“Happy birthday, man”. “Happy birthday, dude”. “Happy birthday, brother”. It’s a series of big tight “guy hugs” from some of my new cis-het buddies as I celebrate my birthday over beers with the co-ed climbing team after our weekly training.
When I joined this climbing team about a month ago, I did so “stealth” and was automatically treated as one of the men. A mixed group of men & women, ranging in ages from late twenties to late forties, all straight-presenting and including a couple of “couples”, they were warm and welcoming and genuinely nice. I decided to join the team as much for the social aspect as for the athletics because I felt so comfortable with, and welcomed by, them all. But I still decided to “go stealth” for a while, not knowing what reactions or shift in dynamics could happen if I immediately showed my queerness and/or transness.
Then, last Sunday, the “Cookie Jar Comp”: a recreational climbing competition in which our whole group competed as a team and where I had the opportunity to sign up (& compete & be awarded) as non-binary athlete. Once I realized I’d be up for the non-binary podium, I decided to take the leap by wearing my tank-top with the big writing on the front, “This is what trans looks like”, for the nonbinary awards. That’s how I let my team know, after testing the waters with them for about a month, that I’m trans. And last night, I wore my “trans-pride” tank-top & wristband to our climbing training, in honor of TDOR, so there’s no doubt now that they all know. And yet, it makes no difference. I was “man” and “brother” for the other guys a month ago; I still am “man” and “brother” for them now. (The women on the team seem to feel a little more comfortable or relaxed around me now in a way that feels good, not weird or creepy.)
Since the explicit beginning of my gender-journey and, especially, since moving out to Colorado where my gender-journey really took flight, I have been “collecting” nice guys. For the past five years or so, apart from a few queer people, most of the friends I’ve been making are cis-het men. But the “good ones”. Men who see me as one of them regardless of what my body looks like. But also cis-het men who defeat the negative (& often truthful) stereotypes of toxic masculinity: these are guys who can, and do, express their feelings openly; guys who often communicate clearly and are able to apologize and/or take ownership when they don’t; guys who show up concretely for each other, for me, for the women in their lives; guys who are keenly aware of their privilege and use it to uplift and/or help those who have less; guys who have done, or are doing, work (e.g. therapy) on themselves.
I have found more understanding, empathy, and genuine acceptance by these cis-het men (climbers and/or trail-runners) than I did from the queer folks in the gay men’s chorus.
There still is plenty of toxic masculinity in climbing, as everywhere else. But somehow, I seem to have the knack for steering clear of it. I don’t know if I sense it at a gut level and instinctively avoid it; or if it’s precisely my being a queer man that draws only open-minded, nice guys to me, people whose heads & hearts won’t be full of homophobic and/or transphobic bullshit. Maybe it’s a combination of both. But anyway it is a blessing.
It is an affirming, heart-warming gift.
The Little Prince and the Fox 