34. Words of Wisdom

A young man turned 20 today. He asked, now that he's no longer a teen, will he still find immature things funny and interesting? He commented on overcoming the break-up of his first relationship (2 years in duration) and how he spent the last year recovering, and wondered if this was what adult life was going to be like. This was my response...and I guess I feel like it's true for any age, and I wish I'd understood it at 20 (would've saved me a lot of time being miserable for no reason):

Dear (X): I'm 43 and I still find immature things amusing. I just don't make life choices based on them. People still break my heart but I know that I'll be okay. Life is pretty good. The important thing to know in order to be as happy as possible is this: shit falls on everyone. Whatever crappy thing that happens - and it will happen - just know that it may not be your fault, but it is your problem to solve. Sometimes we have to put on our big-kid panties and solve it. Nobody is going to fix it for you. This might sound depressing, but to me it was actually very empowering. It enabled me to transcend the tragedies that inevitably befell me in life, overcome obstacles in my path, and generally kick the ass of life to become a happy, successful, human being. For your 20th birthday, I would wish for you to grasp and internalize this concept, for your own future happiness. Enjoy the pleasures and happiness in life, for they are transient...and know this: that troubles and sorrow are also transient, and will pass, and you will be happy again soon.

33. Have A Nice Trip

Part One: The Trip to Portland

C decided to have a booth at the One Moto Show in Portland, and I agreed to help him in the booth selling T-Shirts. However, I had a hell of a week to get through first, since I work the night shift as a bedside nurse in the hospital, and I've been fighting an upper respiratory infection (not the flu). I got out of work late and didn’t get home until 9:30 AM. I only got four hours sleep before I had to get up and pack to leave for Portland... not a good way to start. By the time I was actually able to leave, it was rush hour on a Friday and I sat in traffic all the way through Seattle and Tacoma.

I pulled over to get gas, and as I saw the KFC next door, I realized I was hungry. I indulged in some friend chicken for the road. As I took the first bite, I realized I forgot my antibiotics (which I've been taking with meals) at home. OK, don’t panic. I found a Walgreens ahead of my location, and I called them for help. Walgreens said they had to get the doctor to authorize a new prescription, but by this time it was already 8 o'clock and the clinic was closed. The pharmacist put in a call to whoever was on call, and I went ahead and stopped at the Walgreens location with my fingers crossed.

Meanwhile, after three bites of food, I had decided the KFC was a very bad choice, and when I arrived at the Walgreens I decided to throw it all away on my way into the store. I finally arrived at the pharmacy, and the pharmacist said I was out of luck, the clinic's on-call doctor had not called back; I would have to try again in the morning in Portland. I had picked up an orange juice, and when I went to pay for it, I realized I couldn’t find my wallet. I went to car and it wasn’t there, and it took me a while to figure out that I had accidentally thrown it in the garbage can when I threw away the KFC.

So there I was, digging through a public garbage can in front of the Walgreens in south Tacoma to find my wallet. It was revolting and disgusting, but at least I did find my wallet, covered in some gross ketchup from someone else's unfortunate fast food choices. I went back inside Walgreens to clean up, paid for my juice, and finally got back on the road...

Just then, I realized that I do not know if I let the goddamn cats out of the bedroom or not. What am I talking about, you may ask? Well if any of you have pets, then you know they have a sixth sense about when you are leaving the house, and they take that opportunity to escape. In order to avoid that, I had "safely" secured the cats in the bedroom while I loaded up the car. Now here I am somewhere around Centralia, and I have no memory of letting the cats out of the bedroom before leaving. Let’s pretend they could survive two days locked up with no food or water in the bedroom, at the very least they are going to piss and shit all over the place without access to their litter box! What have I done? I wracked my brain trying to recall, but it was a blank... too much Robitussin, I guess.

At this point I broke down crying, and try to think of who I could impose upon at 9:00pm on a Friday night to go over to my house and figure out what I have done with my cats. I have to say I am blessed beyond belief to have been able to impose upon the very kind JT, C's friend, who lives near me. JT went over to our house, located the spare key, went into the house, shut off the alarm, and discovered that I had indeed left my babies locked up in the bedroom! What a terrible mother I am. He was able to rescue them, reset the alarm, and make everything right with my world. How could I have gone off and left them like that? I swear I think I’m losing my mind. Please laugh at me because I deserve it. On the plus side, by this time I am now almost to Vancouver, so at least my drive down has been entertaining. And I have used up all my bad luck, so now the rest of the weekend is going to be awesome, right! Stay tuned, true believers...

Part Two: The Show

The show was great! Long hours on our feet, but great nevertheless. 

The Booth, with the lovely Little Red

C was selling shirts, and he also had some of his fine art on display

 

...and a good time was had by all.  Especially C, who managed to finally acquire his dream bike, a '74 Montesa similar to the one pictured here:

Part Three: The Trip Back to Seattle

WOW. Loading out the show was a lot of work. And, even though we sold a lot of shirts, we were returning with more stuff than what we came with, since C acquired his dream Montesa. Due to the rule I have established that motorcycle acquisition must be kept at a par number (moto in = moto out), hopefully he will be selling one soon, because where are we putting the newest addition? I don’t know, the living room? Everything is full.

Awesome (the van) was full, and my car was full, and we wound up having to strap the ladder to the roof of my car. Okay, no problem. We stopped at Target to buy three vital items (bungee cords, Extra Strength Tylenol, and a couple lattes) and we were on our way back to Seattle just as the sun was setting. We made it just past Kelso before the drama really began... I was speeding ahead when I got a call from C to pull off and wait for him; he’d hit a bump in the road and somehow lost his headlights. He was driving up the off ramp in the dark when he hit another bump and the lights came back on. We looked under the hood but couldn’t find anything wrong. We decided I would follow him in case of any other incidents.

We continued uneventfully to south Seattle, when C changed lanes to the right without signaling. I wasn’t able to correct my course enough to follow, due to other cars, but since we were practically home, I wasn’t concerned. He phoned me to come back; he’d run out of gas. We were so tired, he hadn’t paid attention to the gauge. All right, no problem, stay where you are. I took the next exit. Little did I know, it didn’t go anywhere. I wound up lost in some neighborhood. I was able to pull over and get oriented with my GPS, and I followed it down to a nearby main road...where there were two closed gas stations. Yeah, I was in a neighborhood that was so shitty, the gas stations close when the sun sets. Crap.

Finally, I found one that was open, parked my car, went in and bought a gas can. Walked over to the pumps and started to fill it up. Apparently that was a cue for some skeevy guy to creep on me. “Hey baby what you doin’ out here? Lemme help you!” Okay, this guy was offering to help me with something, but it was clear from his suggestive tone and overly familiar language that it wasn’t help with getting gas that he had in mind. And I didn’t need help. Thanks, but no thanks. My gas tank was also empty, but as I was filling it, a drunk homeless person cornered me against the car demanding money. I stopped pumping after just 3 gallons, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for helping people, but I was feeling unsafe. I called C to figure out precisely where he was, and I booked it over there.

When I arrived on the scene, I could see that C was on the outside shoulder, stuck up against a guard rail, and the shoulder was very narrow; cars and trucks were whizzing past at 70 mph one inch from the driver’s side car door. And honking at us, as if we had decided to just have a picnic by the side of the road, instead of being stranded motorists. I pulled up and passed him the gas can through the passenger window, but his gas tank was on the side of the van where the traffic was. He was literally standing in the outside lane of the freeway dodging cars like Frogger to get the bloody gas in the van. I was shaking with fear that he could be hit. Well, he got enough gas in the tank to get the hell out of there, so we proceeded North two exits to Michigan/Corson where there is a Shell station.

While C filled up the van's tank, I finished tanking up my Subaru. I was literally trembling with stress and feeling exhausted and overwhelmed, on the verge of tears. He kept apologizing, and I kept saying it’s no big deal, we’ve got each other’s backs, everything is okay, let’s just get home. We kissed and jumped in our cars and drove off. I made it only five feet, since that’s the length of the gasoline hose that was still in my gas tank.

Yes, I did that. I drove off with the gas nozzle still in my car, and yes, I ripped it off the pump. C saw me stop and he came back. My car wasn’t damaged. I pulled into a parking spot and went into the store to confess. The attendant was obviously not pleased. He said I was going to have to pay for it (duh, that’s why I came in), and he was demanding my drivers' license and car insurance. I went out to my car to get my wallet, and I couldn’t find my car keys. Luckily, my car can’t lock with the keys inside, but I still couldn’t find the damn things. And that was the last straw. The dam burst and I started crying. Like, hysterically.

I went back in and gave the attendant my information and I asked if we could please please please just deal with this the following day. He took one look at me and said he’d have his boss call me, he took my information down and I left. Then I went back to try and find the keys. They were in between my seat and the center console. I just sat there for a minute and tried to calm down, please I don’t need any more screw ups.

We managed to get home.

The cats were alive and the house was unmolested (Thanks JT).

Then the latch for the back door to the van broke off when C opened it to get the gas can out.

ENOUGH!! I’m done with this day!

Thank goodness we have massages booked on Monday... after which, I get to go buy a broken gas pump in south Seattle (note: it wound up being a $175 charge; sucks, but not too bad).

Part Four: The Moral of the Story

The moral of the story is, shit happens. Mistakes get made. We are human! I'm not perfect. I present these stories as a cautionary tale, and to entertain (I hope you laughed at my misfortune, because I sure did - the next day).
We have to remember:
1. Don't sweat the small stuff, and,
2. It's all small stuff.
3. What do you have to be grateful for? Focusing on the positive always helps mitigate anything negative.
Today, I’m thankful for:
1. We get to make a living doing something we love!
2. We made it home with no one getting hurt.
3. I have a good man who can roll with the punches.
4. I have wonderful friends who’ve got my back and on whom I can depend when I'm in a pinch.
5. We had a great show in Portland, even if the trip down & back was fraught with “adventures.”
6. I have a warm home and a nice bed to sleep in and the love of a wonderful life partner.

Good night, y’all

31. Celebration Time, Come On!

I am Jack's sense of pride in accomplishment.

If you've been following along, you'd know that from 2007-2011, my life went through a series of changes that left me reeling. I ended 5 years of travel - working on cruise ships - and relocated to Seattle, just in time for the economic crisis that left me unemployed for 18 months. I lost both my parents and my last remaining grandparent. When I did finally get a job, I was laid off in less than a year twice in succession. I got married, bought a... house, and got pregnant only to see it all fall tragically apart from domestic violence and mental illness. My child died. I was an absolute wreck. I felt suicidal because I had lost pretty much everything over the course of a few short years and I just felt so much grief that I couldn't function. A few things saved me: I had learned the difference between my feelings and my reactions to my feelings, and I knew that while nothing that happened had been my fault, it was certainly my problem to deal with. I struggled trying to figure out just how to do that. Luckily I was not alone. I have been so grateful for some good friends who saw me through the most difficult parts of my life, they supported me and listened and gave advice and helped me believe that there could be a future.

I decided to look at the disaster as an opportunity; the slate had been wiped clean, but I was not quite 40... what was I going to do for the second act? Who was I going to be? I could do anything, nothing was holding me back. I decided that it's never to late to get up, pull up your big girl pants, and figure out how to kick some proverbial ass.

I decided on nursing school because if I was going to work hard for something, I wanted my efforts to be meaningful. With no family, I wanted the chance to make a difference in people's lives and feel connected to a purpose. It was not easy to commit, I had to accept that to pursue college full time for five years at my age meant that I was essentially saying goodbye to my fertility and the chance to have a child. Luckily any time I feel maternal I have many special young women in my life now that I can mentor. 

I decided that no matter what, nothing was going to stop me. I put forth 100% effort and commitment to school. Nobody was more surprised than me to see what I could do! I made only one B+ in all 5 years, every other grade was an A. The experience of succeeding in school helped me rebuild my shattered confidence. As more successes piled up, my Joie de vivre gradually returned. I rediscovered my self and began to take pleasure in life again. Even being diagnosed with Crohn's disease earlier this year has not been so bad because well it wasn't a new condition, just a new name and a better treatment plan. So, it was actually a positive thing because now I can get the care I need.
Now that five years commitment i made is over. Today is the last day of the last class. In all, it has taken me 27 years to complete a Bachelors degree. I couldn't be more proud. But I also recognize the part that tragedy has played in motivating me, and the people without whom I would not have made it.

 

One more wonderful thing. After being certain I was just destined to be alone, I finally found someone who shows me what love really is. C and I will celebrate a year together next month. You know how people say when you meet the right person, you just know? Yeah it's like that. He's the real deal, and I'm gonna keep him around permanently.

It feels like I've come full circle, I've gone from all the bad things happening at once to all the good things happening... graduation, true love, my 45th birthday in three weeks, real sustained happiness and contentment I have never before known.

The cavalry arrived, indeed.

A friend once quipped that she had never known me not in a state of disaster. It took me YEARS to recover, but here I am. Proof that you only truly lose when you give up trying. If you fall down, you just have to keep getting up again and again ... and again.  I'm looking forward to demonstrating - and finding out for myself - what stability is like. No more hot mess! 

At least, not until grad school....!!!

My most profound gratitude on this day to everyone who helped me every step of the way. Now, stand back and watch me fly!!!

32. Synchronicity

Happy 4th of July! C and I celebrated by sleeping in, doing some art, having brunch together, and walking around Green Lake. We encountered a poetess who crafted a stunning personalized poem for us (below). Now, we are about to make cookies and have a nap before going to see fireworks in Edmonds with friends. This poem is epic, it's too good not to share. I gotta find this lady. "Synchronized" By Melanie Reed Smart Texas girl I like your boxes - I will fill you in, in al...l those special places - field of different kinds of soil or grasses, let's go all the way to our homebase - I'll raise you on my eyebrows, take note of each glance, each observation, be supported as I walk these new roads with new knees. Seattle boy, I like your boots and bridges- you can carry me and ferry me into new islands of elated conversation - can't get over how we skip from stone to stone - wit sparkling in your sparkling eyes, this tinder dogs our steps with yapping wonderment - let's talk our day and life away, my twin fraternal bay.

30. Tattouage Bleu

I'm turning my leg into a butterfly farm. THIS POST IS IN PROGRESS

Okay not really, but a leg sleeve at least. People keep asking me, "why butterflies?" so I thought I'd explore that question in this blog post. And, the first butterfly is blue. A blue morpho, actually.

Actually, the first tattoo was a lizard, a tattoo I got with my BFF Lisa in like 1991. Obviously it looks like crap now, so we wanted new matching tattoos. I drew this

And so we wound up with these...

I will have to take a better picture.

Overwhelmingly, cultural myth and lore honor the butterfly as a symbol of transformation because of its impressive process of metamorphosis.

From egg, to larvae (caterpillar), to pupa (the chrysalis or cocoon) and from the cocoon the butterfly emerges in her unfurling glory.

What a massive amount of transition this tiny creature undergoes. Consider for a moment the kind of energy this expends.... I daresay if a human were to go through this kind of change we’d freak out!

Imagine the whole of your life changing to such an extreme you are unrecognizable at the end of the transformation. Mind you, this change takes place in a short span of about a month too (that’s how long the butterfly life cycle is).

Herein lies the deepest symbolic lesson of the butterfly. She asks us to accept the changes in our lives as casually as she does. The butterfly unquestioningly embraces the chances of her environment and her body.

This unwavering acceptance of her metamorphosis is also symbolic of faith. Here the butterfly beckons us to keep our faith as we undergo transitions in our lives. She understands that our toiling, fretting and anger are useless against the turning tides of nature – she asks us to recognize the same.

A quick-list of Butterfly symbolism: Resurrection Transition Celebration Lightness Time Soul

Interestingly, in many cultures the butterfly is associated with the soul – further linking our animal symbolism of faith with the butterfly.

In Greek myth, Psyche (which literally translates to mean “soul”) is represented in the form of a butterfly. Befittingly, Psyche is forever linked with love as she and Eros (the Greek god of love, also known in Roman myth as Cupid) shared an endlessly passionate bond together – both hopelessly in love with the other.

Even Christianity considers the butterfly a soulful symbol. To wit, the butterfly is depicted on ancient Christian tombs, as Christ has been illustrated holding a butterfly in Christian art.

It’s connection with the soul is rather fitting. We are all on a long journey of the soul. On this journey we encounter endless turns, shifts, and conditions that cause us to morph into ever-finer beings. At our soul-journey’s end we are inevitably changed – not at all the same as when we started on the path.

To take this analogy a step further, we can look again to the grace and eloquence of the butterfly and realize that our journey is our only guarantee. Our responsibility to make our way in faith, accept the change that comes, and emerge from our transitions as brilliantly as the butterfly.

29. Point Blank

A friend, Joe, raised this question: “In following the gun control debate, I’m seeing a lot of absolutist views from both sides. I see anti-gun advocates making emotional appeals to protect the children, while ignoring substantial research on gun control. I see pro-gun advocates distrusting the government and any action it could take. Neither side feels safe enough to meet in the middle to discuss their differences. As a case study in educated discourse, how can we get both sides to feel safe enough to have a rational discussion?”
This is a topic that has tickled my mind for a long time, too. I grew up in the great gun-loving state of Texas, where my classmates were given .22s and taken on hunting trips with their fathers for the 12th birthdays, where guys in my senior class went deer hunting on weekends, where girls wear pink-trimmed camouflage and learn to handle daddy’s pistol, and where a kid shot himself to death in his Algebra class in the classroom above me in 1988, 11 years before Columbine. As someone who grew up in a culture that taught respect and safety for weapons, I still feel a deep sense of solidarity with those who defend our “right to bear arms,” even though my logical mind knows that what we have today isn’t exactly what the founding fathers meant by a “well-armed militia.”
I saw a meme which said, “We don’t blame cars for drunk drivers, so why would we blame guns for violent people?” The problem is access. If someone drives drunk, we take away their license. If someone has violent tendencies, they often retain unfettered access to weaponry; taking away their gun license does not restrict their access to firearms — many tragedies have been perpetrated by weapons belonging to other people or obtained illegally. So how do we control access in a logical way? See the graphic (below) for a comparison of what it would look like if we regulated guns in a similar fashion to automobiles.  It seems pretty reasonable. After all, we have stricter regulation on the purchase of Sudafed than we do on the purchase of ammunition.

Changing gun ownership regulations to require optional classes, and mandatory testing and licenses that require renewal, as well as insurance, might ensure greater safety with handguns the same way we ensure safety with automobiles.
Granted, all of that requires a lot more money in order to maintain ownership of a handgun, and some say it’s a way to restrict gun ownership to the wealthy, but I think that if you can afford $600 for a handgun, then you can afford $75 for the test and license plus the annual insurance premiums. And, it’s a lot less expensive then accidentally killing someone, or killing them on purpose in a fit of rage or depression.
This model wouldn’t limit what kinds of guns people can have, it just forces them to prove they can be responsible with the weapons they choose. And it holds them responsible for the things they do with their weapons the same way we hold people responsible for the things they do with cars, even when it’s an “accident.” Granted, this doesn’t address the problem of who’s responsible when someone else uses your licensed and insured weapon. In my mind, it’s still your fault. It’s a deadly weapon, you should have it secured. If your kid or friend or brother gets it away from your control, then it wasn’t properly secured.
But that doesn’t address illegal weapons, and I’m not so sure this type of regulation fully addresses the problem anyhow. There’s this little thing about supply and demand? We have to address the demand part if we want to have an effect on the supply.
As for how we get extremists to sit down and have a rational conversation about this? I have no idea. The people that want to maintain gun ownership as it is, I’m pretty sure they are actually not out to kill anyone. People get their hackles up when they feel like their rights are being messed with. I think I understand them though, it’s the same way I feel when people start trying to legislate a woman’s reproductive system. I may not be planning on using it but I’m sure not going to stand still while you’re trying to tell me what I should do with it. And the Texas girl in me still thinks, “You can have my gun when you pry it from my cold, dead fingers.”
Those who support a ban on guns have either lost someone or sympathize with the tragedy of the senseless violence that has been perpetrated by crazy people with guns. I can certainly identify with that, because I’ve seen my fair share of it. Besides the angry and confused young man from my high school, I’ve personally  had a crazy person point a gun at me, and it was terrifying; they were out of control and they shouldn’t have been able to have access to a gun, but they did, because ‘Murica.
So how do you have a rational debate when even rational people aren’t sure how they feel about it?
Certainly, what with a million possible apocalypses and the very real tragedies that currently proliferate (the Paris attacks come to mind), I sure as heck don’t want to be the only one in the melee that brought a steak knife from my kitchen to a gun fight because that was all I had. It terrifies me to think that the government would make guns illegal. They’re just not going to get all the guns — there are already millions of illegal weapons, so if all the law-abiding citizens give up their guns, then only the criminals will have guns.
Despite the fact that our country’s international stock is plummeting, no other nation would dare invade us because they know we are batshit crazy and armed to the teeth. So no matter how much of an “idiocracy” the US becomes, at least we’re not going to have to fight off any foreign invaders, despite fear-mongering about Al Qaeda and ISIS. I’m pretty sure that’s one of the reasons why the founding fathers wanted us to be able to have a well-armed militia. The other reason is because they wanted to prevent the government from changing into a monarchy. We got one anyhow, it’s just that they did it with economics and politics instead of weapons. We should keep the guns so that we can overthrow the hijacking of our political system... but that is another rant for a different day.
My friend Stephen said, “There are hundreds of thousands of gun owners who have successfully not killed anyone for the decades that they owned the gun. A large number of people do misuse them, but it’s a very small percent, wouldn’t that statistically indicate that [gun ownership] is not the cause? Maybe if we asked why they did what they did instead of just instantly blame or sentence, we could figure out what’s causing this. But blame is more important than logic.”
Once again we’re back to demand — the “why.” Please read Malcolm Gladwell’s recent article in the New Yorker entitled, “Thresholds of Violence:  How school shootings catch on,” at www.newyorker.com/magazine/2015/10/19/thresholds-of-violence.
 Gladwell theorizes that the phenomenon of school shootings can be explained by the theory of mob violence. The social process of a riot is driven by our individual thresholds: the number of people who need to be doing some activity before we agree to join them. Stanford sociologist Mark Granovetter described riots as being “started by people with a threshold of zero—instigators willing to throw a rock through a window at the slightest provocation. Then comes the person who will throw a rock if someone else goes first. He has a threshold of one. Next in is the person with the threshold of two. His qualms are overcome when he sees the instigator and the instigator’s accomplice. Next to him is someone with a threshold of three, who would never break windows and loot stores unless there were three people right in front of him who were already doing that—and so on up to the hundredth person, a righteous upstanding citizen who nonetheless could set his beliefs aside and grab a camera from the broken window of the electronics store if everyone around him was grabbing cameras from the electronics store.”
This theory could easily be applied to the larger problem of gun violence, as almost a domino effect where each successive event increases the likelihood of the next event by increasing the disinhibition of the potential perpetrator. Gladwell observed, “The problem is not that there is an endless supply of deeply disturbed young men who are willing to contemplate horrific acts. It’s worse. It’s that young men no longer need to be deeply disturbed to contemplate horrific acts.”
Echoing those sentiments, Joe Sack’s friend John Garnett said, “You just have to look at the number of incidents of road rage and bar fights to see how difficult it is for the untrained person to stay calm in a confrontation even when guns are not involved. Add guns to a high-pressure, high-emotion situation and the outcome typically will not be good even if the gun owners know how to use guns properly.”
How do we stop our citizens from being engulfed in the riot? Outlawing guns is not the answer. Regulating guns is a good step in the right direction, but more is needed, a social balm to quench the fire of discontent. We have lost our social glue, the thing that used to unite us a society, we are more connected by technology than ever before, yet even more hopelessly disconnected from each other on a fundamental level that winds up making it somehow acceptable to shoot others for very little provocation.
Our current solution to dealing with this violence is to scream and cry on Facebook about how awful it is, and change our profile picture to some supportive image. We know it’s not enough. I feel almost guilty changing my picture, because it seems so trivial in light of tragedy and horror. But I understand why we do it, because we genuinely do want to make a difference, to help in some way. We want to tell people who we don’t even know that we do care. Even though it isn’t much, it means something: that we are committed to doing what we can. We just need to figure out what that is, soon.

See more food for thought at https://theprogressivecynic.com/debunking-right-wing-talking-points/refuting-gun-enthusiasts-anti-gun-control-arguments/

28. Trans Formation

I grew up in Houston, Texas in the 70s & 80s. This was a time when Houston was the epicenter of hypermasculine roles typified by John Travolta’s iconic “Bud” in the film Urban Cowboy ...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...and football’s legendary Houston Oilers running back, Earl Campbell, who was like the Marshawn Lynch of the 80s...  

.

..and we ate the Wheaties with Bruce Jenner's photo on it.

 

Men across the city (and the country) aspired to ride a live bull in the Houston International Livestock Show & Rodeo at the Astrodome...

 

 

 

 
 
 
 

 

 ...or at least the mechanical bull at Mickey Gilley’s infamous honkey-tonk, and women aspired to date those men.

 Homosexuality had only been recently declassified as a mental disorder (1973), and the general population still considered it a perversion, a sin, or at least deeply unnatural and something to be mocked or avoided. So how did this city spawn one of the largest LGBTQ communities in the US, one that eventually elected the first openly-lesbian Mayor, Annise Parker, in 2010? That story is closely entwined with how I became an ally of LGBTQ and other gender-fluid individuals, even though I myself am just your average heterosexual, and how I came to develop some core values of acceptance, authenticity, tolerance, and courage.

My family moved from Los Angeles to Houston when I was a kid, in 1975. The transition was difficult for me; I had a hard time making friends in its conservative suburbs whose residents had values based on religion that our atheist family didn’t share. I was a creative free-thinker who wound up frequently bullied, and I never felt like I fit in. My parents put a lot of pressure on me to excel academically and I spent a lot of time reading, which made me even less popular, especially as the ideas I was exposed to in books diverged from what was accepted as “normal” in my peer group. My life became intolerable after experiencing acquaintance rape by a classmate who then told everyone I was a “slut;” I was too mortified to ever report it. By the time I was old enough to ride a bus alone, I was spending as much time as possible in the city, where I had discovered Montrose.

Montrose was the bohemian LGBTQ neighborhood in Houston. In a city where being “different” could literally get you killed - gay bashing was a popular “past-time” that culminated in the murder of Paul Broussard in 1991 - people who were different had found safety in numbers. I had found a community where people didn’t judge me for being different, because they were all “different” too. I made several LGBTQ friends, and realized they were all just regular people, trying to make their way in the world. Actually, they weren’t like regular people at all, because they seemed so incredibly brave to me.

These were people who had been persecuted and abandoned just because of who they wanted to love, or who they felt like inside. As if fighting the stigma of homosexuality as a mental illness wasn’t bad enough, AIDS came along to make matters worse. These people couldn’t change who they were, even if they wanted to; they were literally risking their lives to live authentically, whether it was due to disease or social stigma. I admired them; I saw grace in their acceptance, not just of other’s misunderstandings, but of themselves. But acceptance didn’t equal complacency; I was surrounded by people who were active in changing people’s attitudes towards the LGBTQ community, with education and inclusiveness. Implicit was an attitude of tolerance, which is what partly made it so attractive to me.

As more and more people who were looking for an oasis of tolerance in intolerant Texas moved to Montrose, it evolved into a force to be reckoned with, a force that put forth its own political candidates and eventually worked to enact legislation that changed the way LGBTQ people were viewed or treated. Twenty-five years later, Montrose and its adjacent neighborhoods is quite the desirable address, and I still have at least as many LGBTQ friends than “straight” ones.

I think my values apply especially to people with gender dysphoria. Forty years after declassifying homosexuality as a disorder, feeling discontent with the gender one was born with is still considered a medical disorder, and people still mock trans individuals trying to fit in. The rationale for classifying it as a disorder is to provide a pathway forthese people to receive counseling – not to help them accept the gender theywere born with, but rather to obtain help in navigating gender identity issues, such as the depression or anxiety that they may feel in the process of transitioning. However, many trans people and allies support declassification of "gender dysphoria" because pathologizing it implies that it’s a problem. It minimizes gender variance, reinforcing binary genders. I can see both sides of the issue. Keeping it as a disorder can allow for clients to receive assistance in our current paradigm, but it also reinforces the idea that there is something wrong with them, which is an idea I strongly oppose. I think we need to change the paradigm, instead of conform to it.

That is beginning to happen now, and it makes me feel hopeful. Parents are able to identify gender dysphoria in their children at younger ages. These parents are members of my generation, people who have seen firsthand the struggles that LBGTQ people have had, and would rather support their children’s journey of self-exploration than risk their assault or self-harm.

 

 

 Even Girl Scouts reaffirmed their acceptance and defense of trans girls. Beacuse they recognise that trans girls are girls too. Andrea Bastiani Archibald, the Girl Scouts USA's chief girl expert, said, "if the child is recognized by the family and school/community as a girl and lives culturally as a girl, then Girl Scouts is an organization that can serve her in a setting that is both emotionally and physically safe."

Being discriminated against for not fitting in is something I can identify with, even if I’m not LGBTQ. I never felt like there was anything wrong with me, but I couldn’t change who I was inside, and I didn’t want to; neither do they. Nobody in the LGBTQ community thought of me as weird, and I flourished there, probably for the first time in my life. Instead of feeling miserable and trying to find “a way out,” I began to dream my life could be full of joy and purpose. None of us were “crazy,” we just wanted to be ourselves, whatever that was. I’m not saying I understand all LGBTQ people; what I do understand are the values behind the actions. People who’ve had to come to grips with being LGBTQ have had to struggle to accept themselves and develop the courage to live an authentic life. They have to overcome fear at being discriminated against, people who may be their family. Look at Bruce Jenner, what he’s going through now, what he’s struggled with for the past 30+ years. He made many choices because he was trying to please people he loved, often at his own expense. When people around you are intolerant of something that defines you, you learn how important tolerance is. I may not be LGBTQ, but I believe in an individual’s right to pursue self-actualization.

I can’t imagine anything that would make me change my values. They reflect what’s most important to me and were established as a result of my accumulated experiences. They influence my decisions, behaviors, feelings, and how I perceive my environment. I fought so hard for self-acceptance and the courage to live authentically, I can’t imagine giving any of that up. It’s made a huge difference in my life in terms of satisfaction and happiness, and I feel strongly about promoting tolerance for everyone. In finally feeling free to explore my own identity, without judgement, I was able to pursue my own self-actualization, and surround myself with people who accept me for whatever qualities I offer as a human being, not for what God I worship or whose name is on the label of my jeans - or my genes. In this way, I can identify with a person whose outsides do not match their insides, and the struggle they endure to achieve some sort of equanimity.

Mahatma Ghandi said, "Your beliefs become your thoughts. Your thoughts become your words. Your words become your actions. Your actions become your habits. Your habits become your values. Your values become your destiny." It is my destiny to live my values by example and advocate for others. If I care for a trans person, I will consider it an honor to provide care with the same compassion and empathy I would for any other person. I hope my experiences will make me more sensitive to a trans person’s particular needs, and able to treat them with the dignity and respect that all people deserve.

The one thing I have noticed about nursing is that little is black and white, everything is shades of grey. If anyone should be able to understand the myriad shades of grey that can make up the various ways that human sexuality can be expressed, it should be a nurse.  I hope I can help educate my colleagues about the LGBTQ community, so that we can all move towards normalization of a gender-fluid concept and tolerance for all people. In fact, not just for trans people, but anyone whose cultural beliefs or personal affectations may be different from our own.  We may not all be the same, but we all deserve the respect of human decency, even for people we may not understand or agree with.