“So you transitioned on the job?”  That was the question I was asked by one of the transgender panelists after the meeting the other night.

I wrote about this about three years ago.  I have a rather narrow definition of transition as it applies to transgender people.  It is a definition, really, of transsexual transition – one with surgery and legal name changes and the like.  It implies things about me – about my identity and my intentions – that I don’t know are correct.  And because of this, it do my best to avoid using the term in reference to myself.

But it doesn’t stop others from using it.  It seems that idea of ‘transition’ has broadened some – and I likely fall into the group of people who have transitioned ’socially’.  Back when I started to deal with all of this, I friend of mine lived her life as a woman with no desire for surgery: she called it ‘crossliving’.  Some called her a non-op transsexual, some called her a crossdresser, and some called her a fraud.  But she was living a life true to how she identified.

It would be hard for me to say she had not ‘transitioned’.  Twelve years later, I look at myself and find I am doing something similar.  No, I have not changed my name or made any ‘body mods’ – but my presentation is clearly more feminine.  As I made my way to the discussion the other night, three times I was addressed as ‘Miss’.  It happens a lot and I cannot deny that I like it and that it is what I want people to see.

But still, that word…  There is a ring of finality to it.  There is a sense that one has passed the point of no return and that all one can do is to soldier onward.  It’s a frightening thought to me – I don’t exactly know why, but it is.  I know I could not go back to the way I used to be, but still…

Even the bravest of us rarely has the courage for what he Really Knows. – Nietzsche

So very true…

So I went to panel discussion I mentioned in my last post.  It went pretty much as I expected: two transition stories and a discussion of the hosting firm’s policies.  There was talk of ‘transition teams’ and the all important ‘bathroom concerns’.  (Yes, using a bathroom is important – but I have never seen the reason for everyone to get so concerned.  We all do the same things in there – and usually in a stall.  Why this is such a traumatic thing still eludes me – but it is and it needs to be addressed, so there you are.)

All in all, I was pleased that the firm has as well thought out and defined policies as they do.  In fact, it was rather refreshing to hear us ‘discussed’ positively.  But, one thing still bothered me: where would I fit into these policies.  They seemed to be focused on transitioning and how to manage that.  They seemed to assume that one would move from ‘male to female‘ or ‘female to male‘ and that the end result would be clearly defined.  In short, it all seemed oh so binary.

Being the great orator that I am, I waited until after the official Q&A to speak to the HR Diversity rep who was on the panel.  I asked her now someone like me would fit in.  I related the story of my ‘transition’ (as others seem intent on calling it) and how I identify and waited.   I was pleased to hear that their policies were not so rigid and that rather than having a ‘process’ in place, they really looked at each person individually.  One would think that was a given, but HR can be a funny about stuff.  We chatted for a few more minutes and I will say that I left feeling rather good about it all – a pleasant surprise to be honest.

There is a panel discussion coming up on gender identity and expression in the workplace.  It is being hosted by a large investment bank and should be interesting.  I was asked if I had any suggestions for the panel and I offered to ‘tell my tale’ if they thought there was some value in it.  I like to think that what I did and where I did it is something a bit unique, and as another investment bank was hosting, it seemed like a good fit.

The event has been planned and the speakers chosen – suffice to say I am not among them. I’ll be honest, I never had any expectation of being on any ‘panel’ – I made the offer knowing it wouldn’t be taken – I made the offer knowing exactly what they wanted.

The ‘trans’ representative will be a transsexual who has already transitioned. The reason given for her being chosen: the people planning the event “didn’t know if the more hands-off (on the company’s end) non-transition transition experience would be too advanced for the audience of HR people.”

Too advanced???

My former employer was as high profile as any investment bank and they managed to see the value in allowing me the latitude to be true to myself.  It took them all of a week – which I’m sure amounted to about an hour’s discussion – to decide in my favor.  Their ‘advanced approach’ required them to make no real policy changes.  I wasn’t looking for anything that would cost them anything – I think that would be the case more often than not.  What it amounted to was that I was a valued employee there.

What I would like to know is why is it almost always transsexuals who are put up as the spokespeople of the trans-community? Not all transpeople are transsexual – in fact, I’m willing to go out on a limb and say that most are not transsexual.  We all do not transition – or at least transition in the same way.  And yet, time and time again, they are offered as the quintessence of transness.

I know why she was chosen: she’s safe. She fits the media-ready narrative of “I always knew I was a girl from early on…” through transition and up to “…and now I am a woman and happy.” It the side of trans that people have learned to at worst tolerate and at best respect.  It is the cleaned up and ’sanitized for the public’ side of trans – presented in an easy to digest format.  I am sure she will look good and be thoughtful and articulate. The HR types will look at her and agree “this isn’t so bad – we can do this.”  It is the side of trans that is by and large neat and tidy: she’s female and a woman – just as it should be.  It’s not a bad side of trans, it just does little to challenge people’s perceptions and educate them as to the diversity in our community.

I see myself as the scary side of trans – the side no one wants to see. It’s people like me who ‘ruin things’ for everyone, at least that is what I have been told in the past.  I am the ‘less-authentic’ side – the ‘not really serious’ side – the guy who ‘just wants to dress up at work’ side – the ‘confused’ and ‘in denial’ side – the ‘freak’ and ‘weirdo’ side.  I amount to gender trash: something to be pushed aside and stepped over.  I have been made to feel at times that my version of trans has little intrinsic value.

Discussions around trans-people and the workplace seem to come down to debates over bathrooms, medical coverage and transition strategies – important issues (for transsexuals especially) but not the only issues for trans-people.  Speaking for myself: my health insurance is just fine, I am able to relieve myself as necessary without incident, and there was no need for a planning session when I did what I did.  Discussions around things like flexible dress codes, employee education and a top-down driven commitment to diversity and inclusion (for example), in addition to the other ‘issues’, would serve a far wider audience in my opinion.  Of course to do this, you need you have people who can speak to these other concerns actually speak to them – people with other experiences as trans-people.

A false tautology has been created: transsexual <==> transgender.  The average person who has heard of either doesn’t know there is any difference.  When I approached my old firm’s LGBT group, the chairperson at the time – an SVP in HR and a lesbian – asked me how far into the ‘process’ (i.e. transition) I was.  I derailed her train of thought when I told her I wasn’t transsexual or transitioning, and then proceeded to educate her a bit regarding the the diversity that is trans.  Talk shows, documentaries, dramas – the ‘trans’ people in these are almost always transsexuals.  It’s not so much wrong as it is inaccurate – holding up only one example from any group of people ultimately does a disservice to that group.  It serves to silence the other voices in that group.

When will be the ‘right time’ for the rest of us?  Is it after a stereotype has been indelibly burnt into people’s minds?  After policy is in place that excludes us?  Is there a reason not to speak of us as a whole as opposed to just the top layer of the de facto hierarchy?  In my simplistic view of things, what is so advanced about the idea that we are all people going to work, supporting our families, paying our taxes, and making money for our employers – and as such, we are entitled to the same consideration?

I’ll attend the event and listen to the discussion. Twelve years ago, when I ‘joined’ the trans community, there never would have been any such discussion – so I want to hear what the HR types have to say: what their plans are for supporting ‘gender identity and expression’ in the workplace.  I’m curious to see how I will be represented, as it is the same representation that was there twelve years ago.

Who knows… perhaps I’ll be surprised…

n.b.: I first wrote this in October of 2008 and it’s been kicking around my drive since then. Six months later, things are only marginally different. The anxiety I felt then is still there – I am simply learning to live with it.

It was never my plan – this thing I do at work: it just sort of happened. One day, about eight years ago, I just started dressing ‘differently’ at work. It was small things: pants, a shirt, my shoes – nothing dramatic: one thing here and there. But as time went on, I pushed things more and more – and my appearance became more androgynous. I waited for someone to comment, but they never did. And while I never openly discussed what I was doing, I knew it hadn’t gone unnoticed. Somehow, I managed to ‘express my gender’ in a way that made me feel good – and I did it in one of the more conservative of corporate environments: at a Wall Street investment bank.

I went to HR after 9/11 and basically outed myself to them: I asked to be allowed to follow the women’s dress code. I told them I wanted to make this ‘official’. A few questions and a week later and they said yes. Now, even if someone said something, it didn’t matter: I had special dispensation. My firm had talked about supporting diversity and they did, at least as far as gays and lesbians were concerned: I, however, was something alltogether different. I was genuinely shocked to find them willing to back up their commitment with action in my case.

In 2006, I officially ‘came out’ at work. That October, I was featured as our LGBT network’s employee of the month – and my photo and bio were posted on network’s website. Something inside me wanted to be acknowledged for who and what I was. I had been ‘out’ for a while now with respect to how I dressed, but now – there no question about it: I was the ‘T’ in the LGBT at the Firm. It was an odd feeling but it felt ‘right’ to me.

In 2007, Maggie Stump spoke at our Firm. She is a fund manager (and a very successful one) who transitioned on the job at another financial institution. I found her story inspiring – and a bit sad – as are many of our stories. I spoke with her afterwards (we being the only two transpeople in the room) and I told her how impressed I was with her and her accomplishment. She asked me my story and when I finished, she allowed that she was far more impressed with me. I looked at her, confused, and asked her, “Why?”. She looked serious as said, “Because what you are doing is *so* much harder than what I did.” It didn’t seem hard but I suppose maybe it is – I don’t know. I don’t get to ‘pass’ or blend in and everyone in my building knows who I am, even if they don’t know me personally.

To my knowledge, I was the only openly trans individual at the Firm. And to make it that much more interesting, I open identify as genderqueer and have no interest in ‘transitioning’ as the trans-community tends to understands it. I do not ‘fit’ what some expect a transperson to be, which is fine by me. It’s an odd place to be, but it’s who I am. Somehow, I managed to carve out my own very queer little space in an otherwise traditionally conservative environment. I am rather proud of what I have achieved and *where* I have achieved it. I have been asked, “How did you do that?” I honestly don’t know: timing, the culture of the firm, stupidity, luck – it kinda just happened. I don’t know that I could make it happen again.

I am at an uncertain place in my life now. The firm for which I worked is in bankruptcy and I am now employed by the firm which purchased the leftovers: my fate there is far from secure. Maybe they will keep me – maybe not: I have to wait and see. Even now, six month on, I am not sure of my position. Assuming they do want me, will they want *me* – warts and all? Diversity in a corporate setting is very much a cultural thing and needs to be driven top down. My old firm had it – this new one does not. They say the right things, but have a less-than-stellar reputation regarding LGBT support. I am back to flying under the radar for the time being. I continue to do what I have done largely because my management hasn’t changed and they have always been supportive. But I know that there has been nothing officially ’sanctioned’ by the new regime.

Then there is looking for employment elsewhere; who goes on the interview? I need to stay employed – but at what cost? Does the trans/genderqueer individual show up and risk being found “Not quite what we’re looking for right now…” Or do I get a proper haircut, shine my wingtips and ‘be’ whatever it is I need to be to find work. Can I really be that person again? If so, for how long? Can I attract the same lightning a second time? I don’t know the answer, but perhaps the questions are moot.

I shouldn’t be worrying about this; if anything, it should be the last thing on my list. I have my ‘priorities’ in order – but when does ‘me’ get to be a priority? At what point do I get to *not* push this to the bottom? It has taken me *so* long to get to this place – a place where I can more or less ‘be myself’ and have this be a non-issue for the most part. To start over again – or worse, give it up completely – I don’t know that I can do that.

In the end, I suppose I will have to do whatever it is I have to do.

The value of a thing sometimes lies not in what one attains with it, but in what one pays for it – what it *costs* us.” – Nietzsche

Here it comes, another lonely day, playing the game. I’ll sail away on a voyage of no return to see if eternal life is meant to be and if I find the key to the eternal dream…

I could find hundreds of lyrics and quotes to express my feelings and still it would only scratch the surface. I feel at times to be buried so deeply that there no surface through which to break – Or, it is there, but covered with a thick layer of ice – allowing glimpses of a sanctuary, all the while keeping it well out of my grasp.

I wonder what type of universe allows creatures such a me in it. I wonder what part in the grand design I play – the ‘reason’ for my being at all – especially as it is. Surely I could have served a more useful purpose were I better designed! But being as I am, I’m given pause by how ill-conceived a being I actually am, and how ultimately pointless my existence actually is.

It’s dark and raining as I drive down the parkway (old joke: why do we park on a driveway and drive on a parkway?) I close my eyes, and I think how easy this will be: no one will question the outcome. Save for a few months of sadness, I’ll scarcely be missed. On-line, I’ll be one name less – at home, one bother less.

Right now, the things in my life over which I have control – or feel I have control, are few if any. My ‘career’ – if one can call it that, is at the whim of Wall Street and a bad job market (for those who did not know, I worked for that bankrupt bank) – and my relationship with my wife rests on a solid foundation of mud. This has, to some extent, relegated other considerations in my life to a secondary status: the joke being that they have never been primary in the first place. Fodder for another day’s whinge.

I push down with my right foot. A sense of empowerment begins to full me: truly, something over which I have some control. The engine winds up and I think back to twenty six years ago – the year I graduated high school and that summer. I reasoned then that as a solution, this was not the best: it lacks assurances – and how I so desperately wanted assurances then as I do now. I recognize this for what it is (as well as for what it isn’t) and I open my eyes…

It’s dark and raining as I drive down the parkway. Earlier than usual today, the road is empty and I’ve managed to ‘drift’ over one lane – just before my exit. I take it, make my way to the parking lot and board my train – as I have done so many times before. As sit down and look around at unfamiliar faces and wonder if they are in any better control of their lives than am I.

A woman a few seat forward looks up and we exchange smiles. I think for just a moment about her drive to the train on a dark rainy morning. The doors close, we depart the station.

My wife and I don’t talk. Not that we’re silent around one another, but we don’t talk about important things – things which when left unsaid only serve to widen the gap between us. We don’t talk about sex – who’s satisfied, who’s not. We don’t talk about my transness – at least not seriously. I consciously withold on this for fear of upsetting her – for fear of losing her. Every day, in the back of my mind, is the thought that today might be the day when she tells me she’s had enough of this and that it’s over.

I live with this all the time. It’s a fucked up way to live.

She doesn’t realize just how f’ing hard it is sometimes to make all this work – to keep all the balls moving without letting them drop. Some days it’s effortless, while other days it takes all I can muster to make it happen. I can’t tell her this though, because if I do, then I’m having a ‘crisis’ – and the world is somehow falling apart and I’m running off to ‘be a woman’. She get’s that it’s difficult, but really doesn’t understand just how difficult.

And I’ve had little interest in sex. Sure, I like it – but feeling that I need it? It’s not that I’m ‘turned off’ by her or anything like that – I’m just not interested. Maybe I’m just used to not having sex… My therapist says it’s not all that uncommon.

And so on these points and others, I say nothing. I keep it all inside, save for sharing with my therapist and my GF on the train. But the one who needs to know this… I cannot tell – for fear of upsetting the delicate balance I think I’m maintaining.

It’s not working. Balls are dropping and I don’t even realize it.

And so I sit and think and long for something I cannot have. I torture myself over it and keep doing it because that’s what I do instead of talking with my wife – because it’s easier to hurt myself than it is to hurt her.

And she says to me, “Why don’t you talk to me? You don’t tell me anything.” Of course, to explain the reason for not talking is to have the very conversations I don’t want to have with her. Finally, I give in – a little.

We talk about sex – for like the first time in 20 years. We talk about about my fears of making her upset – of her leaving. We talk about how this is a difficult thing and I need to be able to say to her, “This is hard for me today.” and for her to not assume the worst. We talk about how she is always ‘waiting for the other bomb to drop’ with me – how she too lives with fears regarding this.

We start talking about a bunch of things – things about which we should have been talking all along. And for the first time in a long time, the gap between us seems that much smaller.

And I start to push my forbidden longings back into their hiding places.

My ‘gendered feelings’ are what they are. I can dismantle them and explain the parts in a non-gendered way, but when all pieces are combined, ‘gender-free’ just doesn’t work on them. But at the core of these feelings is a sense of intimacy I don’t think I’ve felt for a very long time: so long that I’m not even sure what it is any more. Maybe I never knew what it was at all? I don’t know…

But what I do know is that my wife and I love each other and want to be with each other. And perhaps instead of wanting what I cannot have, I ought to focus on wanting what I do have. Maybe the two are not that all that far apart from one another after all…

Of course, this means I have to keep talking – as does she. We’re not good at that yet, but we are talking – and that’s a start.

There are many things about which I do not allow myself the luxury of contemplation. I keep these things tucked away in the back of my thoughts, covered with whatever I can find in the hopes that they will remain forever hidden from me. I do this because to consider these things – to bring them into the forefront of my thoughts – is simply too painful. They become too much of a distraction – to the point where they will occupy the majority of my thoughts. They become an almost deafening noise in my head – and once released, they are difficult to re-capture and once again tuck away. And so I bury them – as deeply as possible – in the hopes that they never again see the light of day.

It doesn’t work … It never does.

I think I can understand why some people turn to drugs or drinking: anything to make the noise stop – to make the daemons return to from whence they came… If only for a while.

I accept that I’m trans, that I’m genderqueer, and that I’m never going to consider myself to be ‘a woman’… But what I cannot deny is that I want to be seen as a woman: not some anomaly. More than just that, I want to be seen as desirable as a woman. And most of all, to be desired by a woman, as a woman.

Like I said, there are things I keep locked away – because to consider them aloud can be profoundly painful.

I know that this ‘fantasy’ of mine will never be realized. I don’t pretend that ‘maybe some day’ it will happen. I know better – I’m not that naive. But it doesn’t change the fact that this is something I carry around inside of me and, despite my best efforts, I am unable to shed. Lately, it seems that the light has been hitting this one far too often.

I always have preferred girls (when younger) and women as friends over men. Somehow, being with girls / women has always felt right to me. There is something at an emotional level I get that I cannot seem to get from friendships with men. This has always been the case for me – even before I knew what ‘trans’ was or that it applied to me.

Men tend make me feel uncomfortable: not all the time, but often enough. I don’t know what to call it, but there is definitely a different vibe hanging out with women – and I feed off of that. It’s a positive energy: not an affirmation of me as a ‘woman’, but of someone they consider a peer – as ‘one of their own’. I know more about who has their period, who waxes what, who’s been lasered and where. We talk about spouses, kids, families – relationships. We interact in a way which I never have with men – nor have I ever seen men interact. One thing I have never been is the ‘guy’ at the table with my women friends.

I have, for the first time in my life, what I can only characterize as a girlfriend: not in the romantic sense, but in the ’share your secrets’ sense. We take the train together twice a day. We share, we laugh, we cry… We are there for each other emotionally and have had far too many long discussions about issues in both of our lives. It is not a relationship I could ever see myself have with a guy – ever. It is a different kind of relationship – one that satisfies different emotional needs. And while my friend from the train doesn’t see me as a ‘woman’, the interaction we have much more closely models that of ‘girlfriends’ than it does a guy-girl friendship. One big thing I get from this is that she does not see me as ‘trans’. She no longer sees what others see when they look at me. All she sees is me – a person who is her friend: I cannot describe how special that is to me. And as far as I can tell, my other women friends treat me in a similar manner. Perhaps it’s me seeing what I want see, but they seem more ‘accepting’ of me than men. Of course, I want them to be, so there you go.

But there still seems to be something missing in all of this. Even as a child, most of my friends were girls and we played girls games. They didn’t think of me as one of the ‘stinky boys’ like the ones up the street: we played together as peers – as equals. When I hit puberty and trans stuff kicked in, I wanted not just to be with the girls: I wanted to be like them – to be one of them.

And now, some 25 – 30 years later, that feeling is still there: still alive and well, in the back of my mind. It is something forever just out of my reach. Sometimes, I think I can get close to it – but never actually have it. Perhaps I need to resign myself to the fact that for whatever it is I’m looking, I’m likely not going to find it.

This ‘mystical bond’ I imagine women form may be just that – imagined. And it could very well be that there’s nothing to find – that I continue to torment myself for no good reason… Which makes me feel a bit like the blind man in the dark room looking for the black cat that isn’t there.

I feel that I am where I am largely because of the choices I have made in my life: I cannot ‘un-make’ them. I am left feeling that ‘what I want’ must come second to ‘what I must do’. I feel I have commitments which must take precedence – and that my ‘wants’ can figure in only to the point where they do not ‘unduly’ interfere with with those commitments.

What I want it to have it both ways – and I know that I cannot… But that doesn’t stop me from wanting what I want.

Time to find a new hiding spot…

This is from about a year ago, posted to the mHB boards. I have recently been thinking about this and thought it relevant to share.

What attracts a trans person to Miss White Pickett Fence? Someone who is so obviously rooted in gender roles and “how life should be” and how in the WORLD do you expect her to grow to the point where she’ll accept trans in the bedroom, in the wider world or full time living?

She is the holy grail for the male bodied transperson.

“Miss White Pickett Fence” represents to us everything we are not and want to be: secure in her sense of self, well functioning in the world at large – in a word: Normal.

Yes, there’s that F’ing word again. It is the one thing we have most wanted in our lives – to be normal – like everyone else. We see “Miss White Pickett Fence” and think to ourselves, “That’s what I need, a normal relationship. If I could have that, than all the damn chattering in my head would go away.” We look at the relationship as what is missing in our lives – as the reason for why we are as we are. If we could have that, the world would be set right again.

And it works – for a while. We ride the high of being ‘normal’ – like everyone else. But soon the ride slows, the high fades and the chattering returns. We come to the realization that while it might have been what we wanted – it wasn’t what we needed.

And we look over at our beautiful, but painfully cisgendered partners and say to ourselves, “What was I thinking? Was I even thinking at all?”

I have posted about my adventures Riding the Long Island Railroad – wherein each month I get to see what gender the conductor thinks I am. So far this year, my ticket has been punched as female every month except July: it’s ok, it happens.

Today, being the first of October, was a new opportunity to be ‘gendered’ by the conductor. He made his way through the train, stopped at my seat and I handed him my ticket. He punches it with little or no hesitation and hands it back to me. (The moment of truth…) It’s punched as ‘male’.

Oh well.

As I’m looking at the ticket, the conductor says to me, “Oh, I’m sorry. I punched the wrong box.” He then takes the ticket back, punches it female, and circles the ‘incorrect’ punch and writes PIE (Punched In Error.) He hands me back my ‘corrected’ ticket and continues on through the train car. I have had my ticket punched one way – only to be ‘corrected’ later on in the month. However, this was the first time this happened quite like this.

What did the conductor see just a moment later that made him change his mind?

I don’t know – but it was enough to make him feel it necessary to correct his ‘mistake’.

Cool…

The other day at lunch time, I went to the mall near my office – to a jewelry store I frequent. I’ve been going there for about five years or so, and the same salesperson – a woman in her fifties – usually takes care of me. She knows I’m married (as I’ve bought enough stuff there for my wife) and have kids. And while it has never come up in conversation, I know she recognizes I’m ‘different’ – and it has never seemed to bother her in the least.

I went to order my wedding band to match the one I gave my wife for our twentieth anniversary – it’s a special order and I wanted to make sure she like the band before I ordered mine. Barbara (the salesperson) was checking on the availability and and prices and needed to consult with the manager – a woman in her late thirties who also knows me. Their conversation went something like this:

• Barbara : “This is the price we told him a few weeks ago.”
• Manager : “But she knew the price might go up.”
• Barbara : “Remember, he purchase the other band for his wife.”
• Manager : “Did she pick it up yet?”
• Barbara : “Yes, the other week.”
• Manager : “Oh, she did? ” - turns to me - “How did she like it?”
• Me : “My wife loved it. That’s why I’m back to order mine.”
• Manager : “Great!” - to Barbara - “Give it to her for what we originally said.”

My gaze shifted from one to the other – and I watched my gender flip/flop – as they referred to me in their conversation: Barbara referring to me as ‘he/him’ and the manager referring to me as ’she/her’ – neither fazed by the seeming incongruity of the conversation – neither bothering to ask me ‘which is correct’ or to apologize for using the ‘wrong’ identifier – not that I cared. Each had decided ‘what I was’ and I found it interesting / amusing that the manager continued to address me in the feminine despite Barbara’s use of masculine pronouns and the discussion of my wife. I can only assume that what she ’saw’ overrode what she heard.

Where others might have been frustrated by the lack of ‘consistency’, I have to say I felt just a small sense of pride at my success in ‘queering’ the binary – presenting as ‘both and neither’ at the same time.

“I love it when a plan comes together.”