Mood:  chatty

Tonight I ventured out to the First Friday Artwalk. Here's how it happened: I was getting some salmon dip at the meat counter at Fred Meyer, and the guy behind the counter asked me how was my day. I told him I had just awakened at 2 pm after 12 hours of sleep, so ask me later...
He said he'd love to have 12 hours of sleep; he was getting three a night. I asked why. He said he was mounting a photography show at Gallery 423; it was photos of transgendered people. Well-- I said that I would continue to let my beard grow, and show up. A glib rationale.
But, as usual, there was so much more to it.
A few months ago I went to a showing of the film Soldier's Girl at CWU. The film is a true life account of a transgendered woman and her lover, a soldier who was murdered in some kind of hate crime. The crux of the motive behind the murder was another soldier's, or two other soldiers', conflicted feelings about their own sexual identities, and the inflicted shame around it.
The woman who lived this experience, Calpernia Addams, came to our campus to talk about the movie. What a lovely, graceful woman--but of course, there was the fascination surrounding her female identity inside of a body that had been born and identified as male. I came home from the movie and set about researching her on the internet, discovering her fascinating website.
http://www.calpernia.com
I am not versed in the vocabulary of this issue, and so I hope I am representing it correctly. Because, in hearing these special people tell about their experiences, I am aware that there are complex sub-strata to the gay, lesbian and transgendered community that take some time to understand. And transgendered people want to bring awareness to their particular group as separate from "gay" issues.
I guess part of my fascination is my own gender identity. I have often been mistaken for a boy and a man throughout my life, although I am born and bred a woman. Being large and physically active as a younger person, I gave up on feminine shoes and clothes, and since it was the seventies, it was easy for me to wear boots and work shirts and old man's wool pants in cold weather. But I also wore a lot of skirts in the hot weather. I have been a feminist all my adult life, and at 53, am more hirsuit than is comfortable. I have been the recipient of tentative and uncertain looks from people uncomfortable because they could not pigeonhole my gender identity. I walked and sat like a man, unapoligetically. But as I explained to one person who identified herself as a lay mental health advocate, I strongly identify with these people who have persevered within conflicting biological and social mandates, found a supportive community, and sorted through their unique and/ or disparate issues.
This woman was one of the subjects of the photo exhibit. She is pictured in her home with one of her birds. These photos are remarkable in many ways. I admired the rich quality of the photos. I observed the surroundings in which each was pictured. I observed the clothing and other trappings that individuals chose for themselves. Many of the transgendered subjects wore very casual clothing and hairstyles; others were glammed to the nines. But central to all this, for me, were the expressions in the eyes; above all, these are people who have made very specific choices about the realization and expression of gender.
So with each word I spoke came an awareness of my naivete': at one moment it was a matter of persona, choice of mannerisms and such, but my new soft-spoken friend explained, and exemplified, an attitude free of gender-identified mannerisms. She was just herself, a person. This was eye-opening to myself, letting me realize how much energy I devote to displaying a socially identifiable or acceptable persona. And so to generalize, it seemed that the transgendered individuals, choosing the trappings of gendered identity, each had a very individual vision of how it was realized.
Now I am getting abstract.
My point is that I came away with new insights and new questions about my own assumptions. I said to one of the photo subjects that these pictures represented Mother Nature's variety, but this woman asserted that what it represented was in fact society and how society dictates identity. As I write, I am mindful that there are more and more layers to this than I could verbalize at this point.
I wish I had listened more, and had felt less the need to put on a mask. Painfully shy for the first half of my life, I have spent far too much time trying to actualize what I conceive to be an acceptable social persona. So perhaps it is this that attracts me to this special group of people.
I came home with the typical self-recrimination that accompanies my social anxiety; did I make a fool of myself again? Was I insnsitive and glib?
How brave I find these beautiful transgendered souls who are finding long-overdo pride about their special and priveledged places in the world. Apparently, shamans in the indiginous populations were often hermaphroditic sorts, people who were endowed with special spiritual insights and gifts. And so it is in this special community. I am very grateful for this experience tonight.
And the snacks were also good.