Being Real is Love

The Artist D in her blood-spattered heels.

With age and experience comes wisdom. That is true because with age and experience comes complete and utter exhaustion regarding the things that used to be so damned important.

I had a heavy flashback this morning of who I was eleven years ago. It was during a moment of meditation and journaling about how I handle internal turmoil today. I was momentarily exhausted by even thinking about how I used to manage. (Manage what? Life, time, relationships, sex, drugs, rock n’ roll…)

Then it came to me that I would have been literally unable to deal like I deal with things today. It was a rare moment where I could give credence to the age and wisdom shtick. But I don’t think that’s about learning as much as it is about running out of intense exhausting considerations. To be frank, it’s all about running out of f*cks to give.

I could compare this to wearing corsets and high heels. That’s not meant to be silly at all. For me that was always very important. It was a lot of painful work, but I had to do it! I was beautiful and domineering with my blood-spattered stilletos. Even though by the end of the day my feet would ache and my toes would throb. Upon letting out the corset to expose rolls of fat (or what I thought were rolls of fat) and my spine felt the tingly feeling of relief (or blood flow).

As overbearingly caring and intense youthful creatures we think so many things are important. Most adults wag their fingers and tell us so, but we don’t believe them. We don’t believe it because no one can ever seem to explain it. This isn’t about growing up. It’s not even about growing out. It doesn’t have much to do about climbing society’s ladders or requiring further experience. It has a lot more to do about getting worn out and realizing the importance of Things. Whatever those Things may be for you or I. Everyone has their own Things.

We’re all The Velveteen Rabbit transforming, transitioning, from one shiny creature to another. Whether it’s in our mind or parts of our external bodies, we are getting worn and our seams begin to show. The twist is that through any transformation I hope that we learn to love ourselves more and not less.

How would you handle your young self now, eleven years, or twenty-two years later? Knowing what you know. Living what you’ve lived. Being how you be.

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Tags: featured, reflection, theartistd, Transgender, Transition

Category: Transgender Body & Soul