The Little Prince and the Fox

“

Regrets collect like old friends

Here to relive your darkest moments

I can see no way, I can see no way

And all of the ghouls come out to play

And every demon wants his pound of flesh

But I like to keep some things to myself

I like to keep my issues drawn

It’s always darkest before the dawn

And I’ve been a fool and I’ve been blind (I’ve been blind)

I can never leave the past behind

I can see no way, I can see no way

I’m always dragging that horse around

All of his questions, such a mournful sound

Tonight I’m gonna bury that horse in the ground

‘Cause I like to keep my issues drawn

But it’s always darkest before the dawn

Shake it out, shake it out

Shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa

Shake it out, shake it out

Shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa

And it’s hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off, oh whoa

And I am done with my graceless heart

So tonight I’m gonna cut it out and then restart

‘Cause I like to keep my issues drawn

It’s always darkest before the dawn

Shake it out, shake it out

Shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa

Shake it out, shake it out

Shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa

And it’s hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off, oh whoa

And it’s hard to dance with the devil on your back (shake him off)

And given half the chance would I take any of it back? (shake him off)

It’s a fine romance, but it’s left me so undone (shake him off)

It’s always darkest before the dawn (shake him off)

(Oh whoa, oh whoa)

And I’m damned if I do and I’m damned if I don’t

So here’s to drinks in the dark at the end of my road

And I’m ready to suffer and I’m ready to hope

It’s a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat

‘Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me (oh whoa)

Looking for heaven, for the devil in me (oh whoa)

But what the hell, I’m gonna let it happen to me, yeah

Shake it out, shake it out

Shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa

Shake it out, shake it out

Shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa

And it’s hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off, oh whoa

Shake it out, shake it out

Shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa

Shake it out, shake it out

Shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa

And it’s hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off, oh whoa

Ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh, ooh-ooh (what the hell)

Ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh, ooh-ooh

Ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh, ooh-ooh

Ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh, ooh-ooh

Ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh, ooh-ooh 

Ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh, ooh-ooh (what the hell)

Ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh, ooh-ooh

Ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh, ooh-ooh

“

[“Shake it out” by Florence & The Machine]

My brain (or mind?) has the tendency to obsess. I think it always has. 

This tendency has often served me well as it has allowed me to achieve many of my important, most desired, and often vital goals. These (obsessive) goals have been academic, professional, athletic, or connected to major personal changes/milestones/needs. A few times they’ve been people — e.g. the Californian boulderer or the guy at the climbing gym now. 

What all of my obsessive goals have in common is challenge: they’re not only things (or persons) that I really desire; they’re also hard to achieve. And as long as I’m not given a clear, explicit “No”, I continue to hope (or obsess). The other commonality is that there always seems to be at least one: my brain (or mind?) seems to always need something on which to obsess. And I tend to obsess on people when other challenging goals are either absent or not motivating/captivating enough or too stressful. 

It’s also interesting that the most recent persons on whom I’ve obsessed have been climbers: climbers seem to have a huge pull on me. I guess that makes sense, knowing me. Many climbers have the physical build to which I tend to have an aesthetic attraction. Many of them share characters traits that I like (& also share), a mix of problem-solving, risk-taking, and love for the outdoors. But I think there’s also something deeper: I think I feel drawn to climbers because of the profound camaraderie (& thus intimacy) that can form between them. That appeals to my desire for an adventure buddy, my desire of being someone’s “primary adventure buddy”; and in the cases of the Californian boulderer or the guy at the climbing gym now there’s the additional appeal, or hope, of getting a physical, touchy-feely intimacy that I cannot have (& don’t want) with my straight climbing buddies. 

I see all this rationally, in my head, but what can I do to change this in my heart? How can I tell my brain to not obsess when it doesn’t serve me — like now?

Choir rehearsal went well last night. 

The only thing that didn’t go well was that I had to leave very early and abruptly: I was so exhausted that I was really afraid I wouldn’t be able to drive myself home safely so I left before the half-way break. 

In the short time I was there, though, I was able to interact with people and actually have nice interactions. 

I think one factor contributing greatly to the difference was my own attitude, or approach: I was simply feeling more confident. The race I did on Saturday and my attempt to pick up the guy at the gym on Tuesday (the results of which are still open) effectively boosted my ego and for the first time I wore my skinny “gay boy jeans” with my tight “gay boy T-shirt” to rehearsal. Maybe the simple fact of having attempted to pick up a guy at the gym — even if in the end it leads to nothing — has given me some confidence, almost a confirmation that I felt necessary for myself, of “really being a gay boy” (despite being aro-ace and despite not having, and not wanting to have, a penis). 

The positive, supportive, and empathic interactions I had had over the week via text msg and email with some of the leaders/guys I trust in the chorus also helped me feel that someone there sees me and has my back. 

And my having posted on the chorus bulletin board about the social, inclusive climbing event I organize/lead, inviting choir members to join, probably also helped — it likely gave me some visibility and helped folks know something personal about me (without having to ask). 

So yesterday evening, for the first time I approached the guy with whom I’ll be carpooling to the retreat next weekend: and he seems really nice and, honestly, also extremely shy. 

One of the guys asked me about the social, inclusive climbing event I organize/lead saying it seems really fun. 

The guy who sat on one side of me at the first rehearsal and who until now was giving me hostile vibes happened to sit on my right again last night. As he took his seat next to me, he greeted me in a friendly way as if we had been friendly with each other for weeks (moody?!). So, since I know he used to climb a bit, I asked him if he had seen my post on the bulletin board about the social, inclusive climbing event; he said “No” and asked me about it and marked it in his calendar and said he’ll join if he’s not too tired at the end of his work day! He might not really mean it or join, but at least he was nice about it.

And after my very early, abrupt (& visible) departure in the middle of rehearsal, three of the leaders/guys that I trust in the chorus texted me to check in and ask if I was OK. 

Last night, I felt that I belonged in this gay men’s chorus. This morning, I still feel that way, and I’m looking forward to Wednesday’s Sectional rehearsal and this weekend’s retreat. 

Hopefully, I’ll continue to feel this way.

I’ve raced many half-marathons but in some ways yesterday’s was my first. Another “first” in a week of “first times”. 

It was my first half-marathon run and officially recognized and awarded as a nonbinary athlete. And that equal award for nonbinary athletes exists now within the races of this organization greatly thanks to my efforts. 

It was also the first time I raced without going for time, without trying to get a PR or aiming for the podium. My goal for this half-marathon was, as my coach put it, to “get to the Start line” at the end of 2-3 weeks of major burnout and having just barely recovered from a severe ankle sprain that kept me from running for over seven weeks during the summer. Once I got to the start line, after less than four weeks of preparation for this race, my goal was to get to the Finish line all in one piece, with no new injury. And 13.6 miles later, having negotiated nearly 2,700 feet elevation gain in steep stretches over very technical terrain, there I was all in one piece, with no new injury: mission accomplished! It didn’t matter that it was my slowest half-marathon ever; it doesn’t matter than I power-hiked (instead of jogging) most of the uphills — they were so, so steep! What matters is that I paced myself, I listened to my body every single step of the way and the moment it said, “This is too much”, I slowed down; the moment it said, “I need fuel”, I refueled; the moment it said, “I can go”, I picked up my speed, but carefully, without having to prove anything to anyone — not even to myself. 

A lot of it felt like a weekend hike, a beautiful, albeit cold, weekend hike. 

I was alone on the trail for a lot of the time. I ran/jogged/hiked with no music or earbuds or headphones. I was hyperfocused on the trail and technical terrain in fear of spraining my ankle again but I was still able to get glimpses of the route and scenery — the autumny woods, the hills shrouded in low white clouds and mist, the greens and reds and grays of the landscape around me. 

During most of the race, I just felt like I was there for the journey, there for the ride, like I was just taking myself on a pleasant hike. 

I’ve never raced like that before and in many ways, I believe that to be the greatest accomplishment of yesterday’s race for me: I just got there, did this thing in a way that was enjoyable and fun for myself, did it giving it value for the moment, at each step, regardless of the “numerical outcome” (e.g. time or position/result). I shifted my perspective from one goal (i.e. the “numerical outcome”) to another, that was/is more important: i.e my having gotten there despite the difficulties, in the first place, and my finishing it without further harm to myself. 

I want to try and see the “thing with the guy at the gym” in the same way: it was a huge step for me to go up to a stranger (on whom I have a crush) and ask them to climb with me. I have never done anything like that before and with my “new presentation” it feels even harder/scarier to me. It would be nice if “something” would come out of it — I wish it would. But it is truly secondary (& out of my control). I’ve already taken my big little step, already accomplished my big little goal. 

Just like with yesterday’s half-marathon, I’ve already had my big, little victory. 

Amid all the stress and difficult emotions of the past weeks, there have been some good moments, too, moments in which I’ve been able to relax a bit, counting on the shelter of friends, on their support, love, and practical help. And despite all the stress, I have also had a couple of moments of glee — pure, teenager-like glee — this week: it’s those two moments I want to record and share here now. 

Due to my various injuries over the summer I was often forced to train on the stationary bike at the climbing gym because that was all I could do. It was extremely boring — the death of the soul! — but I did get a chance to see lots of good (& good-looking) climbers working out. Usually they have just an athletic, and sometimes platonically aesthetic, appeal to me. But one of them sparked something different in me: I felt drawn to him in an irresistible, almost obsessive, way. Honestly, I think it was due to the fact that he reminds me of a mix of my European (gender)queer ex-lover and the Californian boulderer. Anyhow, I found myself looking at him more than I usually look at people at the gym and a couple times our gazes seem to meet for “longer than is usual for guys at the gym” (whatever that is or means). For a few weeks I was almost obsessed by the desire of getting to know him but I was also completely at a loss on how to do so, mainly feeling terrified about how I might come across to him — as a gay (cis)guy making a move on him and maybe sparking some homophobic reaction in him? as a weirdo with a strange body? 

For weeks I didn’t see him again so I eventually forgot about it. Until Tuesday. There I was, twenty minutes into my one-hour cross-training on the stationary bike, and he showed up for one of his strength/kilter-board workouts. I hadn’t expected it so I didn’t know what to do, but I did know that if I didn’t try and speak to him I would regret it a lot. So I kept going on my stationary bike, trying to focus on the workout and music in my ears, and texted two of my old friends who knew about this whole “teenager drama” and their replies helped give me the courage to find a way to approach him. The words of some of my local cis-het-male friends also helped, as they told me that, even if they wouldn’t reciprocate, they would feel flattered if a gay guy made a (respectful, non-aggressive) move on them. Plus, I remembered my closest climbing buddy’s words: “All you really have to do is ask him to climb — climbers are almost always happy to have a belayer — and you know he’s there to climb because you’ve seen him do it”. So, during the next forty minutes of my stationary-bike workout, I made two attempts to go and approach him at the kilter-board, but aborted them both as there were always too many other guys around: I just felt too shy, too self-conscious, even scared, to approach one specific guy amid a whole group of strangers and ask him to climb with me out of the blue. Honestly, I was also afraid that his response might be (negatively) influenced by the other guys present because of possible internalized homophobia. At last, though, he was done with his kilter-board session just as my stationary-bike workout was ending and he was walking in my general direction (going to the weights room nearby). So I stumbled off the stationary bike, still bare-chested and sweaty, fumbled with the cords of my headphones and cell-phone to turn off my music and sent my phone flying onto the floor as I did so — which, of course, caught his attention. I felt terribly embarrassed and self-conscious but determined to go through with it, so I walked straight up to him and blurted out, all in one breath: “Hey, I’ve seen you do the kilter-board a few times and was wondering if you’d like to climb with me some time”. There was a fraction of a second pause — I had already prepared myself for a polite “Thanks but no thanks” — but then he said, “Sure”. So I finally introduced myself by name and he gave me his phone number and told me to text him if I wanted to climb at the gym together. And fist-bumped me as a Good-bye — which is very typical especially among guy-climbers and has a very buddy/bro-y (male) vibe. 

The other moment of glee — smaller and more transitory but still valuable to me — came yesterday afternoon. Towards the end of my run along the creek I crossed paths with another runner/athlete: he seemed to be cooling down from his workout and was jogging bare-chested. His torso looked beautiful to me (in a platonic, aesthetic sense) and I found myself letting my gaze linger on it for a moment instead of having the usual forced/learned reaction of looking away “because that’s what you should do, especially as a guy”. And then I felt a smile forming on my lips, spontaneously, uncontrolled. I wasn’t looking at him and had no idea whether he noticed all that — I was in my own little world, in the flow of running on a trail and enjoying what to me looked like artistic beauty. Ten or fifteen minutes later, I was back at my car, sitting on the open trunk changing my shoes, bare-chested myself now to cool down. And the other runner walked by, wearing his T-shirt now, saw me, smiled at me and acknowledged me with a small wave of the hand that felt a little friendlier than the usual nod guys give each other as a form of general acknowledgment. 

What feels so good — and so important — to me about both of these interactions is that I was able to “just be myself” and not let the worries due to my internalized homophobia (& internalized transphobia) paralyze me or fill my head leaving space for nothing else. I was able to just be a person, a human, with other persons: I wasn’t being creepy, neither of them were being creepy, we were just athletes doing similar things and acknowledging each other’s presence beyond or despite the fear of being perceived as “a creepy guy”. I also find it interesting that on both of these brief interactions I lost a definite sense of my gender, and not in a bad way: to me, the importance of my gender fell away and it felt somewhat liberating while also bewildering. I’m pretty sure I was perceived as a guy, as a “male”, by both of those guys. But I didn’t feel like a guy, at least not wholly: some feminine part of me, the girl in me, was also present, although I cannot explain in what way; and there was definitely a teenager in me present in both interactions (especially in the fumbling and stumbling with the climber at the gym). But also, and maybe more than anything else, there was a gender-neutral, nonbinary, agender/gender-less me present in those interactions: I was just being me, not letting the worries of social conditioning block me. 

The beauty and power and importance of these two little moments for me stem from the contrast with the difficulties and confusion I often feel as I’m re-learning to behave with people around me in my “new appearance” or male presentation: this is what makes these “little steps” effectively “big steps” for me.

[Trigger warnings: childhood trauma/wounds.]

Apart from the heavy sexual jokes and the feeling isolated because I’m unable to socialize with people in the chorus, the other big factor making me feel uncomfortable not only during rehearsals but even for hours and days afterwards is that I cannot recognize the person I become when I’m there: and I hate this. 

Despite my initial shyness in new groups and my being mostly an introvert, I am a friendly person, I have learned to make friends (or, at least, aquaintainces) quickly and easily in various settings, and have even become quite confident (or, at least, comfortable) within most groups and/or with strangers — the latter being something that has become easier for me as I feel and look more aligned to my true self. So this incredibly shy, skittish person that I turn into at choir rehearsal, curling into themself and unable to socialize or hardly utter a word, is someone I don’t recognize: it isn’t me. Or, rather, it hasn’t been me for years. But it used to be me in many circumstances years ago. That’s child me, me in elementary school, me in middle school, me in some groups of people where I couldn’t be my true self. This version of me that wants to be seen, yearns to be seen, but is also terrified of being seen because they feel they don’t belong is me from my childhood, me from the years I was forced into a “binary female role” that didn’t fit. 

That’s regresssion. 

It’s scary. But it’s also infuriating. And I believe that part of the fury I felt on Sunday night — I really “saw red”, wanted to throw stuff or punch something — is due to that: the re-emergence of feelings that hurt me so much, and for so long, in the past, in situations that I fought so hard to change and/or to leave behind me. And here they are again: those situations, those feelings, that version of me that I don’t want, that I don’t like, that I don’t deserve, that I fought so hard to liberate myself from. 

What is happening to me? Where is this regression coming from? What is causing it? 

[Trigger warnings: explicit sexual references/language; childhood trauma/wounds.]

Once again, on Sunday I had an extremely hard time at rehearsal with the gay men’s chorus. I once again had a near-meltdown and then a tantrum afterwards. 

Some of the reasons for the difficult emotions were my own, partly even unrelated to the choir: my general burnout; the stress from my messy, piecemeal move; the renewed wave of grief, or anyway sense of an ending and loss, generated by my move — a clear, concrete indicator of another phase of my life ending, at least partially. So I wasn’t in the best place emotionally when I got to rehearsal on Sunday evening, I really just wanted to be by myself or with (a) close, trusted friend(s), not with a group of what are still basically strangers to me.The three men in the chorus to whom I had written my email earlier last week to express my concerns and difficulties as a newbie and who had responded in lovely, understanding and supportive ways were true to their word and came to find me during breaks in rehearsal and tried to make some conversation and even show some (maybe genuine) interest in me as a person. But I was in such a difficult place myself that I couldn’t fully appreciate that and their kind efforts to help me shrunk completely in comparison to the instances that hurt and upset me in the chorus: the fact that most of the other people still ignore me completely, including the ones I end up sitting next to during rehearsal; the fact that I can see most of the other newbies interacting and socializing with at least one person; and the jokes, the heavily sexual jokes. 

I can take sexual jokes, in a “reasonable” amount. Light sexual jokes, even the fallocentirc ones, with my cis-het buddies feel comfortable to me because I know they’re well-meant and their making those types of jokes around/with me feels affirming because it’s one of the ways that I’m included “as one of the guys” despite my not having a penis. But within the chorus it feels like too much. It doesn’t happen every rehearsal but I’ve noticed that the two or three rehearsals when it’s happened, I have felt more uncomfortable. Within the gay men’s chorus, when this “sexual jokes vibe” is present during rehearsal, it’s all about “coming in” and “coming on strong” and “top” and “bottom” and “bear”, and the sexual references have a very performative, fallocentric vibe that make me — as a person without a penis — feel extremely uncomfortable, left out. Those are the moments when I feel keenly that I am AFAB, feel keenly that sense of “So am I not part of this group because I don’t have a dick and don’t fit into any of your boxes of ‘top’, ‘bottom’, ‘bear’, or whatever else?” 

As I drove home (back to my buddy’s place where I was staying for the weekend) on Sunday night, the fury red and hot inside me, I found myself crying out, “I don’t know anything about tops or bottoms! I’ve never been loved by a man as a man!”  

There. There it is: one of the knots I’m dealing with and that have come to the comb (as the Italian saying goes, “tutti i nodi vengono al pettine”). That exclamation of mine compounds so many of those layers: first of all, the equation of “sex” and “love” — which, of course, are not the same thing. And then the images that went through my head in that moment, driving back on Sunday night, when I cried out, “I’ve never been loved by a man as a man!”: the images included some of my “boy-friends” from when I looked like a girl, my father, and my European (gender)queer ex-lover, i.e. the AMAB people I’ve loved the most, and felt betrayed by the most, in my life. 

There is so much more than just singing involved for me with this gay men’s chorus: there’s a huge onion with many, many layers. There are some outer layers, like my lack of knowledge of the “gay men’s world”, which are environments I’ve rarely been in; my being AFAB; my asexuality — all valid reasons for my feeling like an outsider. But there’s some deeper stuff going on here that I can see quite clearly but I’m trying to keep at bay. It’s a Pandora’s vase that I’m scared of opening… but maybe it’s been opened already — it was opened the moment I joined this chorus?  

I’m burned out. Not as a figure of speech: I’m actually, medically burn out, i.e., if I went to a doctor with these symptoms, I would get diagnosed with burnout and have the right to paid medical leave from work (at least, in Europe). 

I tend to be a very energetic person. I had serious fatigue for months due to long-COVID (or a slow recovery from COVID) in 2020 and there have been other times when I’ve felt very tired and/or stressed. But this is worse. This is more — this is far beyond what I thought was possible to feel from the viewpoint of exhaustion. It’s not only physical (& even physically, it’s “massive tiredness”). It’s mental, mostly mental: I’m so tired and stressed that I simply cannot take any more, I can hardly think, I’m overwhelmed and beyond the limit of what I can take, what I can handle, what I can parse through. 

It’s terrifying. 

If anything else came my way now that required attention or to be dealt with, I don’t know what I’d do, because I simply have “no spoons left”. 

And it feels extra terrifying for me in this moment because I need that energy, I need that focus to job hunt: I’m unemployed and single and estranged from my family of origin, so I really need to find a new job to support myself, to pay bills, to pay rent, to pay for healthcare… 

It’s terrifying and exhausting — and I’m exhausted.

I’ve decided to write to three of the gay men’s chorus members with whom I feel relatively comfortable and who are in more leadership positions to voice my struggles in feeling welcome in the choir. 

I know that a lot of it is on me, due to my own impostor syndromes, internalized transphobia, shyness, and maybe even neurodivergence. But I also know that I’ve never struggled so much, for so long, within a new group of people. So it cannot be all on me. 

Encouraging, supportive words from my friends have been very helpful. Several of them have repeatedly told me, “You belong there. You have a good baritone voice and you’re a gay boy” or “You passed the audition so that shows you belong and they want you there” or “You can do this but you don’t have to do this”. My closest climbing buddy, when we were hanging out together before my first rehearsal with the choir a month ago and I was telling him how nervous I felt, said to me, “You’ve done the hard part: you passed the audition. At this point it’s on them: all you have to do is show up, be yourself, and sing; it’s up to them to make you feel welcome”. 

All these comments from friends are sinking in a little more and reminding me that even in this situation, as in all relationships, it’s not up to just one person (or one of the parties) to solve things or to expect the other people/parties involved to understand the issue without it being made clear and explicit. 

And that comment from one of the more established chorus members who said something like, “We need to help the newbies feel welcome. If someone is silent or sits by themself, we should reach out to them, talk to them: they might want to be by themself, and then we should respect that, but they might also just be too shy and need the encouragement to feel welcome” is not only really resonating with me but also making me realize that maybe it’s not “just me”…