The Little Prince and the Fox

“Let everything happen to you: 

beauty and terror. 

Just keep going. 

No feeling lasts forever.”

[Rainer Maria Rilke]

I experience emotions very intensely and often in a roller-coaster pattern. And often I can still get overwhelmed by them. But I have learned to be with them in the moment, to just be in the moment. 

I’ve often experienced very intense grief, sadness, loneliness, pain, even very recently, almost too heavy to bear. But I am learning to sit with it, to weather the storms of difficult feelings. 

Tuesday (two days ago) was rough. So was last Sunday. But the rest of this week is going well. I’m getting plenty of joy from many sources: from the gorgeous sunny weather; from my runs; from the contact and interactions with my friends and colleagues and students and mentees; from my scientific work; from the live arrival of my pet snake from California; from casting my first Coloradan vote. Basically, from being in the moment in each moment. To just run when I’m out running. To just do science when I’m doing my scientific work. To just lecture or mentor when I’m explaining physics or maths to my students/mentees. To just climb when I’m climbing. 

I know I’m saying nothing new. I know this is what all sages of all times and cultures have always said: “be present, be in the moment, and you will find peace”. 

I’m still very far from profound “peace” but being in the moment, learning to do things one step at a time, focusing on what I’m doing in the moment to do my best while letting go of what is beyond my control — this approach or mindset is helping me both to get through the rough spots more easily and also to enjoy the good feelings much more fully/deeply. 

Tuesday was tough. Sunday was rough. But Monday was great, yesterday was wonderful, today is good. 

I’m here and now. This is here and now. And for now, there is joy. This moment is full of joy for me: so with gratitude I will take it and feel it, and make the best of my day with it.

I am happy. And extremely relieved. My pet snake made it alive from California and is now with me here in Colorado: the last (but not least!!!) piece of my “Californian life” is now with me here, in my “new home”. 

Of course, this has a huge symbolical meaning, at least for someone like me who attaches so much symbolical meaning to events and places and dates. 

However, it’s also pure, untainted joy and relief. 

It had been a very hard and heartbreaking decision for me to leave my pet snake behind in California when I moved out to Colorado last winter, although rationally it made the most sense and I knew she was in wonderful hands with one of my best friends in California. Still, I worried about my pet snake and missed her. And when I went to California during the summer to complete my move (getting my belongings shipped) from California to Colorado, I felt and immense joy at seeing my pet snake again and letting her crawl all over me. And I was distraught when I had to leave her behind again, albeit temporarily. 

Once again, though, during the rest of the summer and autumn here, I was able to confine the sadness and concerns about my pet snake to a tiny corner of my mind (& heart) while I dealt with more pressing issues and often more intense emotional roller-coasters. 

Then, this past weekend, my friend & I finalized the details to get my pet snake shipped to Colorado just in time for my birthday. And that’s when the employee at the vivarium, experienced and in charge of reptile shipments, told me that they could not guarantee live arrival of my pet because of the cold temperatures here in Colorado. All of a sudden, I felt my heart sink. 

Had I waited over nine months, had my friends & I taken so much time and pain to ensure my snake would be well for all these months, for me to get a corpse here? Had I simply missed out on the last nine months of my pet snake to never see her alive again? 

We were getting a “warm spell” here in Colorado in these past few days: nearly-freezing temperatures during the night (the real threat for the shipment of a reptile) but balmy sunny days. So the moment to ship my snake was now or next spring — and I just couldn’t wait another six months. 

I was extremely worried and anxious. But with my head & heart, I decided to put it out of my mind: I had made my decision, I had “committed” (as rock-climbers say), and all I could do now was roll with it. And hope that the box I would pick up would contain a live snake rather than a corpse. 

Fortunately, the box I picked up last night did contain a live snake. A sleepy, cold, suspicious, and probably super-freaked-out snake, but still ALIVE!!! 

And so today I have a mission: to turn my own new, Coloradan home into a new home for my beloved pet snake, too.

The other event that has made today an intense day was an extremely vivid dream I had a couple nights ago but didn’t have time to process and share (with my counselor) until today. 

I often remember my dreams and sometimes I have dreams that are particularly realistic and vivid, that when I wake up leave me feeling like they really happened and reeling for a while. 

This latest super realistic and vivid dream was particularly intense and meaningful for me on the emotional level. I was in my hometown in Europe, walking around the neighborhood where I grew up with one of my biggest “California crushes”: physically it was definitely him, but his personality was a mix of (the best traits of) him together with two of my biggest “loves” & most trusted friends. As we walked around, this guy said to me that he was about to go have dinner somewhere and asked me if I wanted to join him. I was happy that he invited me and said “Yes”. Then, as we walked to find a dinner place, he suddenly stopped and asked me if I wanted to kiss him. A little surprised but super happy, again I said “Yes”; and we kissed, and it was incredibly realistic — and then I woke up, feeling like we had really just been kissing.  

Of course, part of the intensity of this dream comes from the kiss feeling so vivid and real, especially given that he & I never kissed in real life. Partly, it was the unfulfilled wish of kissing him coming true in my dream that left me reeling and felt so intense yesterday morning. There is something more, though, something deeper that I was able to put into words with my therapist today and that will remain with me much longer than that kiss. It’s two things, actually, but they are related symbolically: it’s his two questions to me, to both of which I happily replied “Yes”. Those questions were even more of an important & unfulfilled wish or need of mine, even more than the kiss itself. It was the fact that he was asking me, offering me his availability to give me two things that are very important and intimate for me (the shared meal and the kiss) and that he never really offered or gave me in real life (and that I yearned to have with/from him). 

In my life, I’ve often been asked by someone, “May I kiss you?”: a question that has flattered me, made me smile, endeared someone to me, or in other cases irritated me, bothered me or even frightened me. But never have I been asked, “Do you want to kiss me?”. 

The difference is not just linguistic, in the wording: words have meaning. The difference in those two questions is huge (at least for me). “May I kiss you?” is the expression of the other person’s desire, of the other person asking for their wish to be fulfilled, of their asking me to give them something or to do something for them (albeit often in a nice, sweet way seeking consent). “Do you want to kiss me?” (& then promptly kissing me when I reply in the affirmative) is an offer from the other person to me: it’s the other person understanding my need, my desire, my wish and offering to fulfill it for me. Offering to do something nice for me without my having to ask, for once, without my having to make the effort, and without my having to risk rejection (but actually him risking rejection…). 

Oh, sweet dream…!

It’s been one of those BIG days. An intense day and in some ways a day to celebrate. 

Today I cast my first Coloradan vote! Which to me feels like a HUGE step towards making Colorado my new “real home”, at least for the time being. 

Since moving to the U.S. from Europe in 2016, there’s been a succession of important “first times” for me: my first motorcycle; my first car; starting to run long distance and then trail run, hence my first half-marathon (in California); starting to rock climb; coming into myself & out to the world more fully and authentically in the many facets of my identity, including adopting non-binary pronouns and getting my name legally changed. 

I remember how excited I was in 2016 about celebrating my first birthday in the U.S. (or the first one I remembered as an adult, since I celebrated a few here in the U.S. when I was a baby & very young child but cannot remember those, of course). My first birthday in California, my first Thanksgiving and Christmas in California: they were all symbols, milestones that helped me feel more settled and at home in my “new home”, my chosen home. 

I’m going through similar experiences and feelings now: this past weekend I ran my first half-marathon (my “typical” or “standard” distance until now) in a trail race here in Colorado; today I voted for the first time here in Colorado, showing my proof of residence; this upcoming weekend I’ll be doing my first (ever) rope-climbing competition and soon I’ll be celebrating my first birthday in Colorado; in ten days I might even run my first ever 30km trail race! So many “first times”, so many first times that feel important to me, and maybe even more so in this moment that I’m feeling some homesickness towards California and/or struggling with loneliness and melancholy. 

So many new “first times” here that slowly, in tiny steps, build towards my feeling more at home here… slowly but surely…

Was is Coleridge who compared grief (or guilt?) to a dead albatross hanging around his neck? 

In the past couple weeks at my new place I’ve been experiencing renewed asthma symptoms probably triggered by allergens (NOTE: I had never had asthma in my life until after getting sick with COVID in 2020 — I was left with asthma from COVID, which was extremely upsetting in itself, but fortunately the symptoms had subsided in the past year, until recently…) 

There definitely is a real physiological component which is asthma, as proved by the faint wheezing. Today, however, I realized that some of the other symptoms, especially the shallow/difficult breathing and chest  tightness, are also partly emotional. It’s waves of grief coming at me again. It’s sadness and loss weighing around my neck. 

There can be so much pain together with liberation, with the creation of ourselves, with living authentically the life we want as the persons we want to be. 

I love Colorado very much but I also miss California — or, at least, some things of California, for example the gorgeous “Indian summer” they get there around this time of year, and some people who are very dear to me. 

I love Colorado and overall I’m happy here — maybe the happiest I’ve been since grad school or, at least, in a decade. 

But my move to Colorado is also rooted in pain. 

When I visited this part of the world for the first time over three years ago, with a friend in the summer of 2019, I (we both) were doing a trip to try and forget, to get over heartbreaks. It was a wonderful, fun trip with one of my dearest friends, but the motivation of the trip, what had motivated me (us both) was pain, basically. I came here that summer to try and forget, to try and get over a certain person. 

When I came here on vacation in the summer of 2021, I was also healing and recovering from long COVID and burnout from over a year of sadness and fear and isolation and stress. 

When I finally moved here this past winter, I also did it to get away from an unbearable situation in California, including pain. I moved without knowing exactly what I’d do next, after the summer, but then my love for Colorado quickly took over everything and I decided to do everything I could to stay. So, in fact, it was my own conscious, convinced decision to move here (leaving California & so much behind). 

Conscious, convinced decisions, though, are not always pain-free, and mine definitely was not. And I’m feeling all that pain again intensely now. 

Last week was momentous for me: my request for legal name change was officially approved, thus effectively (and unexpectedly early) redefining me to the world and adding a significant step in the “creation of myself”; I went for my second tattoo consultation and got confirmation that I will get another of my drawing tattooed on my upper body in a few weeks, which to me feels like another step in the “creation of myself”; I sent a very important email to a person who’s meant so much to me and whom I’ve loved intensely, to set extremely clear boundaries, effectively closing a door and leaving something big behind me, in the past; I improved in some very concrete and relevant ways climbing, which felt wonderfully empowering and satisfying but also brought back the painful memories and wishes that never came true with two special persons in California; I opened some of my boxes of belongings, which also blasted me with memories, most of which I wasn’t really prepared for or willing to face, yet. 

That’s a lot. It would be a lot even if it happened over a month, or several months: all in one week is almost more than a heart can bear. And it rests heavy on my chest. 

So much of what I left (and am still gradually leaving) behind I truly love(d).

I’ve been in Colorado for nine months, to the day. 

Nine months. A (re)birth. 

This isn’t the first time I’m feeling reborn. I remember a wonderful, joyful feeling of rebirth six years ago, for my first birthday in California, which was a little more than nine months after my move from Europe to California. 

This Coloradan rebirth is coming with a lot of symbolic, yet real, events attached: autumn with actual autumn-like weather; the final letting go of some situations that belong to the past; the official approval of my legal name change. 

The official approval of my legal name change from the county courthouse of where I’m now living came in the mail yesterday — unexpectedly early, and I’m still reeling from it. I’ve wanted this for so long and even known the details of my new, chosen name for quite a while. And yet, although my chosen name is not that different from my old given name, it’s my own choice and it reflects me, how I really identify and feel about myself. And now that it’s official, it redefines me, or presents me in a different way, to the world. Officially. (At least, that’s how it feels to me.) It’s a biggie. A real biggie. It’s HUGE.

After nine months in Colorado, this person that I’m choosing to be is born.

The more I think about it, the more I feel into it, the more I just live, and the more I agree and resonate with that anonymous quote

“Life isn’t about finding ourselves 

Life is about creating ourselves”.

I really do believe, I really do feel, that life is about creating ourselves. And today I had another opportunity to do so, to take another step towards creating myself: this afternoon I submitted the petition to legally change my name!!!! 

Today I felt it so intensely, this act of creating myself: intermittent and sometimes difficult, often strewn with obstacles, and yet ongoing for decades. I’ve been creating this scientist, this non-conforming rebel, this athlete. And now more than ever I see it happening, unraveling before me, also thanks to the visible changes due to the various processes involved in embracing my non-binary gender identity, as I gradually see and feel the effects of HRT, of the planned top-surgery, of getting my legal name & gender-marker changed. As well as my decisions to get tattoos for the first time in decades, for delving into rock climbing ever more intensely, for fitting more comfortably into my professional role as a researcher & mentor, for coming into myself wholly and out to the world openly. 

It feels good and wonderfully empowering — and I’m extremely grateful to have the opportunity to do all this (maybe in the nick of time)…!

As I try, for the hundredth time, to set some clear boundaries that I truly need with a person with whom there is a complicated relationship on multiple tricky levels, “Life, to me, is not that simple” is the response I get from this straight, monogamous, heteronormative, white cis-man who’s spent his entire life in California. 

“Duuuuude!!!! You are telling me that life isn’t simple?!?

I grew up in a multi-ethnic environment with clashing cultures, speaking three languages, as a trans kid with neurodivergence when these concepts hardly had words to describe them, let alone be accepted; I’ve been gender-nonconforming, non-binary, pansexual, and polyamorous my entire life, even before I was wholly aware of it and before society had words for these concepts; I’ve lived in half a dozen countries; I’m in the process of getting my full name and gender-marker legally changed, thus effectively redefining myself to the world — and you think that for me life is simple?!?

It is precisely because life isn’t simple and because the relationship between us is a “prime example” of this (as you say) that we need to not only establish boundaries but also respect those boundaries and acknowledge when we didn’t, or don’t, do it.” 

Do I reply to him like this, thus continuing a conversation of which I’m sick and tired, or do I just ignore him? 

[Disclaimer: I know the above response I jotted down can sound petty, bordering on victimism, and is making a bunch of assumptions; being petty, acting the victim, or making assumptions really are not my intentions: I just needed to vent in a “safe space”.]