Number 39

The Big Question

Those of you who know a little bit about me, and have been following along with my transition already know the following chronological fact, but for those of you new to As The Radio Plays, here goes. From the first time I shared my deep dark 'tranny' secret with my therapist to the day that Rebecca passed was roughly 2 1/2 months. In 'therapy time', that's a blink of an eye.

"OK", you say, "But what's your point?"

Well, what that means is that Rebecca and I never had any discussions about my burgeoning awareness related to my gender confusion. It means that she had been gone for more than two years before that day when I spoke my essential truth: "I am a transgender woman, and I want to transition." The big question I (oh so subtly), alluded to when I titled this entry "The Big Question" is based upon this point. Rebecca and I never discussed any of this. In fact, I only had the dimmest awareness of my dysphoria at the time, so I wasn't yet able to even initiate a conversation.

"OK", you say, "But what's the big question?"

I'm getting to it, but before that you need to know the following. It's a stupid question. (As a retired school teacher, let me lay to rest the notion that there is "no such thing as a stupid question."). "There's no way to answer it," I tell myself, "and even if I did, the answer is irrelevant." So continuing to ask myself this question is an exercise in futility. It's wasted emotional energy. And yet I persist in torturing myself.

It's a stupid question because it's based on the notion of alternate universes or the ability to time travel. Great ideas for a science fiction book, but not so much in real life. We each have one life to live, and when it's over, it's over. It's also built upon the guilt I feel regarding the silly fact that in her lifetime, Rebecca earned a much larger salary than I ever did, and that my current financial resources are based upon her planning and fortitude. It's stupid because I have to try and guess how another person felt about something that was extraordinarily personal without any way of verifying the answer.

If Rebecca were still alive, would I be transitioning?

As I said, it's a question that can't be answered for many different reasons. All I can offer you is one thing I am certain of: Rebecca would wish for me a good life with much happiness as I move forward. Usually that thought is enough for me, but I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't haunted by this 'big' question.

Number 38

Crosby, Stills & Nash: a Re-evaluation

I'm getting older, so that may account for it. But as I write this, I'm listening to (and enjoying) Guns n' Roses, so an aged based mellowing is not necessarily at work. I'm just willing to admit I'm getting older (for what it's worth)(Stop, Hey, What's that Sound?)(see what I did there?)

Here's the deal. Crosby, Stills, & Nash were always, to me, non-essential. (Come down from the ceiling Cynthia!) Add Young and we can talk, but without him, I sentence the rest to 30 lashes with a wet noodle. Do you understand, what I'm laying down? And their song that epitomized their wimpiness to the nth degree? "Our House" of course. (you know "Our house, in the middle of the street, etc., etc.)

I've been on female hormones/testosterone blockers for six months now. There are many subtle, yet visible signs of this. I've got boobs. (They're small, but ya gotta start someplace) When I work out, my sweat smells differently than it used to. The hair on my arms and legs is growing much slower, too.

Oh, yeah. I'm starting to like Crosby, Stills, & Nash. I'm finding that I even like "Our House" (the harmonies are exquisite ).

Coincidence?

Quick, I need a dose of Led Zeppelin stat!