Being Transgender

Another year

I’m not getting any younger. Come Wednesday, I’ll be another year older, and I can feel the years creeping up on me. It’s not entirely unpleasant, except I’m not as limber and agile as I once was. Also my sight isn’t what it used to be. Also I ache more. I don’t seem to bounce back as quickly as used to.

And I’m getting fatter. Damn this belly fat! Why does everything good and delicious have to be bad and fattening?

I guess I’m starting to feel my age, more so than at any other point in my life. I remember feeling in my twenties, how I felt permanently stuck in my teens. It felt weird to me, to be on my own. I never felt as though I had permission to live. It’s hard for me to explain, but I never did anything. Not really. I pretty much worked and went home.

Married at thirty, divorced at thirty-five. I went through it, and though it was a horrible and painful experience, I still felt as though I didn’t have permission to live and breath. I never did anything, went anywhere. And then my life came undone.

It’s only now in my forties that I have learned that no one gives me permission to live. I give myself that permission. I either allow myself to do what I want, or I look through the window of my life, envious of what others are doing. It’s taken me until my late thirties to start to understand that. I’m nearing my mid forties and I regret the lost years of my life.

I could have accepted myself sooner than I did. I could have explored more. I’m only now going to rock concerts, traveling, exploring my small corner of the world. If I’m going to live, I have to embrace the reality that life is fleeting.

It doesn’t feel so long ago that I was just a kid. Now most of my peers are parents, and some are becoming grandparents. I’m a middle aged divorcee, with no children of my own, and the opportunity to do so is slipping out of my grasp. The question now is, is it worth even trying? Can anyone love me in the gender limbo I seem to dwell in?

I know many will say that it is worth it, but those who say it will not have to be the one to deal with the shit that comes with loving someone like me. I’m exist between two identities, somehow neither and both at once. I’m indistinguishable from either one, but removed from them as well.

Honestly, it rarely bothers me anymore. I’ve come to accept the reality of my life. We all have our crosses to bear, and I suppose this is mine. I don’t claim to have it all too difficult, as compared to others. I have a decent job, a place to live, and friends who care for me.

But, you know, it small hours of the night, when I’m alone, staring at the ceiling and taking stock of my life, I can’t help but feel morose. So many what ifs that will remain unknown, too many paths unexplored. At times I feel alone in this world, but who can join me on my life’s journey? Rarely do I find someone I’m willing to connect with, someone who doesn’t drain my social battery.

Maybe I should just stop dwelling on it, but I can’t help myself. though I pray I have decades yet to experience life, I’m becoming aware of my mortality, and the fragility of the human experience.

In other words, I’m getting old, but I’m not there yet.

3 thoughts on “Another year

  1. Pingback: Another year — Stefani Within | Joe Hinojosa

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