The Little Prince and the Fox

[Trigger warning: explicit description of body parts, including “sex characteristics”.]

I don’t have a penis. So when I was born, I was assigned “female”, or declared a “girl”. 

I have a vagina and uterus and functioning ovaries. Despite my GAHT, I still ovulate and menstruate. Depending on when my blood is drawn, my estrogen and progesterone are often still in the “standard female” range. And despite HRT, my testosterone levels are “only” somewhere between 300-400, the very low end of “standard male” range (which is extremely broad, going from 300 all the way up to 1,000). 

And yet, what I saw drawn on the artists’ canvases yesterday was a beautiful and unmistakably male body. And that body was my own. 

Down to the smallest detail, it was so masculine: the narrow hips, the broad shoulders and flat chest; the chiseled muscles, the small nipples, the bush under the arm-pits, the strong jaw. There it was, a male body on canvas. There it was: my own body seen through the eyes of figure-drawing artists. 

I was blown away. 

For over a year now I’ve been toying with the idea of modeling. For several reasons: on the one hand, I want to help make trans/non-binary bodies visible, accepted as one of the many beautiful possibilities; on the other, I want to celebrate my own body and learn to relate to it differently. 

On the one hand, I’d like to model for companies like Speedo, ideally wearing their “men’s” swimsuits on my own non-binary/transmasc body to show that even people like me, even bodies like mine, can and need and want to wear those garments. I want to be not only “out there” but also “up there” for people to see because I know how important visibility and representation are, especially for folks from marginalized communities. I probably wouldn’t have got here, become who I am, if I hadn’t seen non-binary and trans people (& their bodies) so clearly and openly in the past three or four years, so I know how important that representation and visibility are, and I’d like to give back.  

On the other hand, modeling feels like a way for me to connect with my own body in a different way, possibly more accepting and unconditional and loving or gentle. It’s also a way for me to feel empowered, taking back my power and control or agency: if I model, I choose when and where and how and to whom to show my body, I am the active subject instead of being the passive object of people’s gaze (as I still so often am). 

So yesterday, I finally auditioned for nude modeling for figure drawing. And I really enjoyed the experience, even more than expected. The awkwardness of being stark naked in front of half a dozen people fell away with my robe and I never really felt uncomfortable with my nudity. On the contrary, I was actually able to enjoy being in my body in a still way. Figure modeling is a form of performance art so there still was a level of performance in my embodiment but it was a different type of performance from my usual athletic (& often competitive) performance. It felt more gentle, unconditional, and very peaceful. I connected to myself in a new, and different, way that I enjoyed and that I look forward to doing again. 

My view of myself somehow changed yesterday, even if only for a few hours. It changed both because of the different way in which I was relating to myself in my body and because of seeing myself through the eyes of other people in a way or in circumstances — figurative arts — that were new to me. And both of these aspects are extremely important for me as I’m still learning to navigate my inner existence as well as the outer world in my “new identity”, in this “new body”. Realizing more and more that much of how I feel about myself depends on what is reflected back to me from the outside, much of what I see of/in myself can actually depend on what/how the world sees of/in me. And I’m still so often surprised by how masculine I look, how “male” I am assumed to be now — and this brings on a mix of emotions for me because it’s partly still turning my inner world upside down… 

This weekend I’ll be incommunicado, off my cell phone. 

Today marks four months since I did the burial for my European (gender)queer ex-lover. This weekend also is one year from the weekend that marked the start of our “love affair”. 

So there’s a bittersweet taste to this day, to this weekend for me, and a desire to be by myself to commemorate and reflect. 

At the moment, though, I’m feeling more sweetness than bitterness. 

I’m feeling more a sense of how far I’ve come, how much I’ve learned & gained than how much I’ve lost. 

A year ago, as I fell head over heals for that person, I thought I would never again be liked with my “weird body”, that I couldn’t be truly loved as a whole (“das ganze Packet”) other than by them. 

Now, a year later, I feel surrounded by the love of many people, persons who are close to me (even if some are geographically far away), who love me as I am, who support me in a plethora of different ways. 

Now, a year later, I am navigating romantic/sexual relationships with two people that I really like — and who like me back, just as I am. 

Now, a year later, my needs & wishes & boundaries around relationships, and particularly romantic/sexual ones, are much more clear and healthy especially thanks to the clarity & support I have in my platonic polyamorous nature & platonically mutually polyamorous relationships. 

Different friends see and nurture and reflect back to me different parts of me, but all those parts are still me, me just as I am, and together they make up the whole which is more than the sum of the parts. It’s sort of a “distrited love”, relationship anarchy so well suited to who I am, to how I function. And this sense of “distributed” yet solid, safe love is what allows me to spend a weekend like this, incommunicado, commemorating & reflecting on my own, all by myself, in solitude but without feeling lonely (despite the fear & sadness I still feel about my thumb injury). 

And also feeling keenly that this same weekend marks another anniversary, unrelated to my European (gender)queer ex-lover, an anniversary that is wholly sweet & happy: it’s one year since I met my two neighbor runners who are now among my closest friends. This is also a very important anniversary for me, something I want to not only commemorate but also celebrate.

[Trigger warnings: physical injury; loss]

I’m in pieces. Apparently, the silly injury I got on my left thumb two & a half weeks ago is a torn UCL requiring surgery. This would entail six weeks of no “weight-bearing activities” with my left thumb/hand after surgery and effectively three months of no climbing (& no motorcycle riding). Which means my whole summer is ruined. 

I know that one can climb outdoors in Colorado almost all year round — which is one of the main reasons I moved out here. But in the summer days are much longer, allowing us to climb outdoors even several times during the week, presenting wonderful opportunities for fun, healthy outdoor activities and bonding that I enjoy and need. 

I also realize that even if this summer is screwed for me, there will be plenty more summers and seasons of good weather here. But I feel old. I feel like every day or week or month that I lose now — be it of inactivity because of an injury or a delay in my gender-affirming care — is a huge tragedy because I got to really be myself so f***** late in life. I feel like I only have a couple more seasons, less than a handful of years left to be fit and athletic and handsome. So every day I miss, every chance I lose now, feels like a huge, unsurmountable loss to me. 

I don’t simply feel that “I won’t be young forever”. I feel that I’m already at the end of my life so every minute I miss is an unbearable waste or lost opportunity for me. 

And then there’s the bonding. Climbing with my buddies is one of the most important things for me — probably one of the single two most important things in my life now. It’s my “bro time”. It’s the time I have to spend and bond with my (cis-male) friends. It’s the time for that specific type of intimacy that comes within male bonding with those types of activities, with that kind of time spent together. And to me it means the world. It’s been one of the two or three most important things I’ve had in these past two years, one of the two or three things that have actually enabled me to become my true self wholly. My time climbing with my (cis-male) buddies is bonding, affirming, validating. It provides me with a sense of self, of identity, and a type of intimacy that are most dear to me and super important for me. I don’t know how I’ll be able to build/pursue other types of healthy intimacy in romantic and/or sexual relationships if I don’t have this baseline bonding and validation with my climbing buddies. My broad sense of polyamory includes close platonic relationships and covers different types of intimacy connected to different needs & affections: so with one important type of intimacy being forfeited, I’m afraid I won’t be able to approach the romantic and/or sexual relationships that I’m trying to pursue in a healthy way because I’ll be needier. And even more so because one of my closest platonic queer friends who is chosen family to me will be away visiting a romantic partner of theirs for several weeks in June & July — which also means I won’t be able to go to Pride events with them as I did last year, adding another loss & gap in my summer which might be a hard blow on my base of relational stability. 

And then there’s my identity, my shattered identity, if I cannot climb or ride my motorcycle. A great part of my identity is connected to, and dependent on, being hyperactive, wild, adventurous, brave, and strong. And specifically having a very strong and muscular upper-body. Three months without climbing, and at least 3-4 weeks of no swimming or weight-lifting either because of the post-surgery splint, will affect my upper body strength tremendously. I remember how devastated I was when I lost strength in 2020 during my long post-COVID recovery: I almost completely lost my sense of self and it caused depression. I’m afraid of that happening again. And now I’m older, I’m old: recovery will get harder and harder every time. 

Just now that I was beginning to feel like I had been given my real self, at last, a chance to finally be my whole true self — boyish and masculine and strong and wild — I feel like it’s been taken away from me and it’s lost to me again. I feel like I’ve been robbed of the chance to me myself, once again in life — and this time I’m not a teenager, I’m not in my twenties, this time was the last chance for me to enjoy my “golden years”. 

I feel like I’ve been robbed, forever, of my golden years. 

I keep finding, making my way into, spaces of non-toxic, safe, and nurturing masculinity. 

I’ve been doing this my entire life but now I’m doing it in a more conscious way or, rather, with a different awareness because of the more explicit and liberated way I can express & present my gender identity. 

This weekend I did my first Ragnar in Zion, a relay race on trail where the eight team members run three loops (an easy one, a medium one, and a hard one) each non-stop for about 24 hours, including during the night. I was invited to join a team that was being organized by a couple of old high school friends of my (cis-male) running buddy who supported me as an ally in my half-marathon activism race four weeks ago. The situation felt similar to the ice-climbing trip I did joining another one of my (cis-male) buddies in February: I’m full of enthusiasm when the event is proposed to me because I love adventure; I trust my buddies, I know we like similar things, and I instinctively believe that since my buddies are nice guys, their other friends will be nice people as well, so I don’t worry about the group dynamics or social aspects with strangers; right before and at the beginning of the trip/event, though, I get anxious and ever scared about the possibility of being misgendered and/or of possibly finding myself in upsetting group/social dynamics that could make me feel uncomfortable and/or misgendered. Fortunately, though, just like with the ice-climbing trip, things didn’t just go well: it was a wonderfully affirming (& fun) experience! 

The whole team, regardless of gender, was a group of lovely, really nice people. I was the only queer person in the group, everyone except for me was cis, monogamous & heteronormative, but once I got over the initial fear or unknown of how I would be seen — whether I could even be really seen as myself — I felt totally comfortable. Everyone used my chosen pronouns (“he” in this context), I never got misgendered once, and as the hours went by I was more and more openly my queer and yet masculine self, naturally, spontaneously, feeling accepted and liked just as myself, just as I am. We were a group of nine people, eight runners and the Ragnar team captain’s wife: three cis-women, five cis-guys, and myself. And once again, I was “one of the guys”. And not only one of the guys, but one of the three fast guys on our team. The three of us were the serious athletes, the competitive ones, the ones doing push-ups to not get bored while we were waiting for our turn to run. But this competitiveness, this “doing push-ups to kill time” wasn’t done in a spirit of toxic masculinity or bravado: it was a form of male bonding — admittedly, socially induced, but done in a fun, almost childish way. Overall, there was a lot of bonding. The event itself, the way it is designed, calls for team bonding among the runners, regardless of gender. And this was also nice for me: that it didn’t even matter so much that I was the only queer person in our group because we ALL shared the passion for running and/or the outdoors and adventure, regardless of gender or queerness or normativities. There was so much openness, all of us just sharing stories about ourselves and getting to know each other in groups of different sizes while we waited for our turn to run. All of this openness and vulnerability even from the cis-guys, talking about their own struggles, mental health, doubts and fears. The cis-guys in this group, like so many of the cis-men I keep in my life, are the type of person who uses their power or privilege to empower, support and lift up others. This type of person exists, this type of cis-man exists, and they can be boyishly doing push-ups to kill time between runs as a way to bond with one another, but they’re really good guys, they’re the type of man we need society to see, the type of man we need to show as a role model to boys to end toxic masculinity. These are the guys who use “he” pronouns for me without thinking twice about it, who troop into the men’s rooms all together, me included, chatting while we’re all peeing — they at the urinals, I in the stall.

These are the guys with whom I want to continue going on road trips and adventures and runs and climbs. These are the type of guy with whom I want to fill my life, building oases of safe & nurturing masculinity around myself — maybe as one of the ways in which I father the little boy in me and then hopefully helping these oases spread further and further to eventually engulf the aridity of toxic “binary genderism”.

Today, a new love story has started, maybe the sweetest, and possibly also the trickiest, of my life. 

Today, I have become a father: the father of the little boy within me. 

I think that today I finally not only understood rationally but also truly came to touch and feel and integrate within me emotionally what it means to “reparent ourselves”, to “connect with and love the child within us”. 

It happened towards the end of a therapy session in which I mainly processed the feelings and events that caused me pain and anger last weekend. My counselor & I addressed the issues at a broader or higher, almost more abstract, level not focusing so much on the details of the person or relationship that triggered me last Friday evening but rather on the common patterns and emotions within me. And as my therapist validated my pain and anger from last weekend, as she validated both the emotions and their cause, she suggested that maybe part of the rejection I feel in these cases comes from within myself, i.e. me rejecting the little boy within me & his needs or fears. So she asked me to sit with him, asked me how I thought I could protect him and not reject him. But I was at a loss — “I don’t know what to do with him”, I said at last. And her reply opened a wonderful door for me: “Don’t worry, that’s how most parents feel. No matter how much they prepare, how many books they might read on parenting, no parent really knows what to do with their new-born baby, with their child”. That’s when I knew not only what to do with the little boy in me but also that I can do this with him: I can be the father he always wanted, the father he always needed.

As I sat in silence and with my eyes closed on my therapist’s couch, I really felt the little boy within me and for the first time ever I think I really connected to him — and I told him: “I will listen to you. I will protect you. I will love you. I will take you climbing, I will take you on adventures, I will play with you. But first and foremost, I will love you and listen to you.” 

And I know I will. I really shall. I will become the dad I’ve always wanted, always needed without expecting any other male person or father figure to do that for me. And this idea, this decision of being the father to my own little boy within me feels not only healing but also validating both for me with my adult masculinity and for the little boy within me. 

The emotions & events from today also feel reflected to me in the lyrics of the song “Come with me” by Chxrlotte.

I’ve been listening to this song a lot lately and the lyrics have made me think — for some reason that had been unclear to me until today — of me & my dad, of the love & protection I might have sought from him and his affectionate, protective reply in my fantasies. Now I know that I’m both the little boy and the father in that song (as I interpret the dialogue between a father and son, which I know is my own reading), and it feels wonderful.

“

On the day heaven tried to take my soul

You came down like in fairytales of old

I said, “Open your white wings for me”

And you said, “Close your eyes and just believe”

You’re made of darkness and fire, my friend

I think the world may be coming to an end

But when heaven and hell do collide

Know that I’ll always be there by your side

You know I’d follow you through hell and fight off demons, as well

You beat your wings and cast a spell, I’ll run away with you

And I said, “Hallelujah, ” running to you

“They won’t find us, you and I can watch the stars fall from the sky

All clothed in white, my shard of light

Let’s go together, we’ll be free

The world ends eventually, so come with me”

Take my hand and we’ll face the end of time

Let’s take a stand against fate’s design

I said, “I can’t bear to see the end”

And you said, “Close your eyes and count to ten”

I knew you’d follow me to hell and fight off angels, as well

You beat your wings and cast a spell, I’ll run away with you

And I said, “Hallelujah, ” running to you

“They won’t find us, you and I can watch the stars fall from the sky

All clothed in white, my shard of light

Let’s go together, we’ll be free

The world ends eventually, so come with me”

And after six thousand years, if the world disappears

I’d fight angels and demons to find you, my dear

I hear heavenly sounds in my head when you’re near

I’m alright now you’re here

And I said, “Hallelujah, ” running to you

“We’ve escaped them, you and I can fly away and paint the sky

All clothed in white, my shard of light

Let’s go together, now we’re free

The world ends eventually, so come with me”

”

I’m still glowing from the joy and satisfaction of going skiing yesterday for the first time again in over eight years, and for the first time ever in America! 

I went with one of my climbing buddies who also got back into skiing this winter after a decade’s break. And he had reassured me the muscle memory would come back really quickly. He was right, and it felt wonderful — so much fun but also liberating, empowering, like rediscovering & reclaiming another part of myself. 

I used to ski quite a bit back in Europe but when I moved to California a little over eight years ago, I stopped doing it, partly because I was intent & interested in discovering and/or reclaiming other parts of myself, partly for practical reasons (too far and/or expensive and/or not easily accessible). But it’s always been nagging me at the back of my mind until the nagging started becoming a strong draw once I moved to Colorado. My first two winters here were just logistically too difficult for me to get back into skiing so I could rationalize the fact that I wasn’t skiing easily enough. But this winter I just felt like I kept letting my own self down by not managing to get around to it and I was trying to make peace with yet another season in Colorado that I had let go by without even dipping my toe back into skiing. Until this climbing buddy last week, once again, invited me to join him to ski and this time I just went for it even if my gear wasn’t ready and I had to rent skis. 

Until this past weekend, as I got ready to go skiing again after such a long hiatus and then as I finally got onto the slopes with my friend, I hadn’t realized — I had sort of forgotten or hidden to my own self — how much skiing means to me. 

I started skiing three decades ago, when I was eleven. Back then, it was something I did with my parents & sister for a week’s vacation for several years in the late winter/early spring. I also did it with some of my close friends and their families throughout high school and into college. So it has a pleasant taste of winter vacation, mountain huts, hot cocoa, and fun outdoor activities. 

But it’s even more than that. I realize now that starting to ski (& to run track) in middle school was for me a very important step towards being able to find and express fundamental parts of my identity. In the “normal routine” of the school year, my mother put me & my younger sister into ballet — something more aligned to my sister than myself but that my mother saw as “perfect for her two pretty little girls”. My parents tried to put me & my sister into the same ski class but it didn’t work: despite their being only two years between us, there was a gulf in our personalities that quickly made my sister dread skiing (she was really scared) and me love it and progress in it really fast. So skiing (along with running at school) became the first physical activity I was able to do by myself, without my little sister tagging along, and actually pushing my limits by adventuring onto harder slopes and even off-piste. It also became one of the very few, if not only, activity that I sometimes shared one-on-one with my dad, he & I going for a long day skiing up into the mountains by ourselves or with another friend of mine and her father: it was one of the very few moments I had when I felt “special to my dad just as I was”, without having to be different from my true self. As I grew up, skiing also became one of the first activities that I did by myself with friends, in high school, taking a weekend or week away from our families (in a relatively controlled & safe environment), which felt wonderfully liberating. Then, in my last year of high school, on the ski slopes I met the first guy — the very first person — with whom I had sex (& with whom I also had some of those liberating weekends away skiing). Later on, in grad school, skiing was something I did only with my then-romantic-sexual-partner. At first, it was nice, it was something that drew us close, a shared interested, especially when we started doing uphill skinning and backcountry skiing together. I remember how empowering it felt to me to be able to go up & down those steep mountain slopes away from the resort crowds. But I also remember a painful exchange between me & my ex-partner as I once asked him, “Aren’t you glad that I’m so strong and adventurous that I can do these things with you?” (which was clearly my boy-identity yearning to be recognized and validated by him) and he replied, “Not really. These are things I would be perfectly happy doing with my guy friends. I’d rather be planning a family with you”. 

Well, now I, as a guy, am skiing with my own guy friends. 

Yesterday’s outing on the slopes with one of my climbing buddies marked a reclaiming of yet another part of my own self. 

[Trigger warning: death; loss; abandonment, rejection, neglect.]

Yesterday my boy-chest turned 15 months.

Something I was hoping to celebrate with the gay guy with whom I had my first date last week and was planning to see again last night. But I ended up having to attend to the wounded boy in me, instead of celebrating his 15 months of visible existence. 

The gay guy canceled on me at the last minute. To be fair, he didn’t simply cancel on me. He had been having a particularly exhausting week at work — something he had already let me know during the week — and tried to reschedule for tonight. But I gave him a hard, non-negotiable “No” for tonight because of special & important plans of my own involving other people and other activities that are very meaningful to me. Given both my schedule and his, the earliest we can see each other again, for our second date, would be May 14th, more than two weeks away. He asked if we could put it in the calendar to see each other then and he would cook for me to make it up to me. Also, to his credit and to be totally honest, we had this conversation on the phone yesterday evening: he called me to try to reschedule and decide together what to do, he didn’t just send a text to cancel. 

I know that his liking me is genuine. And he likes me as a whole, not just physically, but even intellectually and emotionally — we both feel & agree that we’d want to be platonic friends even if the romantic/sexual aspect didn’t work. But how I feel is that “he canceled on me last night after having nearly had to cancel last week”. What remains for me is that he couldn’t rally himself out of his tiredness last night to see me. To me that nullifies all his compliments and sweet words for me. 

I need someone who shows up. Words come later, if at all. Actions, facts are what matter to me, what count for me, what I need. Like with my climbing buddies: we show up for each other, even if/when we’re tired. We build the trust not with words, which can be so empty, so deceiving, but by actually showing up, by actually being there for each other. 

I was so angry last night, so disappointed, so hurt. Out of proportion angry and disappointed and hurt if one looks at it in terms of a “canceled second date”. I know my reaction to what happened last night is “out of proportion” to last night’s event per se. My flaring anger last night came from a deep deep wound, a very old wound of mine: the wounded boy in me, the wounded boy that I am. 

The wounded boy who was abandoned, or rejected or neglected, by his father for so many years, for decades, from a tender age. I “technically” lost my dad last summer when he died; but I actually lost my dad over three decades ago when he abandoned me because I was a “girl” and as such “my mother’s business”. 

This wound is so deep in me and still so raw also because it encompasses two losses at once: there’s the wound from not being acknowledged as the boy that I was, that I’ve always been; and the connected/consequent wound of being abandoned, or rejected or neglected, by my father because of me “not being a boy”. And the consequences of this deep, old wound are that I still get very triggered when somebody whom I look forward to seeing cancels on me — and I feel much more hurt (& therefore angry) when it’s a cis-male “bailing on me” rather than someone with a less masculine gender identity. 

My entire life I’ve been yearning and striving to have cis-boy friends as buddies to help affirm my boy identity. And I’ve also sought out (& fortunately found) many surrogate father figures as mentors and/or older cis-male friends. And I realize that one of the reasons why my relationships with my climbing buddies (almost all of them cis-male) are so important to me is precisely because they’re cis-men with whom I can have a very strong and deep and intimate connection, stemming from the camaraderie between climbers, while still being platonic and as such “safe” for me because it’s “close but not too close”. 

Eventually, I would also really like to have sexual and/or romantic partners who are gay cis-men, but I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to. I won’t unless I heal that deep, deep wound; unless I find a way of healing that wounded boy in me. 

There’s another extremely important thing I want to register & put on record today. 

On Tuesday, I was a wreck. Partly, I was probably just feeling the exhaustion from the weekend’s efforts. But also, I had a conversation with my boss in which he confirmed that he cannot renew my contract past this July and the professional advice he gave me was pretty much useless. I felt overwhelmed and panicked and also full of grief from this phase of my (at least professional) life coming to an end. 

But then, between Tuesday afternoon and last night I had several conversations that have helped (re)kindle my own sense of hope and almost relief and/or liberation as the other side of this coin of losses. Between Tuesday and yesterday afternoon, I talked about my current professional situation with one of my closest friends from grad school in Europe, my running buddy who supported me on the race, a dear non-binary transmasc friend here, and a colleague who’s older and more experienced while also having a similar “non-orthodox” (in academia) path as mine. And in all these conversations, the main feeling that transpired, that got rekindled, underneath or beyond my fear of being unemployed in a few months and my confusion about what to do next, was the liberating & empowering sense that now I can redefine myself, both professionally and personally. As scary and unwelcome as it is to be facing unemployment in just a couple months, this could also be an opportunity for me to (re)decide what I want to do next, especially now that I know myself better and that I have more confidence in who I am & how I (want to) present to the world. 

Something similar happened last night on my date with the gay man. We eventually spoke about physical/sexual intimacy and I shared with him how I’m struggling with the recent realization that all physically/sexually intimate connections from now on for me will be with people who know only this “new version” of me: persons who will never have seen me pre-testosterone or with breasts. And that to me has been feeling like a painful loss, in the sense that I’m afraid they might never really get the “whole me”. They’ll only get this “new me”. But as I put it into words with him last night, all of a sudden the loss turned into a sense of liberation: from now on all my physical/sexual intimacy will be in “my new self” but this “new self” that feels so much more confident & aligned with itself. And, also, it means that all my relationships entailing physical/sexual intimacy from now on will be in some way totally new for me and incomparable to any of my previous ones in a wonderfully liberating way. Of course, all relationships are fundamentally unique and cannot really be compared, but all my sexual relationships from now will be “more different”; and if I can find the right persons with whom to connect sexually and/or romantically, these future physical/sexual relationships will probably feel more fulfilling or healthier to me because I’m more aligned with myself. I will finally be going into sexual and/or romantic relationships as a transmasc gay guy, unburdened by having previously lived (& having been seen) as a “woman”. 

This could turn into a wonderfully powerful liberation.

[Trigger warning: some explicit, though limited, sexual content.]

This almost feels like a whole new “coming out” for me. 

I know I’ve already felt, and written about, my attraction for masculinity, one of my main identities as being a “gay boy”, while also using other terms to describe myself, my identities, my sexual orientation, including terms that might sounds contradictory. But to me all those labels make sense: non-binary, transmasculine, queer, gender-queer/gender-fluid, gay, pansexual. I am all of those things. And yet, at the end of the day, deep down inside, what I feel most strongly is that I am a gay guy. 

I think there’s two main reasons I’ve struggled with defining myself this way with clarity & conviction. 

On the one hand, there is a degree of pansexuality in me that comes up with other androgynous non-binary or trans persons: but the physical or sexual attraction in these cases is usually secondary or slower and conditional upon, or actually sparked by, the emotional connection coming specifically from being non-binary/trans/genderqueer. 

On the other, and maybe most importantly, there’s some internalized homophobia, I think. I love being around guys, cis-men. I like male environments and really enjoy having platonic cis-male friends with whom to climb or run or just hang out for a chat. And I’m terrified that if they know or realize that I’m a gay guy they won’t be my friends anymore because they’ll be afraid of my sexual orientation as a threat to them (because of their own internalized homophobia). I’ve realized that my main fear when walking into the men’s changing room at the gym now is not anymore that they might realize that I’m trans, but actually that they might think (or realize) that I’m gay.

But today, I’m reveling in the good feelings of having had my “gay-guy-ness” validated so wonderfully last night. 

I had my first date ever with a cisgender gay man who has never had sex with women, is very openly attracted to masculinity in all its forms and is genuinely affirming (& attracted to) trans guys. It was one of the most affirming experiences at least of my recent life. This guy sees me as a guy and likes me as a guy and wants to have sex with me as a guy (regardless of the specifics of my genitals). I honestly thought I would never have this. 

Of course, I don’t know how this specific relationship will turn out. At the moment it feels like a good fit but it might turn out not to be. But that doesn’t matter now. What matters now, what I need & want to register and put on the record, is these emotions I’m feeling right now: the sheer joy; the sense of safety alongside the permission or confidence to explore, try, play; the budding confidence; the sense of full recognition & acceptance; the ego boosts from all the genuine compliments. Even if it were just the latter, that would probably be enough, a very important step in my confidence building & healing: learning to be able to sit there and not only accept but actually let sink in the shower of genuine compliments — and compliments specifically about masculine aspects of me! 

Of course, this didn’t happen in a vacuum. The acceptance and affirmations and love I’m getting from all my platonic friendships have been helping me feel better in my own skin. The race I ran in protest as a non-binary trans athlete with the wonderful support, on the ground, of a close non-binary friend and of lovely cis allies, and from afar of so many dear friends rekindled my hopes and my confidence. The fact that I recently made myself an account on Tinder where I’m specifically presenting as “non-binary transmasc gay/pansexual” using “he/they” pronouns and seeking only men, while it hasn’t led to anything concrete yet, is an important step forward in my own self-determination. I’m sure all these events & factors, together with the positive vibes I was feeling in anticipation for last night’s date, contributed to my state of mind yesterday, more confident than usual about my gender-identity & sexual orientation. As I was driving, I kept thinking, “I’m a gay guy — and I want to tell my closest (cis-male) climbing buddies!” And then at the gym, as I lifted weights in a crowded room and caught my image in the mirror, reflecting back to me not only my masculinity but also my queerness, I didn’t shy away from it: I looked back at it proudly, smiling, confidently, with a sweet inner voice saying, “Yes, I’m a hot guy and I’m totally gay & queer!”

We did it!!! 

A couple months ago, I started looking for a spring half-marathon trail race for me to do and the only one I could find that was within reasonable distance for me (and not racing on paved roads) was the one in Fruita, CO. It looked perfect: a timely date for me, a gorgeous location, spectacular landscapes and ideal weather. So I went to register but found only the usual two binary options of “Male” & “Female” for gender. So I reached out to the organizers and explained my situation as a non-binary athlete and person who officially has an “X” gender-marker on their IDs. I asked if there was any possibility for me to register in a different category that would recognize me as non-binary athlete (& individual). Their reply was a polite and slightly vague dismissal, along the lines of “we’re working on this for the future but for now we only have the two given categories”. So I wrote back asking clearly, “Does this mean that if I want to register I must pick either “M” or “F” and cannot register otherwise?”. The reply came more clear: “Yes, that’s correct”. 

I felt the white-hot fury rise inside me. The discrimination on the basis of gender was so blatant to me it felt like a slap in the face. And my first thought was, “I cannot run this race because I’m non-binary”. 

Then, as I talked about this issue a few days later with a European non-binary friend who also runs, all of a sudden my attitude shifted and the thought came to me: “Yes, I CAN run this race! I CANNOT REGISTER for it but I CAN RUN it. And so I WILL RUN it!”. 

The white-hot anger had turned into the red-hot anger of the warrior in me: the anger shifted from being passive and self-destructive to being a force that gave me the energy to ACT. I knew, however, that I couldn’t do this by myself. I couldn’t drive to a place almost 300 miles away where I don’t know anyone, and show up to run a half-marathon in the desert with ~2,000 feet elevation gain on technical terrain with no support (also because by not registering for the race, I would not have a bib like the other runners so I might be denied hydration and/or assistance if I needed it on the trail). 

Well, I am blessed with wonderful friends, nearby and far away. So I was able to do it. 

Friends from all over sent me their support with text messages, advice, tips, and even swag I could wear for the race. 

And some friends nearby actually went to Fruita with me. And our weekend adventure was one of the most wonderful experiences of my life. 

The non-binary friend who joined me carpooled with me and we caravaned with my other friend who joined with his family. We traveled together and when we got to our destination the evening before the race we all had pizza together and sat down to discuss logistics for the race and do craft work for our activism. My non-binary friend & I had already started discussing logistics and the possible scenarios and outcomes on our drive, so I had already realized that they had a sense of the importance as well as risks of what we were doing. But I was still unsure to what extent my cis-male running buddy was going to “be in on this” apart from shadowing me on the trail (if we got to race). But as we sat around eating pizza, it became very clear how everyone there was super involved and committed to the cause. My buddy’s wife and my non-binary friend, who would not race but wait for us at the start/finish line, had done & continued doing research about our civil rights when protesting this way, checking details of the location and of this particular type of activism (like previous examples of activism in running). When I discussed logistics of the race itself with my buddy, I said clearly that they might not even let us start and in that case I would oppose passive resistance by sitting on the ground with a protest sign, but I also clarified that I didn’t expect him to do that part and asked him how he felt about it. And he simply said, “If that happens, I’ll stand close to you to help make sure the runners starting don’t run over you. I’m here to protect you”. And then after dinner, we all sat around brainstorming phrases for the signs and writing the signs — including my friend’s daughter drawing rainbows and non-binary & trans flags everywhere! 

The next morning, we had to be shuttled to the start of the race with everyone else because there was no parking at the trailhead. So my buddy & I got there just in time to start. I was so nervous, my mouth was parched and my heart was racing. But my buddy was right beside me and the rest of the crew was nearby with the signs and all their support. My buddy & I got into the crowd of runners (there were a few hundred) and started with everyone else. I was scared: scared the runners around us would be hostile, scared the organizers would stop us at the start, scared we would be flagged at the aid stations along the trail. But none of that happened. And after the first mile or two, my body started going from “anxious mode” to “race mode”. I got into my pace, with my buddy shadowing me and telling me every mile we gained — “3 miles; 4 miles; we’ve been going for 45 minutes, it’s time for your first energy bite; 5 miles, 6 miles, 7 miles”… 

It felt so good, to be grinding miles and having the support of my buddy. I was fighting a battle but I was not alone: neither alone there on the trail, nor when I got to the finish line.

Once we passed 7 miles (so we had done more than half the race) and the second aid station, I really knew we had this. And so at that point I knew we’d go with the plan we had for the scenario in which we got to run the whole race: at about 12 or 12.5 miles, we’d stop briefly for me to put on the trans flag (that another friend had given me) as a cape to wear for the last 1-1.5 miles & across the finish line. And that’s exactly what we did. And boy, did it feel amazing, to be running with that cape…! 

A finish line had never felt so far away to me and yet also so close… We could see it from the top of the hill, the last downhill which also hid a last gentle but treacherous uphill that we weren’t expecting. My legs were really tired by then — it had been a very taxing race course. But the joy, the sense of empowerment, the pride (& probably also the runner’s high from the chemicals coursing through my body) kept me going. As I approached the finish line, my buddy’s 10-year-old daughter showed up on the side of the course with the hand-held progress-pride flag I had brought for the occasion and she handed it to me: and I ran the last quarter mile and straight across the finish line wearing the trans flag as a cape and waving the pride flag high up in the air. 

It was one of the most beautiful moments of my life. 

And what made it even more beautiful was that I wasn’t doing it by myself nor only for myself: I was doing it with the support of loved ones, with the support of kind people who believe in this cause — we were all doing it for a higher, greater cause, with the hope that next year non-binary athletes will be allowed to register officially for this race and run it and be awarded fairly, getting the official recognition they deserve. 

Yes, I did this for myself, for sure, because I’m not going to let someone tell me I cannot run a race only because I’m neither an “M” or an “F”, or that I have to pick “M” or “F” to be allowed to run the race: i.e. I’m not going to let them discriminate against me on the base of gender (which is what this organization effectively was doing at this race). But I did it for all other non-binary runners who might want to run this, too — this race or any other race where there’s no official category for us, yet. And I know that my friends & I also did it with the belief of making this world a better place, with real inclusivity because, as one of our signs read, “Gender is a spectrum — Running is for everyone”.