I'm wondering what exhaling feels like
It’s 3:30pm and I’m on my way to the coffee shop to get beans for my mom. This is one of the 97 tasks I need to complete before surgery. I am overwhelmed. I’ve mostly lost the ability to notice details around me, but there are birds, cars, people, and actually, a lot of people smoking? Earlier this year I posted on Instagram that chewing gum was back and a reporter from NYT Styles reached out about doing a feature on chewing gum being back. I gave quotes and everything but it turns out chewing gum is not back. Smoking is back. Gross. The usual barista who takes care of me, because trans people take care of each other, isn’t here. Shit. I start to leave because at this particular moment in my life, the one where I’m a week away from bottom surgery, I am only really interested in trans people taking care of each other. But then she appears and I’m all out of sorts because I’m on my way out and she’s saying hi and I’m still thinking about the smoking thing. I leave without the beans and walk around the block three times so I can ring the doorbell of my therapist at 3:57pm for our 4:00pm session, which I think is the correct time to arrive. I tell him all the things I’m thinking about a week out from bottom surgery. For months I’ve felt no control. I’m in a perpetual state of anxiety that I have not set up every single person in my life for success in my absence. He’s got one of those little fans that sways back and forth and I become obsessed with timing the moment the fan will hit me next. I want control. I also want everyone around me to be good — you know, in case this whole thing is a complete catastrophe, which it obviously won’t be, but still, it’s nicer when everyone around me is good. I mention the smoking thing. He agrees. It’s obscene. Back at the coffee shop. Beans for my mom in my tote bag. It’s a very delightful interaction. 96 tasks. Have you read the headlines lately? I’m not sure I can pinpoint a moment where it was “good” to be trans but I can assure you that this is not a “good” moment. This whole sports debate thing has been coming on like a car crash in slow motion. Can you believe the best thing Democrats have been able to come up with is, basically like, well, look, this isn’t a problem because trans women aren’t even good at sports. I’ve been in the rooms where these things are decided. I can believe it. Birds, cars, people. I’m on the train. They set my surgery date for August 20 back in February. Ever since I got sober a little over eight years ago, I became obsessed with setting and meeting goals. It keeps everything orderly. I told myself I was going to run 300 miles before surgery. I am also 39 years old so in order to do this I have to take care of my body by doing physical therapy and seeing a chiropractor. Sometimes my chiropractor asks me for business advice. It’s a nice change of pace from my last chiropractor who was obsessed with asking me for my opinion on, well, trans women in sports. I’m pretty sure he didn’t care for my actual thoughts but instead wanted a safe space to tell me, a trans woman he had deemed as Not Crazy, he didn’t think trans women should be allowed to play sports. As if he should have the authority. As if I didn’t already know he felt that way. I’m not even sure you care for my actual thoughts on this one, either, but since I hooked you into this newsletter to talk about my surgery, I might as well take a little space here, too. It is very obvious to me that this has nothing to do with sports. Nor do I think the issue was about bathrooms. The issue is about having to see trans people as actual people. And I’ve got some news for you: we’re people. Birds, cars, people. I’m home. I love being human. I love feeling stuff. For the last couple of months I’ve had these little breakdowns on Thursday nights. My partner and I are very cute about the whole thing. We call them Teary Thursdays. I don’t know. I’m doing the best that I can. That’s what I tell people when they ask me how I’m doing. And it’s true. I’m sleeping 7–8 hours. I’m drinking water. I’m delivering client work. I’m going on runs. I’m doing squats. I’m going to the movies. I’m writing this newsletter. I’m annoyed that I’m not teaching this semester because I need to take time to recover. I’m annoyed I’m not working on seven different projects. I’m grateful to have a body that’s healthy enough to have this surgery. I’m being human. I’ve been holding my breath for quite some time. I'm wondering what exhaling feels like. Ok! Time for some links.
thanks for reading <3 |
I'm wondering what exhaling feels like
It’s 3:30pm and I’m on my way to the coffee shop to get beans for my mom. This is one of the 97 tasks I need to complete before surgery. I am overwhelmed. I’ve mostly lost the ability to notice details around me, but there are birds, cars, people, and actually, a lot of people smoking? Earlier this year I posted on Instagram that chewing gum was back and a reporter from NYT Styles reached out about doing a feature on chewing gum being back. I gave quotes and everything but it turns out chewing gum is not back. Smoking is back. Gross. The usual barista who takes care of me, because trans people take care of each other, isn’t here. Shit. I start to leave because at this particular moment in my life, the one where I’m a week away from bottom surgery, I am only really interested in trans people taking care of each other. But then she appears and I’m all out of sorts because I’m on my way out and she’s saying hi and I’m still thinking about the smoking thing. I leave without the beans and walk around the block three times so I can ring the doorbell of my therapist at 3:57pm for our 4:00pm session, which I think is the correct time to arrive. I tell him all the things I’m thinking about a week out from bottom surgery. For months I’ve felt no control. I’m in a perpetual state of anxiety that I have not set up every single person in my life for success in my absence. He’s got one of those little fans that sways back and forth and I become obsessed with timing the moment the fan will hit me next. I want control. I also want everyone around me to be good — you know, in case this whole thing is a complete catastrophe, which it obviously won’t be, but still, it’s nicer when everyone around me is good. I mention the smoking thing. He agrees. It’s obscene. Back at the coffee shop. Beans for my mom in my tote bag. It’s a very delightful interaction. 96 tasks. Have you read the headlines lately? I’m not sure I can pinpoint a moment where it was “good” to be trans but I can assure you that this is not a “good” moment. This whole sports debate thing has been coming on like a car crash in slow motion. Can you believe the best thing Democrats have been able to come up with is, basically like, well, look, this isn’t a problem because trans women aren’t even good at sports. I’ve been in the rooms where these things are decided. I can believe it. Birds, cars, people. I’m on the train. They set my surgery date for August 20 back in February. Ever since I got sober a little over eight years ago, I became obsessed with setting and meeting goals. It keeps everything orderly. I told myself I was going to run 300 miles before surgery. I am also 39 years old so in order to do this I have to take care of my body by doing physical therapy and seeing a chiropractor. Sometimes my chiropractor asks me for business advice. It’s a nice change of pace from my last chiropractor who was obsessed with asking me for my opinion on, well, trans women in sports. I’m pretty sure he didn’t care for my actual thoughts but instead wanted a safe space to tell me, a trans woman he had deemed as Not Crazy, he didn’t think trans women should be allowed to play sports. As if he should have the authority. As if I didn’t already know he felt that way. I’m not even sure you care for my actual thoughts on this one, either, but since I hooked you into this newsletter to talk about my surgery, I might as well take a little space here, too. It is very obvious to me that this has nothing to do with sports. Nor do I think the issue was about bathrooms. The issue is about having to see trans people as actual people. And I’ve got some news for you: we’re people. Birds, cars, people. I’m home. I love being human. I love feeling stuff. For the last couple of months I’ve had these little breakdowns on Thursday nights. My partner and I are very cute about the whole thing. We call them Teary Thursdays. I don’t know. I’m doing the best that I can. That’s what I tell people when they ask me how I’m doing. And it’s true. I’m sleeping 7–8 hours. I’m drinking water. I’m delivering client work. I’m going on runs. I’m doing squats. I’m going to the movies. I’m writing this newsletter. I’m annoyed that I’m not teaching this semester because I need to take time to recover. I’m annoyed I’m not working on seven different projects. I’m grateful to have a body that’s healthy enough to have this surgery. I’m being human. I’ve been holding my breath for quite some time. I'm wondering what exhaling feels like. Ok! Time for some links.
thanks for reading <3 |