“It is what it is”

[Trigger warnings: death, loss, grief.]

“

[…]

We’re lost and no-one wants to feel like that

We’ll find a way we can work this out

But it is what it is right now

I don’t have the words to make this right

Or a way to fix it all tonight

I know right now, it don’t seem like much

[…]

It’s dark today but the sun gon’ rise

Can’t rush the dawn before its time

Soon “what is” will be “what was”

[…]

But it is what it is right now

[…]

”

[from song “Is what it is” by Chance Peña]

This past weekend, I had another bout of profound grief, with that wrenching, unbearable longing for my dad — a child longing for their lost father. 

As I let myself sink into the depths and feel the grief wholly, I suddenly realized this pain is pure now. It’s finally unentangled from the grief related to my European queer ex-lover. Now, the grief for the father I lost is as pure, sharp and clear, as a diamond. My grief now belongs only to that wrenching loss that will be the deepest wound in my life. My grief belongs only to them: father and son. 

Realizing this brought me further healing. Bittersweet healing but healing nonetheless. I realized that the aborted attempt of reconnection with my European queer ex-lover in the autumn has actually brought me the long-needed and ultimate closure with that person, with that relationship. I’m now fully at peace with that relationship having ended, with that person being out of my life. And that closure unentangled the death of my father from the breakup with my European queer ex-lover. The loss of my father is a much older, much deeper, much more painful wound, and if I can honor in & as of itself, unshackled from anything else, then I can find deeper (albeit never full) healing.

The other aspect that has brought me further healing with respect to my father’s death as well as relational difficulties in general this past year has been an increased capacity to see things — situations, relationships, persons — how they really are and accept them as they are. An “it is what is it” attitude. Not in a passive way but, rather, in a realistic and empowered way: if this is the reality, and I can accept it as it is, then I can also deal with it as it is and not let it overwhelm me completely. I have “good days” and I have “bad days”: on the “good days”, I use all my energy to be productive and enjoy the happiness or enthusiasm or optimism I feel and try to get as much done as possible; on the “bad days”, I allow myself to sink into the difficult emotions, to feel them wholly, to let them engulf me, if necessary. I also have “so so” days, where I’m balancing different emotions or opposing states of mind, and I try to hold the “good” and the “bad” together (which is probably the hardest part).

It doesn’t mean that my difficulties aren’t real, that the painful wounds or disappointing relationships are “just my imagination”. But I’ve learned I can rest or reset within those difficult emotions, and then I can start again, without having to cut the sadness or grief out of myself — out of my soul, my head, my body — but embracing it all as part of my life, as part of what I carry. 

Insecurity & Scarcity Mindset

Last night I went on a beautiful 8-mile hike in the full moon with a potential new friend. But all I can feel this morning is sadness and fear. 

I cannot see the physical achievement of hiking the 8 miles after weeks where an abdominal strain has been making it hard & painful for me to even just walk 3-4 miles. 

I cannot see the simple beauty of the experience, or “adventure”, with a potential new buddy. 

I cannot let his words sink into my heart when he said that he & his housemate (who had me over for Christmas dinner) nominated me “Best New Friend of 2025”.

I cannot get peace or satisfaction from the personal and relational achievement of having clarified with him explicitly that we both enjoy hanging out with each other nor can I get joy from knowing that, if I hadn’t told him, he wouldn’t have guessed that I’m trans. 

All I can feel is the pain & fear of knowing that he’ll be unavailable the next few months because of school starting again. And even his explicit words, “but it’s just a few months, then I’ll have more time again”, cannot console me. 

Technically, I barely know this guy. But in the past two weeks we have hung out four times, on average once every three days. That’s more than I usually do with people, even with exciting new friends. The point is, I like him a lot. More than I’ve liked anyone in a long time. Not only is he a climber, an interesting & adventurous person, a quirky, like-minded guy in STEM, and a very sweet and considerate young man like all of my buddies. He’s also gay. And (in my opinion) very cute. So it’s understandable that I’m feeling a strong draw to him. What is less reasonable is the dread I’m feeling around the situation with him. 

On the one hand, I cannot get over the idea that I’ll never meet anyone else who could be “such a good fit” (climber, adventurous, sweet, smart, gay, and cute in my eyes): so I’m feeling this anxiety that if it “doesn’t work out” with him, I’ll be missing my “one and only chance”. 

On the other hand, I’m feeling terrified that, while we are forced to pause our getting to know each other in the next few months while he’s back at school, he’ll “forget me” or “meet someone else” and thus lose any interest in me (even if probably his interest in me is only platonic buddy-like anyway). 

Rationally, I realize that both these fears are “over-reactions” to the situation. I realize they come from what is often called a “scarcity mindset” and from a terrible, deeply-rooted insecurity within me: my own fear of not being worthy, of not being liked or lovable, my fear of people not considering me worthy enough to “stick to the relationship” with me. These fears, these insecurities, this “scarcity mindset” come from somewhere very old and deep within me, from old experiences and deep conditionings: how do I heal from all that? 

I also realize, though, that these strong fears are symptoms of deep needs or wishes within me that I see, at least potentially, as being met with this guy: both my “adventure buddy” and my “friends with benefits” needs. So the intensity of my fear of “it not working out” with him also shows clearly how strongly I need or desire an “adventure buddy” and/or a “friends with benefits”, and preferably an “adventure buddy who is also a friend with benefits”. But trying to meet this desire of mine while coming from the “scarcity mindset” and with all my deep insecurities is a terrible place to be: a very dangerous place to start any relationship.

Turn of the Year of Healing

The last day of 2025. 

The last day of this momentous year for me.

A hard year that started with me recovering from a double procedure surgery that was also a political act. 

A year that started with forced healing and continued with deep emotional healing despite, or precisely through, all the hardships: fatigue, (autistic) burnout, vertigo, suicidal thoughts/feelings, and terrible bouts of grief. 

And yet, despite all that darkness, the light shines through more brightly: more brightly than a year ago, more brightly even than two or three years ago.  

Despite all that darkness, through all that darkness, even thanks to all that darkness, I have found some more light. More inner light than I’d felt in a long time. And, somehow, a steadier light. 

With these words, with these feelings, I’m ending this part of my blog; ready to start the New Year and all that it may bring, if not with optimism, then at least with strength and determination and openness. 

I feel open. Curious. Hopeful even. 

I still have problems to solve. I’ll solve them inasmuch as I can. 

I have lots of things to get done. I’ll do as many of them, and as well, as I can. 

I have lots of worries. I’ll attend to them while trying to not let them overwhelm me. 

I’ll do my best. And I’ll have patience and grace for myself when my best isn’t as good as I hoped.

I will be kind: kind to myself and others, trying to spread love and kindness because, boy, does the world need love & kindness now more than ever! 

I’m not negating the “bad moments” or the “bad stuff”, I’m not delusional — only a week ago I was crushed by one of my periodic bouts of devastating grief and I’m sadly aware of the horrific state of the world right now. But I’m learning to live with the difficulties, not just to ignore or suffocate them or to cope with them, but to actually live with them, possibly learning & growing from them, and I keep on going. While also accepting that part of my truth is that, if or when I decide that I’m done with “keep on going”, I can stop, I can check out, and that’s OK, too. 

But for now, I’m here to stay, to fight the battles and enjoy the surprises of the New Year around the corner!

Vegan Xmas

This has been my first good Christmas in Colorado and my first really good Christmas in years, maybe decades. 

I spent Christmas Eve with my best running buddy and his family. He is a truly good friend and his family (wife, daughter and mother-in-law) have become somewhat extended family to me, too, or I have been sort of “adopted” by them. It was nice to hang out with my running buddy whom I hadn’t seen in a couple months and who had just had surgery the day prior: it was nice to catch up and also special to be there for him — the friend who drove me to my salpingectomy a year ago — as he dealt with his own post-surgery now. It was a lovely evening that ended a difficult day for me full of grief with some joyful hours that filled my heart deeply. I felt at home. It felt like family, almost like my own. To a certain extent, it’s healing to be around healthy, functional families like this and to be, at least on the periphery, a part of them. And part of being part of them is the vegan meals they cook for me whenever I visit: none of them are vegan or have any dietary restrictions or allergies, but they always go out of their way to pull up new recipes and cook delicious vegan meals every time I visit. To me, that is an act of love: it’s one of their ways of showing me they accept and welcome me just as I am, and want to make me feel comfortable.* 

Christmas Day dinner was another fully vegan meal cooked for me by totally non-vegan people who, apart from one, were mere acquaintances — at least until two days ago. 

About six months ago, I connected with another climber on political issues and we quickly became friends: he’s my most recent climbing buddy, another of my cis-het guy friends. 

I had spent Thanksgiving dinner with him and a group of friends of his who were total strangers to me; at that dinner, there was nothing vegan except for the food I brought myself. Apart from my new climbing buddy & I, at that Thanksgiving dinner there were two other guys who are very close friends of my buddy’s and with whom I also connected easily. I ended up spending Christmas dinner with these three guys last night and it was truly lovely. It was just us four guys, two straight, two openly queer; four climbers; four very progressive, non-normative or anticonformist people; four persons with STEM degrees, at least three of whom are neurodivergent. All of us with different backgrounds and without a “family” to go back to for Christmas. So we had our own “vegan Christmas feast” together, filled with lively political conversations, personal story-telling, connection, and movie-watching. Once again, I felt very easily, spontaneously accepted: these are “my people”. But maybe the thing that touched me the most was when, towards the end, the one straight guy who was hosting & mostly in charge of the cooking and who hadn’t really known me until last night, said to me honestly: “At first I was a little cranky about having to have a vegan meal but then I realized that was silly and I’m really glad we did!” 

I hadn’t expected the whole meal to be vegan. When they invited me for Christmas Day dinner, I said clearly that I could bring vegan food and they could prepare whatever they liked. So the fact that they intentionally changed up their recipes to accomodate my dietary preferences, to include me, felt precious to me. Once again, an inclusive gesture: a simple gesture that can mean a lot. And I also, or maybe even more, appreciated that guy’s honesty in saying that at first he had felt cranky about it: that makes me feel I can trust him, we can be in disagreement and work through it and find common ground. 

In many ways, last night didn’t feel like Christmas at all, but in a good way: it didn’t feel like the normative, conformist, commercialized Christmas that our capitalistic (& Christian) society forces upon us. There was no forced, uncomfortable “family” gathering. No Christmas tree, other than a funny small fern on a table with a huge red ball on the very top of it that made it bend over double and look hilarious. There was no mountain of unrequested gifts (another nightmare of my childhood and youth). But there were those things that are probably the greatest gifts and the truest aspects of “Christmas spirit”: the acceptance of differences; a warm and welcoming atmosphere; camaraderie; being there for other people who didn’t have a “place to be” on this forced holiday. In other words, love.

*{NOTE: many of my close friends prepare vegan meals for me; I think the importance of this gesture to me stems also from the fact that food & dietary preferences were among the many things for which my family of origin and my longest term ex-partner made me feel weird or wrong and did not accomodate or accept about me.}

“Hopeless Wanderer”

[Trigger warnings: death, loss, grief]

This Christmas seems to be turning out more promising, less lonely, than usual: tonight I have the choice between a dinner that my housemate is having with some of their friends at our place or joining one of my closest running buddies to celebrate with his family; tomorrow, I have been invited to Christmas Day dinners by two different climbing buddies. 

And yet, last night I couldn’t sleep. Tossing and turning in my bed restlessly, ruminating: I kept thinking over and over the words I would use to reply to one of my buddies’ text messages that somehow had hurt me, although per se there was nothing hurtful in the message. Until, through the fog of rumination and undefined pain, I felt the urge to listen to the song “Hopeless Wanderer” by Mumford & Sons. And that’s when the dam broke, yet again, and painful tears and sobs poured out as the grief washed over me. I found myself squeezing my blue & green Squishmallow dragon tightly, the word “Papá” going through my mind. And then, the thought, “This grief is bottomless, it has no end.” 

“[…]

And I will remember the words that you said

Left a clouded mind and a heavy heart

But I was sure we could see a new start 

[…]

Don’t let your heart grow cold

I will call you by name

I will share your road

But hold me fast, hold me fast

‘Cause I’m a hopeless wanderer

And hold me fast, hold me fast

‘Cause I’m a hopeless wanderer

I wrestled long with my youth 

We tried so hard to live in the truth

[…]

Don’t let your heart grow cold

I will call you by name

I will share your road

But hold me fast, hold me fast

‘Cause I’m a hopeless wanderer

And hold me fast, hold me fast

‘Cause I’m a hopeless wanderer

And I will learn, I will learn

To love the skies I’m under

And I will learn, I will learn

To love the skies I’m under

The skies I’m under

“

[“Hopeless Wanderer” by Mumford & Sons]

Ten years ago was the last Christmas I had with my father, the last Christmas I’ll ever have with him. At the time, I didn’t really think I might never see him again. I needed to move away, to go to California, to go find myself. As it turned out, I had to lose my father to find myself. 

At that Christmas Eve dinner ten years ago, when I told my parents & sister that I was about to move to California, my father’s bitter, shocked comment was: “What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you just settle down like everyone else?” 

I had expected something similar from him and wanted to avoid harsh conflict while also asserting myself so I gave him the answer I had prepared: “If I had been born a hundred years ago, I would have been one of those men going on expeditions like discovering the South Pole. I’m an explorer. That’s why I need to go.” 

I had to go find and live my truth. I don’t think he ever understood that. He probably just saw me as a “hopeless wanderer”.

“And I will remember the words that you said

Left a clouded mind and a heavy heart” 

I don’t know if I’ll ever recover from those words my father said to me ten years ago, our last “real conversation”. They might haunt me forever. 

One of my friends once said to me I could choose to imagine that my father would accept and love me as I truly am, if he could see me now. I wish I could, but I think this wound will never heal. This bottomless grief will always be part of me, sabotaging my capacity for closeness. That’s why my buddy’s message hurt yesterday: because I’m projecting on him something that I cannot really have. Ever. 

Don’t think about it

I don’t know when exactly I started adopting pervasively the method of “not thinking about it”. I’ve definitely been doing it these nearly four years in Colorado, and I probably did it also in California, at least for a while, certainly during the pandemic. 

Don’t think about it, I tell myself. 

I don’t even tell myself, really: it’s an automatic mode I go into and function by. There’s an automatic mechanism in me that shuts down, ignores, silences some needs of mine that I know — or fear, or have learned — won’t get met. Like the need for “friendship with benefits” with some male buddy, the need for some intimacy beyond the camaraderie and emotional connection. Since there haven’t been any candidates for that in my life recently, no one who’d be interested in me in that way nor to whom I’m specifically attracted, I just defaulted to not thinking about it. 

Until Chicago.

That trip opened up a deeper connection with two of my buddies in ways that are hard for me to ignore now. The details and circumstances of the deepened connection with each of them are different but the overall pattern is the same: they’re both cis-men with whom I have a deep, close, solid emotional connection; men with whom I’ve shared a lot of my feelings and struggles and fears and joys, a lot of “my story”, and who have in turn shared tons of their own with me, too; men with whom there’s a deep trust around our most vulnerable spots; but also men that I would automatically, a priori, consider “unavailable” for anything non-platonic, for anything beyond camaraderie or deep emotional connection. Men with whom, as in many other cases, I’ve made sure to keep solid boundaries in place because, while I don’t feel sexually attracted to either (I’m ace), I know that for me strong emotional connection could lead to the desire of closer intimacy.

My trip to Chicago a month ago led each one of them, separately, to take initiatives to break down some of those boundaries with me, to open some little window in our relationships that to me now feel more like the opening of Pandora’s vase. 

Because for me now it’s not just a theoretical “don’t think about it”, it’s not just about ignoring a need with some hypothetical persons that aren’t actually present in my life. Now I have to force myself to not think about my actual feelings for these two guys lest I ruin the platonic friendships we have (& which mean the world to me). 

Now I have to barricade myself in the fortress I’ve built for myself over the years and fill my days with practical things to be done, set myself athletic goals, focus on my work, so that I won’t hear what my heart is asking for and what it cannot get.

Self definition — Self defense — Self sabotage

I’m sitting on the couch laughing, soaking in all the good vibes and affection from my friends who’ve come over to celebrate my birthday. There’s about a dozen of us and, apart from my two transmasc friends and one of my buddies’ fiancé (a cis woman), it’s a bunch of straight guys. These are my closest friends: a bunch of straight men. 

Considering all of my closest friendships, I do have a few very good friends who are not cis-het men: two or three very close women friends and a small handful of queer/nonbinary/trans friends. But the vast majority of the people I’ve been surrounding myself with over the past decade, and especially since moving out here to Colorado, has been straight men. And I’ve been doing it instinctively, almost automatically, like following an inner compass.

Part of this is simply due to my preference for activities that tend to be male-dominated (STEM, sailing, motorcycle riding, climbing) so it’s statistically easier for me to meet men in the environments where I spend most of my time.

On the other hand, there’s also a part that is certainly due to my own gender identity & gender journey: connecting with cis men, being accepted and treated by them just “as one of them”, has been an important way for me to get the validations I needed as a transmasc person and a fundamental part of my self discovery, self definition, and healing from years of misgendering and gaslighting. Moreover, as I’ve been coming into myself and unfolding as an aro-ace transmasc gay guy, in a phase where non-platonic relationships were not the priority for me, connecting with straight men was (or felt) “safe” for me: I’m a guy and they’re straight men so they won’t be attracted to me; I’m aro-ace so I won’t inherently be attracted to them, either; therefore, our platonic friendships are safe, iron-clad. 

This has served me for several years. It’s what I needed. But now it might not be serving me well anymore, it might have gone too far. Now, it feels like my own heart has become iron-clad. 

I have built a fortress around myself, around my heart. 

At the end of a weekend of bonding on a climbing & camping trip, I drop off my buddy at his place and we give each other a hug goodbye. He’s a hugger, it’s not one of those perfunctory “man hugs”, it’s a solid hug full of affection. We’re like brothers and as we hug I can feel the affection he’s giving me, that intense brotherly love that he’s unable to express in words but can give me with this gesture, that intense platonic love that I so badly need. I need it so much that I cannot endure it and I break the brotherly embrace almost abruptly. 

I need and yearn for intimacy, closeness, deeper connection and brotherhood; in some cases even physical touch, snuggles, cuddles, sex. And yet I’ve done all I can to eradicate the possibility of getting any of it at the level that I would really need. I’ve done this by surrounding myself with people who cannot really give me the intimacy or availability that I need, or by pushing away what affection or closeness is offered to me. 

What started out as self-definition and self-defense has turned into self-sabotage.

What next?

A week ago, I was sick, coming down with a bad cold just a few days before my planned “grand finale” race for the year: my first longer-than-half-marathon trail run in Southern California on December 6th. 

All of last week, amidst extremely dark bouts of depression, was spent with the sole focus of getting over my cold or, at least, well enough to fly to California and show up for this race that meant so much to me. And fortunately — or miraculously — I got well enough in time to do my race on Saturday: the sixth race in ten months. 

I did it. Still not the full marathon on trail that I’m one day hoping to achieve, but 28km (~17.5 miles) with ~3,600 feet elevation gain. I finally managed to break through the “glass ceiling” of the half marathon. And yet, I still cannot fully believe that I did it. It almost feels underwhelming. The distance wasn’t a problem at all. I had already run a couple of 15-milers and a couple of 16-milers in training and the distance didn’t weight on me. The heat got me on race day. I didn’t hydrate properly and was cramping up from dehydration (& probably also because the course was very steep, much steeper than the description on the race’s webpage) by mile 11. But if it hadn’t been for the dehydration, I could have gone for longer — and if it hadn’t been steeper than planned, I would have made it within my projected time of about 2 hours & 50 minutes. 

Still, as it was, I got first place nonbinary. Yet again. Here, actually, I was announced as “the winner for the nonbinary category” because I simply was the only runner in this category. 

Six races this calendar year, between February 2nd and December 6th, 2025: six races, four first places & two second places nonbinary. But what value does it have to win first place if I’m the only one showing up or if I’m only one among half a dozen of us trans/nonbinary athletes? Does that mean my victory has less value? 

Part of me feels it does have less value, since I could just hike or jog the course, as long as I finish the race within the cut-off time, and still get my award (& sometimes even a trophy). 

But part of me stubbornly says “No, my victory has just as much value, maybe even more, than if as many nonbinary and/or trans athletes showed up as male & female runners”. After all, when women first started to be admitted to compete decades ago, there were very few of them surrounded by hundreds of men. Were their victories less valuable? Hell no! They were more valuable precisely due to the effort it had taken them to get to the start line (even before worrying about getting to the finish line)! And it’s the same for trans/nonbinary athletes now: we haven’t been allowed to compete for decades so at first there’s going to be only a few of us. And some of us showing up at these races might not necessarily be the fastest runners but we’ll be the most stubborn, e.g. the ones who write to race organizers to ask for a nonbinary category in the first place and request equal awards and advocate for fair treatment & prizes. Many of the races where I’ve won first place and brought home a prize or trophy have been precisely those where I spent time & effort advocating for myself & all trans/nonbinary runners. And then, realistically, there’s probably always going to be fewer of us in the nonbinary category, simply because a smaller percent of the population is trans or nonbinary compared to cis and also because trans athletes will have much higher barriers to access sports for decades to come. 

I need to remind myself of all this, to remind myself that when I stand on those podiums, sometimes all by myself, receiving my first-place-nonbinary-prize wearing my trans-pride shorts & all my trans-nonbinary-pride swag, I am doing something important. Important for myself because it took decades of my own life, of my own efforts and suffering, to get to that achievement, to get to that moment of joy. But also important for others because, hopefully, I am paving the way. Because I am visible. I have the courage or strength or simply the privilege to stand up visibly and openly and ostensibly trans, unapologetically nonbinary, and that visibility might encourage others: because representation matters. (In fact, it is also greatly due to a lack of representation, i.e. of “role models”, in my own life that it took me so long to “get to my own gender identity” so explicitly & openly.)

So, what next? Where do I go from here? What are my next goals, athletically but also in a broader perspective?

Because I need goals: in order to keep the sharp claws of depression from digging too deep into my skin, to keep dark thoughts from devouring my mind wholly, I need goals, to keep me going, literally to keep me alive.

“What a grieving friend might need most from you”

[Content warnings: grief; loss; death of loved one(s)]

Last night, I heard a report on NPR about supporting friends/loved ones through grief: “What a grieving friend might need most from you”.

In the summer of 2023, I experienced two devastating losses, one of which — the death of my father & the fact that he will never know the real me — will probably haunt me and periodically bring me to my knees for the rest of my life. 

As is mentioned also in this short NPR report, holidays can be a specific trigger for renewed bouts of grief — they definitely are for me — which is one of the reasons NPR published this report last night. 

I can very much relate to what is said in this short NPR report but I also believe it to be a helpful, useful “tool for our life toolkit” (as the NPR reporter says), because as long as we love, we’re bound to experience grief. And once we experience it, grief stays with us forever, sometimes dormant, and comes back in waves or layers, and it is truly exhausting. 

The end…?

It’s the last day of November, an eventful, intense month, “my month”. 

But as I sit on the couch, sipping my black English breakfast tea on this wintry morning, I feel like more than just this month is over. I feel like I’m nearing “the end”, some “end”. 

The “end” of what, though? 

The end of a year full of athletic endeavors, with half-a-dozen competitions, grass-roots activism, and a handful of “1st overall nonbinary” prizes? 

The end of the first calendar year since 2022 with no surgery for me? 

The end of the first year since 2022 of relative stability in my professional & living situations? 

The end of the bureaucratic battles (that are actually possible for me to fight) to see my chosen name & affirmed gender recognized on paperwork and documents? 

The end of a year of renewed travel and adventure that allowed me to rediscover important parts of my identity? 

The end of a year of “pruning relationships”, as old friendships ended or got redefined and new ones started?

The end of the year in which I got over the worst of my autistic burnout at last? 

And yet, that autistic burnout feels like it’s not wholly defeated, it feels like it’s clawing at me again now, at the end of this eventful month, at the end of this holiday weekend. 

And I dread what is ahead of me, for next year. Overall I think 2025, while hard, has been a “positive” year, because despite and through the hardships I have found some almost unprecedented growth and healing. I’m afraid 2026 won’t hold up to this. I’m scared of the void ahead of me with no definite athletic goals in view. I’m afraid of the professional and living uncertainty ahead of me as both my grant and my lease come to an end in a few months. I can already feel the worry not only of the Christmas holidays looming in a few weeks but also, and more concerning in a practical way, the stress of having to look for a new job and for a new living space, and probably move, once again in a few months. And of having, once again, to do it all by myself. 

I’m tired. I’m so, so tired. 

Is this why it feels like some sort of “end” to me: because I’m tired and feel like I don’t have the energy to face any more? Or because what I have to face seems to be only full of stress and devoid of any joy?