A few weeks ago I wrote about the years of longing I went though, the ones I don’t like to remember. Those were the years between 5 and maybe 40 where I just longed to be changed, for someone to see me, transform me, adore me, value me. Those were the years when I was a needy mess.
Those years are painful to remember, but somehow they were less painful to live than the years when I started to take responsibility for my own desires, where I started to take a realistic approach to being tranny in this world.
I moved from the years of longing not into the years of living — that wasn’t really an option for someone denied her girlhood, tagged always by her birth genitals — but rather into the years of loss. I lost my dreams, and got only stigma and challenge in return.
Loss is something to live with. For me, the discipline of loss has been the letting go of ego desire.
But isn’t that a loss in itself?