As I looked around at several of the men at the fall festival this weekend-I was jealous and sad.
How ironic was it that during the festival I understood how much my life had changed. I really didn't have to look at the genetics longing to be one of them and looked at the guys thinking how easy it would have been just to be one of them too. I just couldn't.
I'm thinking by my 65th year though, there should be no crying over lost spilled gender. And, there wasn't on Saturday. No tears and no celebrations.
Having written all of that, the best way to describe the day is to relate an exchange between my partner Liz and Missy: Missy piped up and said to Liz that she (me) would be stepping out of her comfort zone today and Liz said, no, she is stepping into her comfort zone.
Liz was right, I was in my big "cushy" comfort zone and really the only person who tried to invade it was a trashy woman with 3 young kids who wanted Liz's business cards from me and she was recoiling. But you know-the kids didn't care.
Finally, I would never, ever - ever go back to where I was before. But not transitioning would have been a huge load off of me. Not as big of a load though as staying where I was. I just couldn't. I would have killed me.