The Little Prince and the Fox

I was just texting one of my best friends here in Colorado about how lonely I’m feeling this weekend and they asked if it’s “people withdrawal”. 

Yes, I guess it is, at least partly — and such a great way of expressing it! 

Moving isn’t easy. It’s actually freaking hard. And what is hitting me now is the weight of the losses, of what has ended — those six years in California, with all their ups and downs, but also the bulk of my textbook project. 

For the past months, and especially over the past three weeks, I have been hyperstimulated, mostly in positive, fulfilling ways, by people and activities and things that needed to be done urgently. 

All of that is suddenly gone — or, at least, that’s how it feels to me today. I know it’s not really gone — I still have good friends both here and elsewhere, I still have important things to get done. But this weekend is a lonely, quiet one: one where I’m wishing I could have the company of close friends, even just to go and watch the meteor shower together tonight, instead of being on my own, contemplating all that I’ve left behind. 

There are some moments with friends, or words, that are like jewels or lightning bolts or double rainbows: they seem to reach me and touch me in a way that is more direct, more unfiltered, more powerful and profound than others, clear as crystals and warm like an embracing hug. 

I’ve felt several of these over the past couple weeks, the latest just this morning in a text message from one of my best friends from grad school with whom I video-chatted yesterday (we have known each other and been good friends for fifteen years): “… I also enjoyed seeing you and noticing the changes — you looked very young to me, like a 20-year-old boy”! 

In a video-chat last week I told one of my oldest and closest friends (we met twenty-five years ago, when we were teenagers): “Ich bin ein Knabe”, and she replied, “Ja, ich weiss, das warst du immer” [“I’m a boy”; “Yes, I know, you always were”].

At the end of a meeting with a good friend last week in the city from which I was moving out, as I thanked him for riding his bicycle all the way to my storage unit to hang out with me in a part of town that isn’t particularly pretty, “Thanks for riding all the way over here”, and he replied, “Of course — you came much further”! 

The photoshoot with my artist & swimmer friend ten days ago in one of our favorite parks: a photoshoot that we had been wanting to do for months, that was a celebration of our friendship, of our shared artistic and non-binary identities, of our mutual trust and understanding, and also a playful afternoon together on a sunny summer day. 

These moments, or words, will remain etched and treasured forever not only in my memory, but deep in my heart and soul.

Whether people can hear the difference, yet, or not — and although people still misgender me — my voice is now officially in the typical “male range”…! 

The speech therapist recorded my voice and did the pitch analysis this morning: my average pitch is 167 Hz, which is in the “typical male range”…!!!

This feels exhilarating and exciting and scary at the same time… 

Yesterday, I got back from nearly two weeks in California where I finalized my move out to Colorado. 

It was an intense trip with several extremely emotional moments and it’s still hard for me, at such a short distance from all those events, to parse out the different interactions, emotions, thoughts, feelings. 

A great part of what made my stay and meetings in California so emotional and also difficult was the sense of going back to an old part of my life, almost an old part or version of me, that in my own head & heart I had already left behind or outgrown several months ago. 

I minimized my meetings and interactions in California to those that were either unavoidable or necessary, like the practical things that needed to be done for my move; or those that felt either light-hearted and joyful or healing to me, or of particular importance to get some ultimate closure. Among the latter, of the three difficult or awkward meetings I had foreseen happening, only one took place: for one of those meetings, the other person never got back to me, and I decided to respect her silence; for another, I realized I wasn’t in the right spirit to have that particular meeting. But one of those interactions did eventually happen: the other person involved did get back to me and we both made time to meet up despite our packed schedules. 

This was my very final meeting with the “boulderer”, to get my ultimate closure in person. 

I wanted him to see me as I am now, wholly, almost one year since we last saw each other, and over three years after we first met. I wanted him to know that I am non-binary — more than that, I wanted him to know I am trans-masculine, that there is and always has been a boy in me, and that I have started the medical processes to affirm my gender. 

At first, I was thinking of simply saying to him, “I am trans”. But that’s not how it came out… It took me some time to formulate my first sentence, as I struggled to find the words, and finally said, “I identify as non-binary but more towards the male side of the spectrum and have finally decided to do something about it”. After his initial, “Fine, that’s great”, the deeper meaning of my somewhat vague sentence finally hit him, and he asked, almost exclaimed, “You mean do something about it medically?!?”. “Yes”, I simply replied.

“So you’re starting T?!?” 

“Yes, I already started HRT a few weeks ago and hopefully will get top-surgery this winter”. 

It’s always interesting and particularly meaningful to me to see the reactions of cis-males, probably because I yearn for their affirmation or approval. This case was even more loaded since we had a long history of a complicated and confusing relationship involving many different layers, including a strong sexual attraction that was still present even last week. 

Part of his reaction — his initial “It’s no big deal” response — was disappointing, although I know it came partly from his general tendency of downplaying things — which he admitted, and which in this case he might need to protect his own self from the emotional consequences of realizing what it means for him that I am non-binary/trans-masculine… that he actually felt (and still feels) attracted to a boy… 

Later in our meeting, though, there was a conversation that was worth the whole effort and risk of sharing with him. 

As I explained that I’m basically going through male puberty and that my voice has already started changing, he suddenly asked, “Has your voice cracked yet?!?” The spontaneous, joyful, almost gleeful curiosity and camaraderie with which he asked this question was one of the best moments I have had in sharing my medical masculinization procedures with any cis-gender person. 

It literally was one boy asking another boy — “Has your voice cracked yet?” 

So I told him how I am recording my voice as it lowers, and he exclaimed, “You’re such a little boy! You’re totally a boy!”. 

He had seen me. Finally, he saw me. 

There was another moment when he saw me. As we were talking about climbing and I was sharing about some recent experience of mine, he (who has been climbing for much longer than I and initially also gave me a lot of advice) said, “You really are a fully-fledged climber now!?!”

“Yes, I am”, I replied with tranquil confidence. 

I know I still have TONS to learn and improve in rock-climbing. I know that both as a climber and as a boy I still have a long way to go, that I’m still in fieri, a work in progress. But I also know that both the boy and the climber in me are strong and important parts of my identity, and parts of my identity that I really wanted him to see because we share those aspects. 

What he will make of this “new” — actually clearer, more open, more confident, whole and authentic — “version of me” is unknown to me. And it’s really not my problem.

What matters to me is that I was able — i.e. I found the courage and had the opportunity — to show him all this, and that he saw it. 

What matters to me is that the last, final image he got of me is more aligned to who I really am. 

Feelings from this morning:

• R.E.M. song “The Ascent of Man” (from the album “Around the Sun”) ringing in my head and the verses “I looked for you, it’s my last grand stand” particularly resonating with me;
• Identifying so strongly and happily as a boy, and feeling so wholly myself as a boy – one of my best friends here in California, whom I hadn’t seen in six months, yesterday said to me, “You look so strong”, and I instinctively replied, “Well, I’m turning into a boy” and then, after a moment’s thought, “I’m actually really turning into a boy”! Starting to share my non-binary/trans gender identity and the medical procedures that I have already started (HRT) and plan on doing (masculinizing top-surgery) with more and more trusted people, and talking about it more openly, is helping me to feel more deeply and wholly my boyish part and to express my non-binary/trans-masculine gender identity with more confidence. Which feels good because it’s more authentically me.

I’m back in the area of coastal California where I spent six years of my life before moving to Colorado recently.

I’m here to logistically finalize my move to Colorado but I’m also saying Hi/Goodbye to some friends here who are among my best friends overall.

Many of these friends are much older than myself, actually my parents’ age or almost. And seeing them again is confirming a realization that I had recently, namely how the years I spent in this region of California, almost fleeing Europe, have been a wonderful (and much needed and healing) “reparenting” for me.   

When I told my nuclear family, in December 2015, that in three weeks I’d be moving to California, my father’s response was, literally, “What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you just settle down?” I’ll probably never forget his response, that “What’s wrong with you?” – the culminating example of how he had always responded to me when he wasn’t totally absent from my life.

Yesterday, I went sailing with a program for which I’ve been volunteering for the past six years here and in which there are four persons who are friends but also, effectively, “surrogate fathers” for me. Two of them in particular have been very important and dear father-figures to me, the father that I always wish I had had.

One of them picked me up to drive to the sailing program yesterday morning and the moment he saw me (still unawares of my latest move and plans) he said, “Your eyes – they’re so bright and sparkling – and you look so happy”. So then I told him about the recent decisions and changes and move and future plans, and his response was “We’ll miss you, I’ll always be happy to go sailing with you whenever you’re back here, and if you ever need help in returning to this area, I’ll give you all the support I can. But I can see you’re happy and I’m happy for you — keep following your path!” [This person has a picture of me sailing on his boat as his computer’s screensaver.]

The other one who’s particularly important to me said something along similar lines – “You’re inspiring and I love your journey: you’re following a wonderful path!”

And they all embraced the news of my gender identity & new pronouns, asking me to correct them if they mis-gender me involuntarily, while also acknowledging that they’ve always seen and supported the boy in me and me just as I am.

I realize (& have felt this for a while) that moving away from California to Colorado now is also, in some ways, part of my growing up and becoming my adult self more fully. I needed those years in California with so many friends who were older than myself and more like parent/mentor figures because I truly needed the reparenting: I needed support to heal those old wounds from my childhood, in particular those connected to a father who basically swayed between being absent and (not constructively) hyper-critical.

This realization has brought additional peace and joy to me and gratitude for the years spent here and towards all these lovely persons.

“Leaving New York” by R.E.M.

F…, it hurts.

Today is one of those days where having a “to-do” list, things that need to be done and cannot be postponed, will be a life-line.

For the past week or so, anxiety and grief have been coming and going in a two-day cycle: one day is good, I feel excited and energetic, empowered and liberated and optimistic; the next, grief is back together with an anxiety that grasps my body, tightening my chest and knotting my stomach. Today is one of these latter days. I wish I could sit and cry, to let it all out, but the tears don’t come.

I recognize this rhythm, these cyclic feelings: I felt the same two-day alternating cycle when I moved from Europe to California six and a half years ago. It was much harder then and the “bad” days felt worse, but it was the same two-day alternating rhythm. Realizing this helped me this morning. It even made me smile as I thought, “Well, this is me, this is how I function”. This is how my body functions. Despite the extremely intense pain, both emotional and physical, this morning there is also relief in recognizing a pattern. It helps remind me that it’s manageable, that I handled it before, even when it was worse, and therefore I can handle it again. And it shall pass, too.

(I’m also relieved, and thankful, to see that despite the pain and grief and anxiety, my mental state is stable, i.e. I can focus well on work, on the practical things to be done, and even on risky activities/hobbies. The mental fatigue that was almost paralyzing some of my thoughts or actions a few weeks ago is gone now.)

Still, there is very intense pain and grief in this moment, right now. This needs to be recognized and acknowledged and held, no matter how hard it may be. So I’ll sit with it and let it be while also doing the things that need to be done today.

On the other hand, though, having those two meetings that might turn out to be painful or awkward is up to me, it’s my own choice (as long as the other persons involved confirm the availability they have given me for now). If I feel that I’m not ready to, or not interested in, having either one of those meetings, or if I don’t have the time or the emotional bandwidth for them, I don’t need to have them. I am free not to have them. At the end of the day, I am free.

I am free. This is one of the main goals that I have been striving for my whole life. Freedom does not come for free, freedom has a cost. But I am free to choose if and when to have those meetings/interactions. As long as they can bring me peace and/or closure, beyond the pain or awkwardness, I’ll have them. Otherwise, if they’re just more salt on a wound, I will not. And I don’t have to make this decision now. I have at least one more week before having to make this decision (and half of it is anyway out of my control, in the other people’s hands)!

In a couple hours I’ll be going out for brunch with a new friend/colleague & her husband.

Yesterday I hiked a 14er with one of my best buddies here.

This upcoming week I have plans to spend a couple days with another of my favorite guy-friends here as well as plans with other climbing buddies.

The past weeks and months have been constellated with pleasant, frequent, even regular, activities in company of good friends, fun buddies, and nice people here with whom the connections flow easily, steadily, mutually.

Yet the strongest feelings this morning are pain and sadness.

I have finally organized all the logistics to complete my move from California to Colorado and I’ll be going to California next week to finish packing up, to empty my old office there, to return items at my old job, to oversee the pick-up & delivery of my belongings from there to Colorado, and to see friends. To say “Hi/Goodbye” to friends there.

This morning the reality of the “Goodbyes” really hit me hard.

As I was driving out of California with my car-load for the temporary move last winter, feeling deeply sad and also a little scared, I said to myself, “I can come back here anytime, if I want to”. And that was true.

I decided that I didn’t want to go back there, and I still feel I don’t want to go back to stay. I’m really much happier and healthier here. Look at how much I’ve been able to heal and rebuild in these six months here!

On the other hand, though, these six months have also been a “long goodbye”, or a preparation for the final goodbye: and this final goodbye is coming up in the next couple weeks. The friendships I have there will always remain, sincere and solid, and I know we’ll continue to keep in touch like we have been doing in all this time and even visit each other. But I’ll be packing up my stuff and leaving. I’ll be packing up and leaving.

And I might be having two meetings, in particular, with persons who are special to me, that could be painful, sad, or awkward. One will probably be a reconnecting, with some effort, the new start of a deep, sincere, and open friendship. The other (if it even takes place) will most likely be the very last act of a very long goodbye.

In the midst of the hectic organization of logistics and in the height of the happiness and fun I’ve found here, I hadn’t realized how painful or overwhelming those days in California might be. It might all turn out to be much lighter than it feels this morning – hopefully it will. But I also need to be prepared for this pain that I’m feeling now to come back, more intensely, once I’m there. So having certain plans both here and there with people with whom there is mutual, sincere care and interest and pleasure in each other’s company is a good emotional life-line to help me handle this “long goodbye” with healthy awareness, courage, and authenticity.