Risk

I just had an amazing heart to heart with my best friend in the world. We both have had a rough couple of years, and are finally finding ourselves not only back on track, but the best we've ever been. E v e r. I think a huge reason why I am doing so well is the fact that I have this best friend. And that I take my 'job' of being her best friend very seriously.

Usually, I'm the type of person that would befriend someone I was interested in, and then we'd typically date after that friendship blossomed. Whenever a relationship would end, I'd be crushed, as I'd not only be losing a lover, but my best friend. (God, isn't that from some cheesy song? groan~~~) But I think the requirements of being someone's best friend have suited me well, and made me grow up in a way that I hadn't expected.

There is a certain responsibility in taking that role. You are on call 24/7, and have to use your negotiating skills to sometimes talk them down off whatever metaphorical ledge they have found themselves. I am very lucky to have the best friend I have. She is an expert at talking me down by relating her own applicable experiences to my struggles to help me see that I am not alone. I've never felt like anyone truly had my back before this, and it's kind of incredible. I mean ~ we've been friends for years now, so it's not a recent epiphany... Maybe it's this whole "being thankful" thing (Thanksgiving-wise) that's got me all choked up. Whatev.

Back to the convo: My best friend and I were talking about the necessity of risk. (Note: *Not* the board game.) We were sharing our experiences of coming out alright after some pretty traumatizing years of our lives. Beyond the usual mishaps of trying to love someone and it not always going as smoothly as we would hope, we had both seen some shit. Things that forever changed us. Even as catastrophic as some of these happenings felt at the time – things that pushed us so far beyond our abilities to cope and manage – we see now just how resilient we've become having been tested in those various ways.

For me, I know that nothing will ever be able to shake me up as much as they had back then. I feel so grounded, so rooted now. I know that even if something hurts, I will be able to surmount any obstacle, and learn more about myself in the process. And watching her become this totally self assured, self preserving woman. It's been very inspiring.

But I think we both needed to lose ourselves to find ourselves. We needed to shed the veneers that no longer suited the people that we were becoming, but just didn't know it yet. It's an incredibly vulnerable process, to sort of molt into this new version of one's self. Talk about feeling naked... (I mean, we were talking about that, right?!?)

When we tried to analyze just what it was that changed for the two of us, we both began to see it take shape. There were elements or qualities within us that just weren't working for us anymore. We didn't change in order to have this person or that person love us. But we changed aspects of ourselves in order to end the sabotaging patterns that may have contributed to our past loves failing. As Jen says: "If you're our age, and things still aren't working – it's probably your fault!" And I know what she means!

If I kept finding all of my relationships turned out the same way – even if it was possible to blame everyone else for all of the problems (which of course it wasn't), I'M still the one seeking out people to fulfill that fucked up role. It's not that cut and dry, I know, but I completely agree with her point.

It wasn't until I was ready to really see myself as I am, faults and all, that I could finally do the required work to curb some of those bad habits. But it involved risks. Huge risks. I had to try new things out in order to see what might work more effectively. Frankly, that's terrifying.

When you already feel like a fuck up, the last thing you want to do is try new things when you admittedly don't have the slightest clue. It's horrifying to want to be the best, to see so blatantly that you're not, when you don't have the easy bake oven version of a solution. Thinking is hard. It hurts my brain. Sometimes I just don't like doing it. But there is no relief. Problems still exist, whether we allow ourselves to acknowledge them or not.

In order to potentially find better answers, I had to take risks that were terribly intimidating at first. I felt so raw and unsure of everything, my ego already so bruised. Only through repeatedly putting myself in situations where I had to assert a sense of courage and fortitude could I begin to see my own capabilities. In the beginning, I didn't even believe that I had any courage or fortitude in me. Maybe it was a "fake it, til you make it" kind of deal.

Unknowingly, we can get so scared of the depth and complexity of living, that we sometimes omit the element of risk. When this happens, we never allow ourselves to truly grow and expand beyond our teeny circles of routines and rote memory. To me, that seems dangerous. To me, that was dangerous.

It makes me think of all of those wonky, old fogey clichés, like "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." Or some other witticism that Kanye West has repurposed. (That dude was shot like 37 times, so I guess he can claim that sentiment as his own. He earned it. But I digress...) There is something to those kind of clichés, though. And to every fucking self help book that's ever existed. How does one summarize the very source of that kind of 'entry level enlightenment' without sounding like a complete douche?

There is this weird part of me that wants to ask you, beg you, to think of one thing that terrifies you. I want to ask you to deduce what kind of calculated risk you can take to immerse yourself in that fear, and emerge the victor. (Victor, Victoria?) I want you to see yourself as brave, courageous, able... And I want that to slowly become a process that gets ingrained in our daily lives. To challenge ourselves everyday to choose bigger and bigger risks (Sensible ones, of course! Not like juggling 4 chainsaws, or charging the bulls at Pamplona if you have a bum knee.)

I think what made my risks successful was that I didn't really see failure as an option, but rather saw everything as an opportunity to learn more about myself. Even if something felt like a set back in the immediate state, I could remember that it's not about quick fixes, and even quicker escapes if things go awry. It was about longitudinal studies of what would really work. Things that didn't work were simply crossed off my list, and seen as a necessary ingredient to narrow down my scope. I didn't have to beat myself up with each misstep. There was something so invigorating and liberating about that kind of approach. I often believe that we are most inventive when we don't 'over-think' things.

These new approaches to my life weren't intended to land me dates, but rather to be a version of myself that would make me proud to share with others worthy of my affection. One that would help me forgive myself for past mistakes, and chalk it up to youthful folly. I didn't want to change to secure a specific person's love for me, but now that I've become someone that I believe is worth dating, so many more people seem interested and available to me. Ironic...

And I see that only through exploring the multitude can we find the one.

I feel so lucky to live in a time where my gender transition was possible. But more than that – I feel so lucky to understand how malleable we are as human animals, because of my transition. To know if we can change something that huge, and intrinsically ingrained in our psyches like gender, that nearly everything else should feel like a piece of cake.

So, I ask of you: What risks do you want to take? What do you wish you could transition into in your own life?