It’s been one of those
periods. Allow a correction, it’s been
another one of those periods. Maybe
you’ve experienced it; uncertainty followed by questioning followed by another
layer of uncertainty. Yes, you know about
it? You’re a charter member of the club?
Or no, what are you Nikki some kind of crazy twilight zone citizen?
I would never join a club that
would have me as a member. I didn’t coin
the phrase but sometimes I wonder if it fits better than my most comfortable
pair of heels.
A gender girl friend said that
women are God’s little joke; now that she’s experiencing personal summer once
an hour, throwing off jacket or sweater as her body overheats. She stated that skin removal would be next if
things got any more tepid.
Sometimes I feel like a part of
that joke. I run hot and cold, one of my
closest TGirl friends will attest, sign an affidavit, testify in the court of
friendly opinion. It’s frustrating. I have an ordered life, well-oiled (and not
just with moisturizer) and under control.
Except… when imagination runs headlong into desire. I can’t wait to get home and tear off the
stubby male trappings. Evenings are filled with pampering and feminine
enjoyment. Then a restless night
insinuates itself on my reverie.
Looking in the mirror in the
morning – I know sounds scary right? To see stubble that I refuse to
acknowledge except with the triple blade in the shower – with each pass of the
blade I wish away what I don’t appreciate.
This male intrusion on my feminine
fantasy is sometimes too much. I’m no
quitter but I do weaken from time to time.
I vacillate, wax and wane, rise and fall, enjoy then fret.
It comes down to a crazy cycle,
wish and dream, invest energy and effort to give Nikki her space then after a
wonderful evening fight the inevitable of returning to the little joke that has
been lingering for too many years. Next
comes resolve, deal with the duality and enjoy both worlds. No wait, run down
the list of requirements for successful transition. Then consider the
implications in the professional and personal segments of life. Next comes the financial calculations – can
it cost that much to fulfill my destiny? Oh hell be true to yourself – that’s
the next admonition. All of this then “repeat”!
I’m my own tired master (or is
it mistress) of the patently obvious.
But who am I? Ever get that
question from the little angel perched on your shoulder? She’s there to remind me. I brush her away; tell her to go haunt
somebody else’s life. She’s quiet for a
while. The little voice of reason is
smart – much smarter than me. But she’s
already the woman I want to be. She reappears when she knows I need – and girl
oh girl do I need.
So there I am, defaulting on the
commitment to be the person I have suppressed for too long. She’ll understand, I conjecture. No, she won’t. And she doesn’t – understand that is.
"Where are you going with this
Nikki?"
Glad you asked.
What I am experiencing is natural,
it’s almost a requirement to get to a decision.
Oh yeah, that decision is not black and white, nor cut and dry. The path isn’t illuminated; there are dark
corners. Every intersection, every cross
street, every fork in the road of my life is devoid of signage. The trail of breadcrumbs I leave (in case I
want to go back) get blown away by the blustery wind that cuts across my
landscape.
Sometimes it’s good to get the
feelings out – put them into words – articulate them. It works for me. I pour out the gray water and my pipes are
clear again for a while. What I know is
that the more times I put my feelings into words the more manageable my
situation. Keeping things pent up
contributes to the tension. That brand
of tension is unhealthy and the resultant eruption can be devastating.
Now I can smile again, lift the
shroud that blocks the sun, feel its warmth as my gyroscope is recalibrated.
Get out the feelings, whether good
or bad, high or low, black or white or any of the million shades of whatever
color your glasses. You’ll not only feel better; you will also realize you are
not alone.
Love and hugs, Nikki DiCaro
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