A Bite Out of Reality

One summer, six years ago, I told myself that I needed to face reality for a little while. So I left blogging. I abandoned chat rooms, message boards, and emailing strangers from far off places who shared my frustrating passion for self-discovery as an unconventional woman. I left a vague indication that I was alright, that this sort of thing happens all the time to online dreamers, and for the most part I didn't feel I was missing much anyway.

"Funny, I don't FEEL more like myself. Hello? Is this thing on??"

Reality was marriage. Reality was my job, my church, my friends, the yard animals that keep digging under my shed. Also, there's been my other passion for self-expression, through ink, paint, and other artistic mediums. I chose to make time for this kind of actualization, admitting that my female identity had no place in the real world. No regrets; I've been doing well, on my feet, getting things done with the energy I used to reserve for lengthy declarations regarding the finer points of my personal femininity.

But I'm not right, either. I haven't been right in forever. The kind of right that's not about being correct, but feeling well-adjusted, or in place. I do have a life, sure, and it will always need my attention, but the part of me who is woman (and it doesn't have to be a physical part, not really) is wholly unsatisfied with her role in all of this. Feeling denied, perhaps. Feeling less than actualized. Wanting to do something about it, even if I'm reluctant.

Well, that sort of conflict can get out of hand, especially since, more and more, I don't feel the need to consult with outsiders like I've felt was necessary in the past. I want to be woman in the presence of loved ones, to be loved in return as Holli. I've always wanted acknowledgement, to be the "she" when someone points to indicate they're talking about me, to be the "girl!" in their friendly greetings without the slightest twang of irony. I don't get to experience these things, and may never, but suddenly I've decided to clear out a bit of room and let my girlside just exist.

Fine, I've said, with the heart of St. Compromise, the Practical. I won't drag my loved ones into the places they're uncomfortable. But I will be, for the sake of my soul, in one form or another.

I'm the sort who can eventually accept compromise, given enough time, but I'm also blessed with imagination. Those who tell me "you can't" soon realize that I've discovered fine print at the bottom of their airtight reasoning. Reality insists that we must abide by its wishes; it often neglects to point out the escape clauses.

It's really so simple: I never said I can't come back to this.

And so, I am. Just like that.

I plan to write. I plan to answer questions, even if I have to ask them myself. This is the new plan, see, where I don’t rely on people to help patronize me (even though sometimes that’s all I desperately wish for). I refuse to be the helpless maiden in the tower, as it were, awaiting rescue. So, chat with me, if you like. Invite me to enjoy something. Show me your own world. Let’s become acquainted in that limited yet indulgent way the internet affords us.

I’ll be honest. I promise.

I won’t be punctual, but I’ll be frequent.

Maybe I’ll write stories, and let you get involved with the telling.

I don’t really know what I’ll write next. But I need this. Voice. Presence. A sort-of reality in its own right, a peculiar sort. A universe where I am me, you are you, and we are (somewhat) together.

Hopefully yours,

-- HCP

"Rapunzel doesn't know how good she had it!
... God, grant me a long enough ladder."

Ghost Girl (In the Machine)

Pinch yourself... it's not a dream! Look, real proof that I'm still alive!

I offer no apologies for my month-and-a-half-long absence, and yet that's exactly what brings me back to cobble together another soliloquy.  I'm beginning to see a sociological niche that's ripe for observation, you see, namely the online habits of the modern transgender soul-searcher.  For example, just recently I was granted the epiphany that I'm not the only one who pulls disappearing acts on the internet.

Look for yourself.  There are oodles of personal blogs out there that haven't received updates in months - years, even - which lately has made me curious to know why.  I could make a dozen guesses.  I could put together what I know about myself, and about people in general, and come up with the same thing that anyone else would:

• We're not all natural-born writers. In fact, coming up with something new to say on a frequently regular basis can become quite a chore, a mentally exhausting feat that we weren't actually prepared to embrace.

• The work we put into our blogs exceeds the reward.  None of us get paid to ramble on about our thoughts on gender, and even if we did we would certainly feel discouraged if people rarely or never responded.  Few people can literally inspire themselves to create.  Personally, what drives me to launch these missives into the webiverse is the hope of stirring up interactivity.  Without feedback, why bother?

• Eventually the thrill of baring our soul to the universe dwindles.  When you've sat on a mountain of repressed desires and stoppered a sea of bottles full of confusing, conflicting emotions, there's nothing like letting it all out.  The internet allows us to share our most secret selves in a [relatively] safe and [mostly] anonymous social environment.  But after the fourth reiteration concerning the reasons you started dressing as a child, or another pro/con argument listing the ways you'd come out to your family if you could just build up the nerve, the experience just tastes stale.  And, if we're honest, we miss the rush of probing the uncertain waters of ultimate freedom with our freshly-painted toes.  At this point, talk ≠ walk.

• The online transgender experience just isn't enough.  Face it, there's no substitute for getting out and about in a new dress, new heels, and a new hairstyle.  It's a straight-up fact that most of us are here because we have nowhere else to go.  Still, even fans of the Travel Channel get fed up with watching other people living their dream of seeing London, Paris or Australia, enough to get their asses off the couch and onto a plane.  After staring at hundreds of photos of other people having a good time, can you blame them?

What'd I miss?  I guess there's always plain boredom.  We as a species easily grow out of our new toys.  Speaking of human fallibility, laziness could also factor in.

Oh, and that most cunning demon that plagues the textual communicators of the world: writer's block!  Right now, some poor T-girl has rings under her eyes, trying to summon just the right words to express her limitless admiration for 50s style halter dresses.

It's so hard to write when "Lollipop" won't stop playing in your head.

As I mentioned, mere conjecture is the name of my game today.  I've seen plenty of abandoned blog sites and message board identities this past year, but when they're as scarce as they come I really don't have any way to ask them, "So where have you been?"

All that said... What's my excuse?

Summer vacation, darlings.  I've been off since early June.  And I don't go back to work until mid-August.  What with all the back-and-forth goings on that summer demands - beach, movies, friends, house cleaning, etc. - my time anywhere near a computer has been limited.  Also, the other lady of the house (snicker) also has time off, so I haven't been quite as "in touch" with my feminine identity as I'd like.  Anyway... hey! Now that I mention it, I've overlooked a really great reason people abandon the internet:

• They have a life.  Hey, it's been known to happen.

~HCP