Snowtorius B.I.G.

Here is a pic of my limp wristed pit bull, Bub Le Bubs, pacing in our backyard covered with over 2' of snow. (Interestingly, he wouldn't pee after I swept away a clearing for him. So, I then had to shovel a path way, with still no luck of Bubs relieving himself. Finally, I had to clear away an alcove at the end of the shoveled walkway so that he could have some privacy to squat and pee. My god, this dog has OCD, just like me! Hilarious!)

If you haven't heard, we are in the midst of a huge blizzard, here in DC. It's been snowing for the past 30 hours, and won't be letting up anytime soon. The good news is that I finally have a weekend off! The bad news is:

1. Some of my clients are out of town, and I am hoping that their neighbors are following through with checking on their pets like they said they would, since I am snowed in and stranded.
2. The cabin fever is setting in, big time! There isn't anything captivating on tv, and I've already done all I can to entertain myself. I might have to resort to reading a book, or finishing my taxes, if all else fails. God help me!
3. I had to park illegally last night when I came home from checking on a pet mid snow storm. I'm hoping that my car is still there, and that the cops are too busy with actual storm emergencies to ticket my car, now covered in 24" of snow. We'll see!

I wish I had the gusto to write like 6 articles right now, or work out for 2 straight hours, but I'm having problems focusing, and feel generally exhausted. I was hoping that having the weekend off would help me recuperate from that cold I couldn't quite kick, but I'm so restless, I would call this "feeling better..." Any suggestions?

Americone Dream

Those of you who know me well, probably know how much of a biography nerd I am. Some might even go so far to say that I'm obsessive when it comes to learning everything there is about noteworthy people. These folks can be inventors, business tycoons, understated 'accidental' activists (like Rosa Parks), artists and the like. I am fascinated by every element of the human experience, and how people's lives are shaped by their social environments, the grit of their passions, and the driving psyches behind their motivations and mindful decisions. I can't get enough...

Tonight I satiated that endless curiosity by watching a documentary on Ben & Jerry, the ice cream magnates. Much of the company's history was common knowledge, having grown up in the 1980s, and since I attended college in Vermont. But what I found most inspiring were the interview segments where the men talked about their personal struggles, and their intense humanitarian principles that their business needed to rise above the pure profit driven models they detested. These guys were a couple of left wing hippies wanting sidestep the greed and corporate toxicity that they believed were ruining America. (Think: *Wall Street,* the movie. "Greed is good." Is it? Is it really?!?)


I *need* to hear about the turbulent periods these kinds of people go through. I think it helps me feel more grounded when I go through my own rough patches. No one is immune or exempt. We all have those moments and triggers that push us past our base of knowledge. This documentary was an illustration that 'success' is about being adaptable, receptive to changing trends, and inventive enough to know how to ride those tides to a new, and hopefully improved outcome.

But success isn't an end point – it isn't a permanent state of being. It's more of a state of mind, a process that requires tremendous maintenance and constant intentional evolutions. Even if we 'achieve' the loftiest of accomplishments, it doesn't imply that we will be eternally suspended in that glow of victory. Fortunes can be made, and depleted. High level promotions can sometimes lead to lay offs when corporations restructure. Chart topping, number one pop songs slide their ways back down, and then off the top 40's lists. A sad, but true fact. (I think the Taoists are right...)

(I say all of this having acquired much success in my younger years: I was in all honors classes, tested well, won national awards for my metal work and musical abilities, was athletic in my much younger years, and was a regionally recognized activist – getting my name in the New England newspapers roughly a dozen times in my junior year of high school. Instead of wanting to ride that chariot of success into the sunset, I developed a stomach ulcer and decided to redefine success, and stop looking externally for affirmations about my self worth. I chose a college without tests, and without grades, where we had to write term papers instead, and got page long comments from our professors, instead of report cards and grade point averages. I did pretty well, but it could have been a mess. That's why hearing about others' experiences weathering the metaphorical storms mean so much to me.)

This documentary about "the people's ice cream" really granted me the faith in myself that I will eventually find my niche. Hearing about a company that integrated their social consciousness into not only their business model, but into their products themselves, gave me hope that we don't have to abandon our ideals in order to sustain our standard of living. Even though Ben & Jerry felt forced to sell the company that bares their names, they are still dedicated to social calls of action both on the national political scope, as well as the grassroots community base.

As I sit here in my mid thirties, daydreaming about what may become of me and my yet to be fully harvested talents, I hope that I can live as passionately and compassionately as these two blokes have. If only I could decipher what that "one thing" is that will help me "wow" the world. Then I'd be living the Americone Dream...

Just One of *Those* Days...

Yep, it's been one of those days.

Last night, my roommate and I had some people over to watch "Man vs. Food," since he works at the Travel Channel, and was excited about the live episode. I'd never seen it before, and basically had no interest in consistently watching such gluttony. But, I figured I'd be a team player, and invite some folks over as well, and make a party of it. I went to bed around 1am, after deducing the leak surrounding the skylight in my bedroom ceiling was still dripping, after two failed attempts to seal it. The leak is over my bed, causing a wet spot on the left side of my mattress. Yay! A wet bed! Everyone's favorite thing! So, I cautiously tried to sleep as far over to the right as possible, having gotten caught in the cross fire a time or two mid-sleep.

I then overslept, due to being achy, sniffly, and exhausted, as I am trying to fight a cold (unsuccessfully, having to be outdoors in this cold weather for 4-12 hrs a day!). This was made worse since I was now running late for two early client meetings. (The second of which was super pissed at me, and I had to kiss some serious ass. Yay squared!) Right before I approached her front door, I tried to take a quick swig of seltzer, but when I opened the bottle it spewed everywhere – all over me, all over the interior of my car, awesome! I tried to shake it off, as I rushed to my predictable fate of getting bitched out. It was fine...

When I got back home after those late morning visits, I spied two "tubs" of cheesepuffs left over from the party last night. Somehow, they intrigued me, and I found myself swept up in their gravitational pull. While trying to pop the top off the huge plastic container, the canister itself slipped from my hand, and went flying through the air, behind my tv and television stand, liberating what seemed like thousands of cheesepuffs. Whew-fucking-hew! I had to laugh at the idiocy of it all, and the little gray rain cloud that seemed to be appearing above my head. Funny.

Then I tried to purchased a gently used Macbook Pro from eBay, and monkeyed it up, accidentally paying for it from my bank account, rather than the credit card I was going to use. Uh ~ guh! So, I had to contact the seller, and politely ask if I could swap out the payment arrangement, kind of looking like an incompetent dolt, or a fraudulent schiester! Perfect!

But the pièce de résistance was when I had to go walk my new favorite dog, "Aubrey," a 12 year old three legged yellow lab with a newly discovered degenerative disease, which makes him even more wobbly on three legs. The dog itself is pretty amazing, so happy go lucky, and such a sweetheart! Working with him has reminded me to not sweat the small stuff, as he greets me everyday, tail wagging, hobbling around to explore every corner of his back yard. He's such a lesson in courage and conviction, always getting himself where he needs to go, completely devoid of any self pity or wallowing in the hardships he has faced.

Despite my few glitches during the day, seeing Aubrey cheered me up, per usual. But when we came back in from our visit around the backyard, he collapsed on the floor, sans dog bed, and looked a little 'off.' He was laying on his belly, like he usually does, even wagging his tail, but as I went to pet him to say goodbye, I heard a terrible grumbling. He wasn't growling at me, but rather his body was foisting its own protest, when out of his mouth erupted this molten quagmire of puke, suddenly everywhere.

His owner, a sweet pregnant woman, with one small baby already, leapt up from her chair, mortified that her three legged dog was practically vomiting on my shoes. I was fine, and ran to grab a plastic bag to put under Aubrey's gaping mouth to catch the final reserves. The owner was so embarrassed, and kept telling me how much she appreciated my help, but that I didn't need to stay, as the two of us tried to clean up our canine friend, and the area rug underneath him. I was fine, and continued to clean, as I heard the pregnant mom start to cough. She excused herself, and asked if I could do her a big favor, and throw the bag away before I left. I heard her coughing a few rooms away from me, as I tossed the soiled bag into the kitchen trash can she pointed out to me.

I hadn't realized that she, herself, had begun to vomit, since being pregnant has heightened her sense of smell, and the dog's upset stomach began a chain reaction in her, too. She came out a moment later, apologetic, and thanking me again for my help. I excused myself, saying that I would see them tomorrow, and hoped that everyone was feeling better soon. I wasn't phased by the events, but could tell that the new mom/mom-to-be (for a second time) was blushing, shaken by tossing her cookies in front of a virtual stranger. So sad...

It's only 6:30pm, and I'm curious to know what this day has left in store for me! Nothing has been horrible, so it's not the worst day of my life, but I just feel like it's some cosmic jokester kind of day, where everything is just a bit out of whack.

I'm trying to ready myself for this next "snow-pocalypse," which will be interesting when 20-24" of snow will drape this nation's capital in a heavy, impenetrable blanket of precipitation, shutting down virtually every single element of this city's livelihood.

How the fuck is DC so fragile when it comes to the weather? I grew up in Connecticut, and went to college in Vermont, where it snows 9 months out of the year. Southerners are such pansies when it comes to this shit.

I can't wait to be snowed in, and be forced to take the weekend off from work, resorting to watching bad romantic comedies, and getting around to reading one of the dozen or so books I recently purchased, but already forgot that I own. I need to stock pile some cereal and soy milk, and start some serious nesting. Anything to end this bout of uphill battles on this day of Murphy's Law. Fingers crossed!

Miss Understood

"People cease to understand you when you need understanding the most." ~ Antony Baekeland, the Protagonist in the film "Savage Grace"
(Based on the true story of the incestuous/matricide of the Baekeland Family, heir to the Bakelite Plastics Fortune.)


Right. Besides being a pretty disturbing film, set on the even more dysfunctional spin of the actual Baekeland brood, that quote above kind of kicked my ass. It snapped me back into my own reality (thankfully out of the biopic reality of that fuct up family), and helped me see just how defensive I can get when I feel hurt. Sure, this is a common gut reaction for nearly everyone feeling the pinch of love gone bad, even if but momentarily...

I think I am starting to see that my approaches to communicate about said disconnects often leaves me feeling more disconnected, ironically. So, one has to wonder: Is that I am choosing to love emotionally distant people, or am I accidentally adding insult to injury when what I seek is intimacy?

Harville Hendricks (author of a million self help books that friends, former therapists, and Oprah all highly recommend) has a few great passages on this subject from his book (with the gayest title ever), "Getting the Love You Want":

In despair, people begin to use negative tactics to force their partners to be more loving. They withhold their affection and become emotionally distant. They become irritable and critical. They attack and blame: "Why don't you...?" "Why do you always...?" "How come you never...?" They fling these verbal stones in a desperate attempt to get their partners to be warm and responsive – or to express whatever positive traits are in their imagos. They believe that, if they give their partners enough pain, the partners will return to their former loving ways.

What makes people believe that hurting their partners will make them behave more pleasantly? Why don't people simply tell each other in plain English that they want more affection or attention... or whatever it is that they are craving? ... ((he goes on to explain why...))

...When we were babies, we didn't smile sweetly at our mothers to get them to take care of us. We didn't pinpoint our discomfort by putting it into words. We simply opened our mouths and screamed. And it didn't take us long to learn that, the louder we screamed, the quicker they came. The success of this tactic was turned into an "imprint," a part of our stored memory about how to get the world to respond to our needs: "When you are frustrated, provoke the people around you. Be as unpleasant as possible until someone comes to your rescue."

Damn, he really hit the nail on the proverbial head, didn't he?!? I kind of feel dumb for being so infantile, and cranky when my feelings are hurt. But his point was to illuminate that it is the only tactic we knew as language-less babies – one that worked quite effectively, if we have survived into adulthood. The thing is, our modes of communicating have often been stunted, and semi-permanently stuck in those less than mature stages of life. Not having further refined our communication skills not only kind of sucks for our partners' sakes, as they are on the shit end of the stick, as they say – but, it also prevents us from getting what we wanted in the first place. So, everybody loses! (Awesome! I wanna go crawl under some love-less rock right now...)

This author goes on to illustrate that the smallest alterations in our approach to love and the moments when love feels out of reach can transcend the gaps, and reconnect us in ways we have previously only hoped could happen. Of course, all of these practical applications seemed to have slipped my mind over the past year while wrestling with the loss of love, or the months before that when love was thinking of dropping in for a visit.

While dissecting my erroneous ways with my best friend, she helpfully pointed out that my big trigger issue is not feeling understood. She said that often times folks who take care of others ("people pleasers") seem to feel leveled when their beloveds don't return those same thoughtful gestures, and make an effort to really learn about their partners wants and needs. I could see that to be true... She said that people like us (her and I), want so desperately for people to understand us, and really intuitively *know* us at our core. My friend explained that it makes perfect sense if I felt trapped in the misnomer of being raised as a girl, when I have always felt "other/alien" in my body, but wasn't able explore the definition, identity and physiological modifications of being transgender until decades later.

Having to "fake" my way through childhood, adolescence, and early adulthood, pretending to be okay with that fractured and dislocated sense of self obviously took its toll on me, in the form of debilitating anxiety and depression for much of my life. Things that only started to lessen once I truly faced the reality of being trans, and allowed myself to delve in head first to see what resonated with this formerly unresolved sense of self. It's getting there. I am understanding more and more about myself, not only through my trans identity, and how that channels my experiences in the world at large, but also the intrinsic elements beyond the surface level of gender paradigms.

What I want more than anything is for someone to *get* the fact that I have struggled, and that I have worked my ass off to let those challenges inform the healthier ways in which I choose to live. I don't want to be cast away simply because I'm "weird" or "freakish." And I don't want to be discounted because I have battled with the depression of denying my truest self. I want someone to *get* that I am trying my damnedest, and to give me the benefit of the doubt, when I might get stuck in an emotional loophole that I haven't figured out yet. I want to be understood, and to be appreciated for how much more I still want to decipher.

I want to change my approaches to love, and those of whom I love, to ensure that I'm not that screaming baby in the corner ironically begging for closeness. It's time for me to learn how to transparently talk about the intimacy I seek, rather than have it coded in actions that seemingly disprove all of my chattering on about wanting to be sweet in love. It's time to be an adult, and break the patterns that kept me being misunderstood. It's time to grow up – that's MIZZ Understood, from now on!

NewMan

So, I've been thinking a lot lately. I guess you could say it's kinda my schtick. (Not to mention that it's often exacerbated when my T levels are down, which they are – since I missed a dose when my grandmother died. Yes, I am saying that higher levels of testosterone actually make me *think* less. Make of it what you will...) But all of this to say, I've been figuring out some things that were leaving me feeling a bit frazzled.

Case in point: I started to understand how new I am to this whole manhood thing. This last relationship I had was my first attempt at love post transitioning. Sure, I was on again off again with another woman for years *while* I transitioned, and hooked up with an ex after that... But this was my first shot at refining the nuances for my version of masculinity. It was my first relationship as "Will," and took a bit more navigating than I anticipated.

Yes, it's easy to say: "Just be yourself! Why would you have to consciously *try* to be a man? Why put on false veneers, and self imposed rhetoric if the masculinity isn't organic?" And of course, I'd know what you mean, but it's complicated. I liken it to one of my good friends who recently became single after a long relationship. She was still herself, this consistent essence of herself, but she had to learn who she was *now* as her life had changed so much. Plus, she had to gain some experiential knowledge of how to approach and engage prospective suitors – a challenging feat after being "coupled" for so long. Ya, it's kinda like that. I am still myself, but have to fine tune the elements that may create the kind of life I want to be living as "Will." (And I promise not to talk about myself in the third person ever again!)

I had spent a long time on my own, hanging out with various women, learning the ropes of what I liked about them, and similarly, what I liked about myself. I listened so intently to their criticisms of former partners, or their romantic mishaps. It all seemed like one gigantic case study to craft the ideal man. Little did I know that not all women want the exact same thing, and that my obsessive study of wants and desires would leave me a tad befuddled at best. So, I'd have to summarize, and use a shot gun approach that might cover more ground, but might also miss the particular target altogether – as shotguns often do. It was risky, but the best I could manage.

When a good friend, whom I adored for years, sort of put the moves on me, I felt shy and reticent to put my theories to practice. I lost my mojo... Much of that shyness and paralysis came from roughly four years of massively crushing out on this gal, and pretty much telling myself that she was the ideal woman. No pressure, right?!??!?!? Guh! And even though I may have flubbed up that first initial night of more focused, intentional flirting, I tried to spin it in an endearing way to still "get the girl..."

What I wasn't expecting was that my intentionally lower doses of T at the time (due to a fear of injecting testosterone after I developed an infection from a shot), not only made me stuck in "paralysis by analysis," but I also was obsessively looking for cues from this lady-friend to see what qualities and attributes she preferred in her men. Theoretically it could have been a home run, but instead, it was like I was rounding the bases with my pants around my ankles (and not in the *fun* way!), tripping myself up the entire route.

I not only wanted to be a man, to be a good man, but I wanted to be the "perfect man" for this friend that I assumed to be the "perfect woman." What she said mattered, perhaps a bit too much when trying to define my own sense and interpretation of masculinity. I yearned to be *her* man, and decipher exactly what I needed to do to get the job, as if it was some "help wanted" sign I saw posted in her bed room window. (((I didn't mean that as dirtily as it sounds!!!))) But I failed to see that all of my cowering and pandering would leave me weakened and exhausted – and ultimately alone. No one wants to be with someone who doesn't know who they are... It's not sexy.

And therein lies my problem: this (gender) "do over" that I've willingly solicited meant that I would have to completely reinvent myself in my 30s, like 100% "complete." My body would change, but in dramatic, shape-shifting ways that one can never predict at the out set. Things like getting beefier and more muscular, losing my girlie curves, my voice dropping like 3 octaves, getting facial hair, chest hair, belly hair (wah wah wah), and acquiring a "male hairline" on my scalp. (Yes, that is code for "losing my hair." Read between the lines, dude!) My patterns of speech and intonation that formerly made me appear like an angry lesbian somehow now made me appear like a swishy fag. (How ironic is that?!?)

But the toughest part was trying to decipher how to be the "hunter" in relationships. As I've said before, I was socialized to be a woman, stereotypically erring more on the side of "people pleaser," rather than aggressor. (Don't worry, I'm not a misogynist! I've dated plenty of aggressive women, so I'm not saying women can't be more assertive!) I wanted to get over my shyness, and woo the pants off this gal. (Um... Figure of speech.) More than anything, I wanted to be the upstanding, charming, commanding, seductive dude to pique -and- sustain her interest. Alpha-central... I just had 32 years of missed opportunities to suddenly make up. Awesome!

After all this time, several years in to my transition, I am still fumbling around to figure out how the fuck to do this stuff! It's like a second puberty in every way. Who the hell is suave during that period of their lives? Certainly not me – either time. How long does this stage last? Shouldn't I be rounding the bend sometime soon? When can I outgrow this phase of being a "new man," and shift right into "old man" status? Arg – you know what I mean!

Love(N)in

"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of withering, of tarnishing." - Anais Nin

A friend of mine posted this quote on Facebook yesterday. Seems fitting with all that's going through my head these days on the subject of love, and how it has been lost.

In college I studied Conflict Resolution: Mediation and Negotiation. We would examine all of the best methods to ensure that people would participate in their own collective resolution. I was taught to hate the word "compromise," as it instantly evokes a negative response: "Why should I have to give anything up when *s/he* did _____, to cause the problem in the first place."

We all believe in our righteous justifications for the ways in which we act negatively upon the world. We all struggle with trying to do the best we can muster in any given situation, and sometimes feel provoked beyond our comfort levels. At times, these provocations come directly from another individual, while other times they are more symbolic, as in expectations we either assume for ourselves, or those which are placed upon us externally. Confrontations rarely go well in the immediacy of the moment. Even with the best of intentions, confrontations frequently cue our most dramatic defense mechanisms, and skills of deflection. It is the job of the mediator/negotiator to understand these provocations and potential reactions, and to mindfully guide the parties through the often emotionally explosive process. For obvious reasons, it can be a challenge, at best.

Having said all of this, I tend to beat myself up when I can not put my own emotions in check while trying to communicate about my feelings having been hurt by a loved one. It leaves e wishing that I had a third neutral party present at all times to walk us through the active listening, mirroring, and so on... Oye! Or only surround myself with people that have this experiential knowledge base. Unrealistic!

Mediation can be both heartbreaking and an intensely healing process. A gifted mediator can squelch power plays, and redirect the parties' attention to the irreducible issues at hand. The mediator's role is to suss out all of the core problems, and understand the how's and why's of each members' actions and reactions related to those root issues. Then, and only then, that mediator has to prove her/his neutrality to all active participants to earn their trust, and hopefully calculate common denominators amongst group members. Once you can have everyone focus on these commonalities, it can be a smidge easier to work backwards from there, asking how we, collectively, can achieve these threads of a common goal.

The aim is to pull people out of their opposing corners, where they may have succumb to combative, defensive tactics in order to shield their vulnerabilities and Achilles' heel. (The image of a dog fight runs through my mind: two dogs facing each other, bracing themselves for the fight to ensue; as opposed to two dogs walking gleefully next to one another, embarking on a journey together... Yes, I am a dog walker...) But the same applies to people.

At what point to we stop joyously walking next to one another on our common path, and decide to rip our partners a new one?

Mediation is different from therapy in that it has specific goals, end points and structures to achieve those end points. All members at the table have to participate to achieve the very specific, plausible resolution. Where as, in therapy, the goal is usually more vague: "to feel better." But what does that mean? How does one get there from here? And how long will it take, 50 minutes intervals at a time?

I chose to study Conflict Resolution because the spectrum of human emotion fascinated me. To be able to closely examine the human psyche, but in a way that doesn't just quantify it, but rather, delve into those trenches with the hope of building a way out *collaboratively.* Maybe it's just the idealist in me. Or maybe having had my own fucked up childhood, I'm used to the chaos. I don't know.

But I experience the loss all the more when I am in love, and feel the love slipping away. Knowing that most divorced couples once felt like their former significant other was the answer to their dreams, it's a sobering realization. At one point, they were probably even smitten about this person whom they can no longer stand. It is perplexing to consider the loss and the fractures that settle in to the places where love use to reside. Reading so much philosophy, psychology, history, fiction, lyrics to pop songs, even screenplays – love is the single greatest motivator in existence. And conversely, the loss of love is the most crushing experience we can endure, testing our very fragile moral fibers. Even after thousands of years of writing on this universal topic, we are no closer to "solving" the mystery, and "curing" ourselves from our romantic ailments. (Well, at least I don't feel so alone...)

If Anais Nin's statement is true – how do we prevent the blindness, the errors and betrayals? How do we keep love healthy and self-healing? How can we protect it from the storms, nourish it again and again into infinity, and polish away the cloudiness that may appear from time to time? How do we love love itself???

"That Girl"

I spent about four days trying to rework a post entitled, "Great Expectations," all about the intricate line between hope and (perhaps) self-delusion. This post became my (nearly full length) autobiography, as I started charting and mapping out my thesis, supporting evidence, and even concocted an "anger flow-chart." (No, I'm totally serious! Now I wanna trademark that shit!)

What I found was a whole lot of sumpthin'... But I'm not quite sure what yet. So, let me step back, and try to fill you in on some of the back story:

My most recent ex started calling me again, after several months of no contact. She called for my birthday in early December, where we talked for a few hours and got caught up. I basically said that her decision to break up with me was one of the best things that's happened to me in years. (I didn't mean it rudely, I swear!) What I meant was that it was the catalyst I needed to get my shit together, and get back to my self-development. Basically, I was letting my anxiety drive my actions and reactions, which understandably was an uphill approach towards contentment. Like a county fair goldfish recently won by a highly "distractable" seven year old – projections for a healthy life did not look good.

During our several month hiatus from communicating, I started to understand just how much of myself I forfeited in order to be what I assumed she wanted. In the beginning she referenced several of her other boyfriends' traits and habits that confused her, or drove her crazy. Rather than let the potential jealousy set in, I tried to make it a positive and use those kernels of information as sign posts for which direction to plot in our new relationship. It seemed easy enough... Boyfriend A did this, Boyfriend B did that, and Boyfriend C would never do this other thing that totally became an issue. So, if I could chart a new course, I could ensure avoiding those metaphorical landmines that she was clearly, and decisively communicating would not work for her. The problem was that these men became ghosted images haunting my presence with her.

I think anyone might naturally feel a little uneasy when their current partner tends to talk about their pasts a bit too much, but for me it was double trouble, since this was my first "new" relationship post transitioning. I had been in a relationship on and off during the early stages of my old switch-a-roo, and then got together with a significant ex from college after that, but this was my first true attempt at making a go of it from scratch. I felt really nervous that I wouldn't be man enough, let alone all of the extraneous traits and circumstances that we all have to negotiate. I basically scared myself straight. Well...

While talking to my best friend about the matter, I realized that I'm "that girl," – the empty shell of a woman that Oprah warns us about becoming. The reason that fashion magazines print their personality quizzes, and their articles on why bad men dump great women... That little voice inside many sexy vixens' heads, prompting them to never let their guard down...

In my attempt to sidestep those manly traits that leave women furious and annoyed, I accidentally abandoned a whole slew of positive attributes that I took years to refine and hone – traits that landed me so many of the wonderful relationships I've had in my life. (The old adage of "Throwing the baby out with the bath water." I always wondered what douchebag came up with that saying. Apparently, that d-bag was just like me.)

I was so afraid of not being lovable in this first relationship out of the gate (of trans-hood ~ not to be confused with Transylvania...) that I reappropriated my old codependent ways, and tried to *only* be what this woman wanted. This is what I mean when I say "That Girl!" The woman who wreaks of clingy desperation, molding herself again and again, shaping shifting into each new dimension she assumingly thinks her partner wants. Holy smack! That's totally me! Ugh~ I want a cocktail! When did I become a character on Sex and the City?

This woman I dated was pretty great. She's gregarious, super funny, really charming, a colorful story teller, really ambitious and driven professionally, an adventurous world traveler, really sexy with impeccable style and the most incredible shoes I've ever seen. I've kind of adored her since we first met nearly four years ago. But what I wasn't expecting was for me to completely lose myself in order to satiate her prospective wants and desires. Bummer.

It's not like she outwardly complained about this or that in me. It was more that she would retreat, or withdraw, and tell me that she couldn't be with me. I found myself trying to go through the motions of being the perfect boyfriend: of being an active listener, asking a number of compelling questions when she'd tell me about her day, give amazingly thoughtful gifts, try to be really charismatic around her family and friends... The whole nine. But I tried so intently to be what she wanted, I think somewhere in there I forgot what I wanted to be for my own sake. I forgot who I was intrinsically, and organically. And it was there, in that place, that the anxiety took over, and filled in all of the gaps where my own ambition and playful curiosity used to reside. I wan an empty shell, the veneer of the perfect vapid boyfriend. So sad.

She's a great individual, but maybe not the most attentive of partners. I think she is better at answering the thoughtful questions, rather than asking them. She is used to be the belle of the ball, as opposed to the host, or the plus one. And perhaps she is more accustomed to leaving when her needs aren't being met, rather than asking for what she needs, and trying to negotiate from that point onwards. None of these things are horrible, or make her an awful person. But I did want there to be more balance in our relationship, for things to *feel* more equal between the two of us.

It was tough because I really do adore her, and see so many attractive qualities in her, so many things that inspire me on a daily basis. But even though she's a great individual, it doesn't necessarily translate into being the perfect girlfriend. She wasn't bad, or mean, but there was just a disconnect between us. The two of us being so far opposed on opposite ends of the spectrum: she had a really strong sense of self and autonomy, but a resistance to "blending" in a relationship. And my impassioned readiness to be a thoughtful, intuitive partner, but sacrificing my own newly emerging sense of self post transition out of fear that being trans will nix me from prospective partners' lists. Objectively it was either a train wreck waiting to happen, or the most incredible opportunity for the two of us to learn that balance while in this dynamic. (Having read a few too many self help books myself, I was eager to give it a'go, and try to find some semblance of balance from working these outer poles inward. ((Not to be confused with Pollacks, or pole dancers...)))

But I can't make someone love me, or want to try to find balance in a way that might seem counter intuitive to them. What the hell do I know??? So, instead, I have to let it go, and continue to find myself, and truly get myself grounded again. I am ready for the undertaking, and the over-coming parts.

I think I needed our break up to wake up. But now that I'm awake, it'd sure be nice to feel like it doesn't have to be one or the other... And I am bummed that my attempts to try to explain some of this to her, and how I lost myself accidentally in our dynamic possibly came out in a way that made her feel like she needed to defend herself spontaneously. How do we tell those of whom we love about those little things they do that pinch us unintentionally, as we try to move forward together, whole heartedly from a place of compassion and sympathy?

In the past she accused me of always having to process everything, always wanting to talk everything out, like a broken record. Honestly no: I wanted to have the conversation *once* about something that hurt my feelings, and then ideally have it change, so it would never come up again. But when the same hurtful things kept happening over and over after I tried to address it in the least accusatory, provocative way possible – yes, I might have tried to bring it up again to try another approach to prevent future missteps. Isn't that how it works?

I'm wrestling with the ego-bruisers of idealizing a pretty great woman, and wanting to someone so great to want to be with me out of principle. She recently told a friend in common that she couldn't be with me because I am not ambitious enough. Secretly, I had succumb to my defenses when I heard that statement. Having spent the past several years overhauling my entire life so that I could live more genuinely in this trans identity that I had denied for decades ~ it feels like I was pretty fucking ambitious to radically change every single element within my identity, family dynamics, social circles – the whole gamut.

So, if one only equates personal success with professional aims, then yes, maybe right now I have been coasting to have one pleasantly consistent thread in my life while undergoing so many other changes. Not to mention how impulsive it would be to change careers in this rough economy, and the fact that I really love my job, and the riches it grants me, like being able to write for 2-4 hours everyday while getting paid my generous salary.

When I equate ambition with the holistic approach of the entirety of one's life, their contentment, and self-development, I am right on target. And I don't get bogged down in having to explain myself to anyone else. From that place, I also don't quiver when contemplating whether or not the hott girl likes me back. I return to the mantra that got me through my transition in the first place:

It's not about who may abandon me because I am trans, but rather, who is amazing enough to be invited in to this incredibly intimate process and rich life of mine.

I'm not saying this ex is no longer invited, but I do see that once I return to myself, return to my own rooted foundation, her interpretations of me matter less and less. I can find compassion for us both in those places, but exert my own time and energy to continuing to do my heart-full work in self-awareness and self-development, rather than trying to convince anyone else of anything.

It's time for me to simply trust that the right person will "get me," and that the right relationship will only encourage me to feel confident in myself, and foster a dynamic that helps us both grow as individuals while we simultaneously become more intimately connected.

I can let go of being "that girl," and just get back to being myself, free from that desperation and anxiety, and full of ambition to make this life as rich as possible. But I do hope someday to find "a girl" to go with me being "this trans-guy." Sigh~