Towards a Unified Theory of Elise // Gratitude

I swear one day I will write about something that isn’t myself. I’ve done it before! I can do it again!!

Nevertheless, here we are.

Despite, or perhaps in spite of, this blog largely existing as a sort of public diary, I’ve found self-categorization elusive. Describing myself as a collection of affectations, relational groups, and attributes is not necessarily wrong, but it feels too robotic. Describing oneself in the way that an algorithm targets you to sell, deodorant or television shows or a dream, feels like drinking from a well that has been poisoned. It’s a pervasive effect of capitalism, of something I can only describe as liquid filling holes in an airtight cube full of solid material. Any and all gaps are exploited and eroded and filled with a perverse fluid.

The point of this post was to try to identify a unified theory of the self, of something that I could hold in my hands and know was representative of me. But, as evidenced by the fact that I have left this tab open for days trying to think of something, I haven’t gotten far, or in the moments where I have, I didn’t collect my realizations before they evaporated.

Instead, and in the spirit of the Thanksgiving holiday, I think the best way to do this is to identify who I am by way of what I’m thankful for. Thanksgiving is far from my favorite holiday, but it’s as good a time as any to take stock.

So, what am I thankful for? And what do I want to be thankful for this time next year?

This one feels a bit like cheating, because it’s all encompassing. But it is true. Like my last piece, I’m glad that I’ve pushed myself, even when it often doesn’t feel that way. I’ve been more outgoing, tried new things, brought myself back to old things, and left myself exposed to feeling in a way that I really would not have previously. Sometimes, I get stung, but it’s been really rewarding to have someone tell me that they’ve seen me grow, in ways that often feel imperceptible to me.

On that note…

I’ve done enough trips back home in the last few years that they tend to take on a repetitive theme. I have a list of things I want to do and see, and I try to knock out as many as I can. Eat food at a few particular places, see as many friends as I can, go to my hometown beach, and go into New York to see some museums or a sporting event. Pretty established at this point, but it’s still nice. The fact that I’ve been able to maintain it also means that I’ve been able to maintain a group of friends over those years, which I have taken somewhat for granted. I never feel like I’m anyone’s closest or most important person, but having a stable of people who I genuinely care about, and who I know reciprocate, is not something everyone gets to enjoy. Especially not when every one that I’ve told has breathlessly supported my coming out and transition.

I came out to one of my sisters yesterday. We were closer as kids than we might be now, but her support was instantaneous and unconditional, and I want to recognize that.

To that last point, I’ve done a lot of coming out to people over the last few months. I have been met with, truly, universal support, and at bare minimum positive acceptance, which has been a pleasant surprise. Not in that I assume the worst of others, but because the experience of the closet is alienation. Every inward or outward signifier, statement, or action is filtered through paranoia and anxiety. Trying to discern whether someone might be okay with who I really am necessitates tiring vigilance. Freeing myself from that, in the eyes of my friends, colleagues, classmates, and new people in my life is freeing.

A little over 6 months ago, I finally took the plunge and made an appointment to get estrogen. As some of my friends know, I had backed out of confirming the appointment at the very last second before, or thought that it was never the right time. I don’t know what compelled me to finally take the plunge, and the experience of medical transition has not been without its issues, but it has removed so much of the anxiety within me and replaced it with potential. Not that my anxiety is gone, God no. But I’m starting to see a future for myself. I’m starting to feel in ways I did not before. I’ve cried more in the last few months than in the preceding decade. Slowly but surely I am changing physically, too, to a form that hopefully will feel more like my own. I never really categorized the exact dimensions of my dysphoria, because at some point it became semantic, but maybe one day I will be able to. I would like that. And I can look back at that, too, and see how I have grown.

My first day on estrogen was May 14. I remember it because of some other things I needed to do that day, but also because I tried to make it a momentous occasion. To will a feeling out of that moment and make it feel extraordinary. Now, I take my medication as directed with little fanfare. Not because it isn’t still special, but because it’s something that goes beyond singular moments. I didn’t wake up one day and become what I wanted, I just finally took the first step.

Speaking of,

I got my first tattoo a few weeks back, and I think it puts a nice bow on things here. I know people have #Discourse about the source material, but it was something I saw at the right time and in the right moment to stick with me. I’ll let the picture speak for itself.

A lot like transitioning, this idea had been on my mind for years, and, once I was on the table, needle over my thigh, none of it seemed scary anymore. I’m just happy I did it.

Don’t lose your way.