ultimate sign of a sickness of spirit. Our suffering is not at that level, but it does show itself from time to time.

As soon as we can buy (          ) and (          ), we tell ourselves, things will be better.  As soon as we own (         ), our life will be complete. But what about finding joy in the moment?  What about counting our blessings, of which there are many?  What happens if we never have (          ), or that it has to wait for a while?  How do we retrain ourselves to live in our moment, instead of constantly wanting what we imagine is on the horizon?  If we never reach the horizon, will we never have been happy?  If we get there and discover that it doesn't look the way we expected or wished, can we adapt  and find happiness in our changed reality?  Can we put off instant gratification, in favor of the lasting joy that comes from patience and gratitude?  How do we learn this, when our nature and culture teach us only The Wanting?

The transgender story

When I was a little girl I hated wearing dresses, and would cry whenever someone forced me to wear one. I only wanted to play sports and cars with the little boys, and would insist that I was a boy like them.  When I was an adolescent, I realized I was a lesbian, a very butch lesbian, and couldn't have imagined wanting to be with a man. I have only ever liked wearing men's clothing. The idea of skirts and makeup and pink makes me want to turn my tail and run in the manliest way possible. This is my story.

Except that it isn't.  But it's the story that people want to hear.  It's the story that is so ingrained in society's view of what trans people are that many of us have to tell it to our therapists, our doctors, our partners, ourselves.  It's the accepted story of being a "real" trans person.  It's the _____ trapped in a _____'s body story.  And in many cases, deviating from this story can have dire consequences.

 In a few weeks, I start the required therapy to earn my T letter (a topic that I will address in more detail in another post), and to get it I will have to tell my story.  But which one should I tell?  Do I dare risk opening myself up to criticism, and the possibility that my transition will be held hostage by someone who can't possibly understand my reality as a gay fem trans man?  Do I act out the scripted part in order to earn the right to self-determination?  My kingdom for cis privilege!

While I mull over that, here's something for you to mull over.

Preparing our den.

Autumn is the season of heaviest transformation, when all the world is stripped of its glorious green. The branches and roots are exposed to the elements and the eye. The grasses and shrubs wither, succumbing to cold nights and frosty mornings, leaving nothing bare dirt and twigs to blanket the cold ground.  Even the wildlife is more in evidence at this time of year, having lost their camouflage and shelter. This is the season that the forest and fields are laid bare, and must give up their secrets gracefully, and adapt to their new reality.  This is the time that hunters hunt, gatherers gather, and a heavy sense of expectation hangs over the natural world.

Some people call this the season of plenty, and for our family, the name is apt this year.  Through a combination of resourcefulness, familial charity, and sleight of hand, we have come up with funds to make some major improvements.  We'll be buying a new car, installing solar panels, putting up insulation and walls, bringing in new furniture and selling off some of the old.  Some shelving has already been put up, and the cabin has been rearranged, both of which have created extra play space for Junebug.

Many pagans use this time of year as a time of reflection and reassessment.  We are no exception.  This is the time to look back on our year and mull over our failures and victories, our mistakes, our misdeeds, our triumphs and our tragedies.  This is the time for us to learn from our experiences, and to make plans for a better year to come.

We have a few family traditions for this season, and are working on building a few more.  I'd like to hear from my readers - what are your traditions and practices for fall? Do you have a religious practice for this time of year? Do you go to festivals? Go apple picking? Close out your garden and can a special garden's end recipe?  Please leave a comment so that we can share ideas!

Unexpected.

I had a hot shower this morning.  That might not sound like a big deal to you, but to us it's a special treat.  Mutt's parents are visiting us right now, helping us put in some insulation and drywall, and visiting with Junebug.  They prefer to stay at a hotel, so we have access to heat on demand, a laundry room, a shower, and hot coffee in the morning.  Sleeping in a fresh bed, freshly clean from the shower, and with a belly full of some of the best Chinese food we've ever had - it has been a weekend of luxury, the likes of which we haven't had in ages.

But this visit has also meant increased contact with civilization.  Extra meals out mean extra "what can I get you, ma'am?"  and more people calling me "mommy" to Junebug.  It means being confronted again with Mutt's father, who refuses to use male terms and pronouns with me, no matter how often I ask him to.  It means being pulled out of my usual comfort zone, my usual social circle (such as it is), and being confronted with the obvious female-ness in the eyes of others.

I took a hot shower this morning.  But first, as I got the water running and warming up, I caught a glimpse of a stranger in the room with me.  In the mirror behind me, there was a woman.  For a moment, all I could do was stop and stare.  The woman's body - something that I haven't seen in months, in my world without bathrooms or large mirror - had my face perched atop it, wearing an expression of confusion and dismay.

I took a hot shower this morning, and met my dysphoria there.  It was worse than I thought.

Metamorphosis.

I am nice to a fault.  The last thing I want to do is make waves.  Ok, maybe a few little ripples, but not big damaging waves that hurt feelings and cause drama.  I just want to live my life and let others live theirs.  But the time for "nice" is coming to an end.  The time for gritting my teeth and pretending to be ok in an attempt to spare others - because "I know it's hard for people" - is coming to an end.  Because, ME.  It's hard for me.

I am he. I am him.  My things are his things.  My life is his life.  I am Junebug and Badger's dad. I am Mutt's husband. I am Tristan, and I am HE.

Welcome to my blog.  Welcome to my journey.