What Pride means to me, 2011 edition
Every time I think I've gotten to the right place with my identity, it turns out there's still another step forward. I'm leaving myself room in the title of this post to step again next year.
I've written a lot about not feeling I have a place in American culture. Mass media, religion, politics, and slang are all happy to remind me that I just don't belong, that I'm not wanted and that I should be grateful that I'm allowed to keep living, freak that I am.
Even in places where I don't draw negative reactions the best I really get is neutral. My trans identity is a fact, but it's better left unspoken. It's not that important, right? I have a tendency to break this rule a lot. I make jokes about growing up male, or simply talk about the stuff I did in Boy Scouts without playing the pronoun game. I tend to get laughs, but they're the kind that is normally reserved for someone breaking a taboo. For a long time, I thought that was good enough. After all, better that my trans history be a simple matter of fact rather than something I need to be ashamed of.
I learned this past weekend that I was only half right. I've got no reason to be ashamed, of course. That's the point of calling it Pride. But it doesn't have to be just a fact, no more important than brown hair or right-handedness. Being trans is the story of my life, and it's shaped me in ways my hair colour and dominant hand could never approach. I learned this when, for the first time I can remember, I was welcomed enthusiastically by a group of people because I'm trans. It didn't draw what I used to think of as a positive reaction, the sort of non-chalant 'OK' I get in straight circles. It drew a warm, truly positive 'That's great!'
I haven't travelled far in the queer community and, goodness knows, it's a big community. But I've never before felt at home in that community. I always felt somewhere in between. Not straight enough to hang out with my 'normal' friends and not queer enough to hang with the LGBT crowd. I should have guessed it was just a matter of finding the right group -within- the LGBT crowd. It wasn't going to be with the radical vegan anarchists or the high fashionistas. Singers, on the other hand, I totally relate to. And they think it's really cool that I'm a girl who can sing bass.
I don't know how to carry that feeling away from Pride yet. I'm trying to be a little more 'out' day to day, and I know at least a few people at work know now, but it's the same old story. They don't care that I'm trans, but they don't celebrate it, either. Maybe joining that choir will be enough. Maybe I need to start actively seeking friends in the community. Maybe when I have to leave this apartment I'll move to West Philly, where all the cool queer kids are. I'll have to take it in small steps, I guess.
At least now I'm not just running from a culture where I don't belong. I've got a vision of the place I want to run to.
I've written a lot about not feeling I have a place in American culture. Mass media, religion, politics, and slang are all happy to remind me that I just don't belong, that I'm not wanted and that I should be grateful that I'm allowed to keep living, freak that I am.
Even in places where I don't draw negative reactions the best I really get is neutral. My trans identity is a fact, but it's better left unspoken. It's not that important, right? I have a tendency to break this rule a lot. I make jokes about growing up male, or simply talk about the stuff I did in Boy Scouts without playing the pronoun game. I tend to get laughs, but they're the kind that is normally reserved for someone breaking a taboo. For a long time, I thought that was good enough. After all, better that my trans history be a simple matter of fact rather than something I need to be ashamed of.
I learned this past weekend that I was only half right. I've got no reason to be ashamed, of course. That's the point of calling it Pride. But it doesn't have to be just a fact, no more important than brown hair or right-handedness. Being trans is the story of my life, and it's shaped me in ways my hair colour and dominant hand could never approach. I learned this when, for the first time I can remember, I was welcomed enthusiastically by a group of people because I'm trans. It didn't draw what I used to think of as a positive reaction, the sort of non-chalant 'OK' I get in straight circles. It drew a warm, truly positive 'That's great!'
I haven't travelled far in the queer community and, goodness knows, it's a big community. But I've never before felt at home in that community. I always felt somewhere in between. Not straight enough to hang out with my 'normal' friends and not queer enough to hang with the LGBT crowd. I should have guessed it was just a matter of finding the right group -within- the LGBT crowd. It wasn't going to be with the radical vegan anarchists or the high fashionistas. Singers, on the other hand, I totally relate to. And they think it's really cool that I'm a girl who can sing bass.
I don't know how to carry that feeling away from Pride yet. I'm trying to be a little more 'out' day to day, and I know at least a few people at work know now, but it's the same old story. They don't care that I'm trans, but they don't celebrate it, either. Maybe joining that choir will be enough. Maybe I need to start actively seeking friends in the community. Maybe when I have to leave this apartment I'll move to West Philly, where all the cool queer kids are. I'll have to take it in small steps, I guess.
At least now I'm not just running from a culture where I don't belong. I've got a vision of the place I want to run to.