I find myself getting so tired of writing about being trans. Like, wildly tired. Fatigued, even. Actually, “trans” may not even be the right terminology anymore. I’m genderfluid, but various trans people debate about whether or not that’s under the trans umbrella or its own thing, and, frankly, I’m tired of splitting hairs, so I’m gonna call it and say “trans.”
Now, I could spend this entire article telling you what genderfluid is, what it looks like and what it means to me, but I’m not gonna do that; I’ve done that way too many times, and, quite honestly, that’s boring. What I’m gonna be doing in this article is telling you all the things I’ve felt being a PERSON, just a person— and being genderfluid is a part of that, sure, but what was once a crescendo in my life has now become a footnote.
BEFORE I GO ANY FURTHER, I gotta say something: My entire life until the subsequent two years, I have made every trait about me based on my gender identity. If you are doing this, I urge you to STOP. It’s terribly unoriginal, not to mention a deprivation to everyone around you. Since falling in love and getting engaged and having bills and voting and actually being a workhorse in society, I have learned more about myself than I could have ever hoped.
First things first, I am stubborn as all hell, just ask my fiance. It’s nice being stubborn, I equate that with being tough. I love everything bagels; I’ll eat one every day, like EVERY day. I’m a very sex-positive person (yes, queer people can be intimate, we don’t have tentacles down there), I love to read now more than I did in elementary school. I’m fascinated by politics and I’m really proud to be a Democrat. My anxiety is horrendous, I collect DVDs, I have a weird fascination with Disney villains and I pray before bed every night if I can remember to, so I think I’m doing great.
Oh yea, and I’m genderfluid. La-dee-da.
In truth, I have practically danced along the gender spectrum. Man, woman, non-binary, you name it. Now we’ve landed on genderfluid. I don’t want to make it sound like I’m the human slot machine (SPIN THE WHEEL, WHAT ARE WE TODAY???), but that’s how mornings as a genderfluid person can be. I wake up, crawl out of bed in all my androgyny, look in the mirror, probably use the toilet once or twice, and then initiate “the process.” For those who are curious (you must be or you wouldn’t have read this far), “The Process” is how I decide if I’m going to be feminine, masculine or both. I usually do this before my day starts, but it’s possible to find out later in the day. Usually, by the time I’ve brushed my teeth for the day, I can pretty much tell where we’re going. Ok, let me backup a bit…the word “process” implies that it’s a five-step program, but it only takes a handful of seconds. I kind of feel out the day, the vibe, what I want my voice to sound like and (in the words of Carrie Bradshaw) “just like that” I knew whether I was wearing heels or Vans. In other words, the MAN OR WOMAN dilemma was solved. Sometimes I use she/her, sometimes she/they, sometimes he/him, sometimes he/they, sometimes they/them, Lord knows. For those that know me, most can tell based on what I’m wearing. Makeup is also an indicator, and even body language.
Sometimes I’m Elvis, sometimes I’m Reba. Either way, I’m singing a country song. In other words, what I am isn’t what I am. What I am is what I am. That sounds like a riddle, but you get it. Others have reduced me to my identity, but none so much as myself, so this is my way of turning it around.