“Wow! You are really a kick! We have to get together sometime so I can hear all your stories! I think we can work well together.”
It’s not hard to figure out what my dream meeting is. It’s someone who really sees and values me, someone who gets the joke, someone who wants to play, which to me, usually means work.
“Thanks, but we’ll call you, don’t call us,” or “I need you to save me” are much more likely outcomes, though.
I missed a couple of meetings this week as I have been trying to support my sister and her difficult job transition over a very frigid time.
One was a meetup where women gathered to talk about their lives, open and supportive. I had to guess how that one would go, and I suspected that much like the pagan event, they would find my comments insightful and valuable, but they would also see me as different than they are, see themselves without much to offer me.
This month’s session was on balance, which I do understand, but next month’s is on children, where I have much less direct involvement. It was also going to cost $20 per session, and that seemed like a big chunk of risk to me.
The second was the local transgender activist group, which has had quite a diminishment since I was first found to be a troublemaker at their meetings. The angry not-so young queers have moved on, leaving it in the hands of the much meeker, who just can’t grow a force in this area. I spent the 1990s trying to build trans community here and things haven’t changed much at all.
There are good groups for people of colour and for youth, supported by funding, but my welcome there is clearly limited.
Every day I beat through the events listings on the internet looking for prospective venues where I can both contribute and reap some rewards. I have limited resources so I can’t just spread myself around freely, taking random shots to find that connection I need.
My experience reminds me of a baleen whale, filtering tonnes of water to find the krill and plankton I need to survive. So much chaff, so little grain. I have tried so much that I can figure out the lay of the land quickly and usually pretty accurately, so while I cannot be surprised if I am not out there, buying a lottery ticket on the odds of winning isn’t really a prudent move.
I do regret missing the meetings this week, being put on hold again to serve my family, because they are so few and far between.
But do I really think they would have offered rich rewards? If I believed that, I would have gone, I suspect.