What's In A Name? (Or, How A Blog Title Came to Be)

I enjoy a literary romance with analogies.  I find them terrifically effective when trying to explain myself to others.  If I could draw and paint and sculpt my thoughts in a way that properly conveyed my emotions, I might never talk again.  In this case, however, the written word is my chosen medium.

Whenever I go about trying to make sense of my gender issues, the proper analogies never fail to avail.  I find I could go on for pages!  But the one I always return to is Alice (of Wonderland fame).  The title of my blog obviously reflects my fondness for this imagery as it pertains to the gender curious.  It's very easy to see myself in her shoes (an exciting thought on several levels, but let's save that discussion for another time!), as she finds herself drawn into a world where the rules change with every step.  The only way to regain footing on the familiar territory she left behind is to keep moving forward, even if it means facing madness in myriad forms.

Does that sound about right?  Okay.  Now, about that mirror.

The "looking glass" is the same as Alice's rabbit hole, insofar as it serves to transport a body to worlds of which you've only dreamt.  However, mirrors and tunnels each contain a unique symbolism, and where gender identity is concerned mirrors are much more significant.  I'm sure I don't have to explain it out loud... but I will.

Maybe you're anticipating that I'll say, "The Mirror signifies self-image, and that who we see in the reflection is as important as who we actually are."  Sure.  That's a gimme.  But what else?

In my experience, we transgendered folk can be obstinately preoccupied with how we appear, and getting what we need.  I speak of narcissism, which can definitely be a problem, but instead of talking up that touchy point, for now let's focus on the positive.

Really, it's excusable for Alice to be a little obsessed with herself.  A hallmark of growing up entails beginning to pay attention to one's own needs, shedding dangerous naivetés, learning self-control and accountability.  So long as we don't shut out everyone else entirely, and eventually learn to accept the image we see as a truth (or change it without compromising the value of our character), a limited obsession with self may well be a necessary rite of passage.

Now if Mirror stands for "reflection of self," and to observe one's reverse form in its bare gleam means "self analysis," then for Alice to employ it as a metaphysical portal would imply that the cross-dresser (moi, vous, quiconque) seeks to immerse herself into the reflection she's been studying, likely with the hope of assuming the form of said reflection once she's crossed the proper threshold. "On this side I'm more like this; on that side, I'm more like that."  This transcends narcissism - since Narcissus found he was powerless to interact with his reflection in any tangible, fulfilling way - and poses a more optimistic possibility: a true, positive connection to one's identity, along with the promise of somehow making contact with an elusive fantasy floating mired in the shadows of mere imagination.

Thus, may it please you, see me sitting here before the mirror, occasionally lost in thought as I ponder the quiet, lonely woman looking back with that glint of eagerness and hope in her eyes.  From time to time I carefully test the glass to see if its hard, unyielding surface finally gives way.

"I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Let me think. Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?' Ah, that's the great puzzle!" - Alice

Oh, Wonderland...so close, so far away.

Found Wanting

So we were in bed last weekend - my wife and I - and she asked me, "What do you want?"

There have already been a dozen iterations of this query, mainly in reference to my need for the freedom to look and act like a woman every now and then, and none of the answers have ever been to her satisfaction.  This time was shaping up like the rest as I attempted to explain myself, since all my words fell short of superb revelation.  I sounded like I was just making up stuff, which isn't exactly true.  I was just...unprepared.  Knowing exactly how you feel and being able to sum up those feelings with the perfect words are two different concepts.  I tend to irritate her that way.

My wife - let's call her Erica - vented frustration at not being able to understand me, and by extension at being unable to help me.  I apologized, sleepily, willing to postpone shaky progress for the sake of clarity on some other day.  We both rolled over, the matter unsettled, and went to sleep.  My last words were, "I guess I didn't think this through."  And that sort of bothered me more than not getting "what I wanted."  Not even knowing what I wanted was like defending a lie, somehow.

I like to believe I think things through.  This is a brave claim from someone who enjoys the nature of random selection, favoring spontaneity in all her creative endeavors, but I'm serious.  When a thing is important, it deserves deep analysis.  God.  Life & death.  The significance of the soul.  Why the hell a person can't get a grip on their personal dichotomous gender issues after thirty years.  You know, the core values of existence.

Falling in line with "Things I Hope To Achieve By Running A Blog" is this exactly: thinking out loud.  I want to use it to make myself more clear to people who want to know what I'm searching for, even though Erica is the only one I ever talk to anymore regarding my girlie issues.  Ironically, I don't plan to let her know I've set myself up out here on the web (I'll explain this madness later), but if I have a place to dump all my thoughts then I have a shot at sorting them out in real time.  I guess that's my main motivation.

That, and I have nowhere else to go.  It's just you and me, Internet.  At least until someone else shows up.

An Honest Prelude

I have a very limited idea of how other people evolve when it comes to taking the next step, after coming to a complete stop.  Some of them start a blog, I'm guessing - like me.  It might be the first step of many, or maybe it's a last resort.  I'm playing this one off as a little of both, or somewhere in between. Pick your favorite cliche.

Let me be right up front with you, O reader. My feminine presence isn't genuine. Holli Cherise Pewtersmyth is a persona. I wasn't born with the XX chromosome, but somewhere along the way I developed a fierce envy-cum-admiration for the female of my species.  More on this later (and in spades), but you ought to know what kind of blog you're dealing with.  In essence, it concerns the joys and travails of one of the loneliest, most desperate closeted cross-dressers in the freedom-loving U.S.A. I'm here to sing to my soul's content the song of femininity, and occasionally whine about how hard life is (even though I've got it pretty good, all things considered).

Just wanted to set things straight, before I begin.  If everything seems to be in order, then meet me back here next time.  I'll probably be complaining about something, so...forewarned and forearmed, and all that.


~HCP