If I’m Being Honest

Lately I’ve been baking a lot. Perhaps you’ve noticed. While there are plenty of places with vegan items here, there are not just great vegan bakeries at every corner in San Francisco, irrelevant of what you may believe about the city. While Arizmendi is always guaranteed to have a muffin or two as well as many great breads and focaccia and Hayes Valley Bakeworks has a great muffin and a Mexican Chocolate Snickerdoodle that you should try whether you’re vegan or not, I can’t just walk down to Cinderella and grab a blueberry brioche like I used to. I am aware of the ramifications of my decision to go vegan. I’m not complaining. Just observing. Besides, even if you have no dietary restrictions (medical or self-imposed as in my case), there are still too many places in the city to try, and chances are you have found your rhythm, the places you go to, and the things you enjoy. I have been in the process of rewriting that memory, and I find that it’s just not as easy to find a good cinnamon roll as it was before. Which has meant a lot more time in my kitchen. The results have been rewarding. It’s been figuring out how to put together many of the foods I enjoy. In addition, it’s a great distraction. I can’t afford to divert my attention lest I screw up what I’ve just put fair amount of time and money into.

But if I’m being honest, I’m looking for the distraction just as much. When I’m out on a run, at a show, catching a drink with a friend, or baking, I don’t spend too much time looking inward. Even when I do things alone. Even when I spend a lot of time thinking. I don’t know if it’s the stimuli around me, but it doesn’t really matter. When I get out of my apartment, or when I find something here that totally engages me like baking, I just don’t spend much time in my head. And I don’t really want to right now. At least in the past couple weeks, I’ve had a rough go of it. I know I can’t push myself all the time. The bike-work-bike-run-cook-bike-show-bike-sleep days sure do pass the time, but I just can’t do that to myself every single day. There is value in doing nothing at times, or at least setting aside time where life isn’t non-stop. But on those days, I don’t have time to spend too much time looking inward.

Why has that been such an issue recently? I have had a hard time figuring that out. Is it because, when I take a hard look at myself, I don’t feel like I’m doing enough in ways that matter more? That’s certainly there. But how am I measuring that impact? Perhaps a better way of stating that is to say I don’t feel like I am doing enough to make things better for other people. Which I do think is something I can put more energy toward. I have spent a lot of time making decisions and changing habits to improve my life, or at least making decisions that have had a positive impact on me in terms of taking care of myself. What am I really doing for the people around me, though? Do I just need something more tangible that I can see the results of? Like I said, I think there is some merit there. I could be doing more in that regard. Or I could at least be spending some of my energy on more focused items, volunteering at a shelter or for a phone line or a bike valet or something that I can point to and say, this is what I’m doing. There are plenty of things that I’m passionate about and yet for the most part, I tacitly support them. Or at least I passively support them at best. Perhaps, as it is for me when I am out doing something, it would be better for me to be active.

That is something I’d like to do better. But I don’t think that’s all of it. I think it’s just the weight of being trans in our society. I just spend so much energy dealing with everything that goes along with that. I may not have to jump through the hoops of gatekeepers at doctor’s offices anymore, but every bigot out there acts like a gatekeeper. Whether it’s constantly being called sir whenever I make a work phone call to being accosted in a bathroom to trying to be a resource for people even when I should probably say I don’t have the energy to engage this right now, I feel like am always on. That feeling never goes away. When I’m out on a run, when I’m at that show, I get the feeling that I’m frequently being read as male. Not because I’m cynical (well, I am, but that is neither here nor there in this case), but because I have a large body of work to prove that point. I have people staring at me when I come out of bathroom stalls, I have artists misgender me when I go to buy their record (let me tell you, not a fun experience), I have people say let the man go through to me when I’m on the trails of the city. Transphobia is so systemic that it doesn’t matter where you live. There’s no good place to be trans in a world full of transphobes. Maybe there are a few less of them here; maybe the laws are better. But that doesn’t mean it’s a good place to be trans. We have a long way to go before anywhere is a good place for trans people to live. I am cognizant that circumstances for me are better than they are for a lot of trans people. But we can do better. We have to do better. And to that end, there are certainly things I can do better.

Perhaps it’s just the totality. These are the thoughts I live with constantly. I am either trying to figure out how to do more because I am one of the lucky ones and I feel I should do more or I am living with the reality that if I’m one of the lucky ones, the world is still a pretty shitty place. Usually I’m struggling with the push and pull of those two poles. There’s always going to be something though. It took me a lot of time to come to terms with who I am. But that’s not a neat story with clean act breaks. Even when I finally came out, I still had to work for years on many issues. I am always a work in progress. I’m finally at a point where I’m comfortable with my self-image. Part of that was changing the things I could; the other part was learning to accept there are a few things that I can’t change, or at least that I can’t change directly. And that those things might not even be bad, just that I was socialized to think they are bad. Whereas six years ago I might have wondered what I could have done better to make that person not utter something gross or transphobic, now I am more confident; I don’t have to do better for anyone else. I don’t have to look a certain way to please other people. I have to look like myself. That is a way I can do better, by being me in a society that definitely does not really want me to be myself. Confident in that knowledge, though, how do I affect change? How do I make things better going forward? Just carrying that attitude certainly helps, but what more can I do? That took me years, and it didn’t magically happen. And while all that’s going on, I still struggle to deal with fear for my safety, with the loneliness, with lack of what I feel is true acceptance by even those closest to me. I don’t let those factors rule my life anymore, but I’d be a fool to ignore that they are always there and they are always something I have to engage. I get why a lot of trans folk have a hard time. There’s so much to unlearn, so much to always be aware of. It’s fucking hard.

There are some things I can’t just explain away, but some things do not require explanations. I can’t think up an answer to how I feel; this is just how I feel right now. And that’s okay. If I don’t want to spend too much time dwelling, if I don’t think that it’s doing me any good to spend too much time in my head, Minimalist Baker is just a couple clicks away, and then I’m figuring out how exactly to tweak that chocolate cake, what consistency I want out of my frosting, and sometimes I need that. Even if trans issues are always on the periphery, they can’t always be directly on my mind. They can just be too consuming, too draining to think about constantly. Perhaps I wouldn’t have to spend so much energy on them if they were on more peoples’ minds a bit more. That, however, is much more of process. There’s no simple recipe to making a better society. It’s dirty, it’s messy. The results are unpredictable at best. Though I guess the same could be said of baking much of the time.

A funny thing happened when I spent a little more time baking. I found I liked it. And that I’m actually pretty good at it. Much like I am really quite a bit better at being myself as opposed to who people think I should be. There’s always a reward in finding those things you are good at that you may have previously not known about yourself. I’d rather focus on that thought than on not focusing on anything at all. But that’s not always where I’m at. Right now, I also need the escape my kitchen provides most of the time. I am a trans woman before pretty much everything else most of the time. That is the first thing about me, even in my own mind. I’m not ashamed of who I am, but I wish it were a matter-of-fact statement, not something so obviously loaded in the minds of many. Besides, I’d rather be known not as a series of descriptors of who I am but rather what I’ve accomplished. Perhaps in the future I will be truly good at baking, perhaps I’ll have a shop of my own some day. I don’t want to be the trans woman who happens to be a good baker any more than I want to be known as the baker who happens to be a trans woman. If I’m being honest, I’d much rather just be known as a baker.


Tomorrow is my 34th birthday. Other than it being my birthday, it is not particularly notable nor should it be. It’s just another day to most, and just another year to me. That isn’t to say I won’t enjoy myself or it will be a bad birthday it’s just to say there’s nothing too exciting about many of them after a certain point. I can already drink, and I already have lower car insurance. Other than the reflection that we’ve taken the world for another spin and hopefully things have worked out along the way and a good excuse to pull some friends together, it’s just another day.

If anything, I reflect and realize that it’s gonna be my seventh birthday where I’ve truly felt like and been myself. I never really foresaw this point in my mid-twenties when I was still struggling to find what I needed to come out, when we drank too many snifters at The Red Dragon and stumbled home most birthdays. They weren’t grand affairs. As if you can get people out during January in Minnesota. I always thought this would be the year I’d get my shit together, and finally find the strength I needed to come out as transgender and move forward with a more-realized life than the one I was living as we meandered back to that place on Franklin or Humboldt or Aldrich depending in the year. Back then, it seemed the only thing that was changing in my life was my address. So to think about those days years ago sometimes is a little strange. It feels like another lifetime ago. In a way it was. Though I don’t think that’s a province exclusive to trans people; I would say most of us were different people 10 years ago because that’s a long time and we are all always changing, even if we can’t rightly see it happening to ourselves sometimes. But the risks of transition are something I cannot rightly explain to you if you haven’t experienced them. So it is perhaps hard to understand the fears I had and what held me back so long. Obviously, I figured that out. But that really isn’t the point I am trying to make. The point is, it is easy to look back and say we were different people because we all were, but when you are trans, that difference can definitely end up looking and feeling quite tangible. That’s reinforced both internally and externally. Me? I don’t mind the reminders; it’s just sometimes odd to to reconcile who I was then with who I am now, because we’re the same person, and yet so obviously we are not.

I have spent a fifth of my life being who I always wanted to be, who I always have been, though I didn’t have the tools or skills or support to express to act on that for so long. And every year that fraction is going to get a little bigger. But it will only ever be a fraction. It can only ever be a fraction. It while never be whole. And while some days it frustrates me, most days it’s just a truth to acknowledge. Moreover it’s just part of what makes me fundamentally who I am. It’s a tautology of course, but there’s no sense in dwelling on what life would have been like had I managed to come out at a different age. I cannot change that fraction in any way other than going forward. What I can change is to hopefully make that fraction bigger for others by helping to create that more supportive world in whatever ways I can. Or to help other trans individuals get that fraction started at all because it just takes some of us longer to get there. It’s so obvious we need it. Whatever my remainder of days may be, that is always there, always a driving force. We will always be fractions in a world that hard-codes ideas of sex and gender before we are even out of the womb. But no fraction is insignificant.


Sometimes I write poetry. I used to do it a lot. Here’s to being that person again, if only for a little while.


“I want to explore,”
like I am America,
newly discovered, foreign, exotic,
waiting to be mapped, something other
than what you have always known,
a new world, a new experience.
Like a conquistador, you seek to plunder,
to lay claim that which existed
long before you knew it was there.
I fear you
or someone like you
will come someday in force
to take what you believe you’re owed,
to demand obeisance or
to put me to the sword.
How many others have there been before me?
More than I will ever know.
I shudder and press delete.

Let The Man Go Through

I am used to running around tourists. It’s one of the perils and privileges of living easy running distance from the Golden Gate Bridge, Golden Gate Park, the Presidio, and all the other wonderful things that make San Francisco the city it is. And I don’t blame anyone. When I moved here, I wondered if I would ever get used to all of it; now I wonder how you ever could. So I get why people clog the Coastal Trail on a holiday weekend, visiting or back with their families. Honestly, it’s great to see so many people out, using all these wonderful parks and trails, seeing the sights, and just generally enjoying the beauty of a pretty wonderful place on what was a crisp, but excellent day to appreciate it all.

What I don’t get is how unmindful people can be. They close a stretch of road in the park every Sunday so it’s an open street for biking, running, walking, skating, whatever. But there are people out there every weekend that don’t pay a bit of attention to the space they are moving through. They have no awareness that someone might be trying to bike by as they aimlessly weave or run past as they casually walk four abreast on a path that barely holds three. I see a lot of surprised looks whenever I run by, like its unusual that anyone else would be using that path even though seemingly everyone is out using the path. Normally I can circumnavigate with minimal fanfare. There is enough space in most places in the park that I can easily go around (though it is frequently me and other runners I see sidestepping pedestrians, not the other way around). And while I wish it weren’t like that, I still don’t have to say much, which I like. I enjoy being out there by myself in those situations, even if I am surrounded by people. Unfortunately, I hit some trails that were a bit more congested by the ocean, and I did this all around sunset which made for a busier time than I normally experience on, say, a weekday night, a more regular running time for me.

When I run I don’t normally interact with people, much more than an “excuse me” or an “on your left”. That couldn’t be helped today, though, not with how busy it was out there. Not having to substantively interact with people is one of the aspects I love most. Because every interaction with someone is just another opportunity for someone to say something like “let the man go through”, as someone did on my last run. And look, I get it, I asked Santa for boobs again this year and he still didn’t bring them. Maybe next year. More seriously, most of my workout stuff is fairly gender neutral, even if it’s all women’s clothes. I am not working out to show off my body, I wear things that are comfortable. Which for me is looser, longer stuff. While it’s cut a touch different, most of it you’d probably find just as easily in the mens’ section. But that does not mean that I am gender neutral. I am still a woman. I would like to think there are plenty of aspects of me that showcase that fact, thank you very much. Of course, I run into issues like this all the time, not just on the trails. I had a cashier call me me sir the other day and then say it was hard to tell because I was wearing a toque when I corrected her. Because obviously you never see a woman in a winter hat. People are quick to look for sources of blame and not so quick to just honestly say “I am sorry, I fucked up.” Not that I gave the person on the trail had the opportunity; I wasn’t about to stop in the middle of my run and have this conversation. And even if I did stop, it’s rarely a conversation. More of a one-sided statement to be honest. People are so rare to trust me about my gender, if their continued behavior after I call them out is any indication in many cases. I am not surprised if, as soon as I am out of earshot, they go back to misgendering me or they do so later when they are recounting stories of that annoying customer who just insisted she’s a woman.

It didn’t really bother me though. I know this seems like a lot of words for something that didn’t bother me, but it just got the wheels spinning halfway through a long run more than anything. Obviously it’s frustrating to live in a world where these kinds of disrespectful acts occur on a daily basis. And it’s shitty to say I’ve learned to live with it. But I have. I simply do not have the energy to fight every slight and slur. And many of the people who do say these sorts of things aren’t worth it. I respect the people who seem to always have that energy to always fight, but I don’t know how they do it. Just in the sense that I do not know where that wellspring of energy comes from. Yes, in an ideal world I’d always challenge people who misgender me. Fuck, if we’re wishing for an ideal world, trans folk wouldn’t go around being misgendered on a daily basis. But that world is a ways away, it seems. I’d at least like to see a world where one of the children turned to their parent after they said “let the man go through” and said “she’s not a man”. I don’t think that’s too much to ask of the person behind me in line at Target to say “Why’d you call her sir?”. That to me would be some tangible progress that I haven’t seen much of in the past seven years. No matter where I go there are always people. I have no real control over how they address me, but it sure would be great if I wasn’t the only one who said something every time. If I say anything at all. It’d be nice not to worry about whether I have the energy. We all need a hand sometimes. Who I am does matter independent of all of this. I am not looking for validation from other people. Just respect. I know I am a woman just as much as all those people don’t seem to. And nothing anyone else says changes that. All I’m asking for is a little mindfulness. Step aside when someone is running down the narrow path and you are walking two abreast. And if you don’t know what to say, you don’t have to say anything. I’d just appreciate if you’d let me through.

Never Content

Objectively speaking I have a hard time thinking of when things were going better. I take better care of myself. I have much better habits in terms of the little things, what I eat, taking my medication regularly, exercising. I have the facility to do what I want to a great degree. I have a job that pays me well that I actually do like that challenges me that also doesn’t keep me there too much. I get to see and do and experience lots of cool things and hopefully be a part of leaving things a little better than I found them. And best of all I do all of that while being myself. But lately, I have just had an increasingly hard time with it all. I still show up to work, I still go to shows, I still double-knot the trail runners before I head to the Presidio, but it feels like just that much more work to get off the couch when I get home, to get back out after sitting down, to do more than hit play on the next episode of whatever. To not feel like it is too quiet in my place and it’s too much work to find someone or something to help enliven it. To even do the quotidian things, to make sure the dishes get washed, the trash gets out and the laundry gets done. It’s hard not to look at stacks of dishes and piles of clothes and not feel like entropy always wins. Because it always does. It always will. No matter how hard we fight, in the end, it must win.

But I am not just some 18 year old who realized that for the first time. If anything the reason behind many of my decisions is that everything ends eventually. How much of that time do I want to look back on and see the half-realized individual I was for so long? Every day that fraction get smaller and smaller, but it’ll still always be a fraction of my life. That will never change. I know worth is a relative matter, but I know that being who I am and bringing all of myself to what I do in my life matters. Because that’s all I’ve really got. Many days I use that as a call to action, the motivation to try and make positive changes in my life, to get going and do whatever it is I have been putting off, whatever it is that won’t be coming around again. Most days I try to push. Lately, I feel like I am being pulled. And I can’t really figure out why.

I’m not going to lie and say being trans doesn’t impact my life negatively at times. Not because there’s anything wrong with being trans or I am unhappy with who I am but because there are people who think there’s something wrong with being trans, and unfortunately those people are still the people who make lots of decisions that impact my quality of life. But the impact in my personal life to a large degree has been positive. I feel it has made my friendships stronger and makes me more engaged personally and professionally. Still, I’ve mentioned it before, and I can’t rule out the psychic toll for being trans in our society. But I don’t really think that’s it in totality. There are still plenty of aspects to how people treat trans individuals that need to change in our society. But that is always there and doesn’t feel any more pressing than usual. I know that feeling. It’s not that feeling.

Perhaps it’s the loneliness. Then again, that’s not new, and I doubt that’s entirely it. I function pretty well alone. I don’t really hang my head and stop doing things just because I’m by myself. And when I look around, I know I do have friends here. Besides, I know that feeling well, and I know when it’s more acute. Again, that’s just something that’s there, and not even something that’s just there in my life. It’s something that’s there in lots of our lives.

No, I think it gets back to the difference between happiness and contentedness. I am happy. I lead a good life, I have been fortunate, I continue to be. But there’s always more to do. If I ever have all of my own affairs in order, so what? First, it’s doubtful that I ever will because it seems near-sighted to think life will ever be like that. I may have everything I wanted at this moment a year from now, but will that be what I want then? Second, it’s near-sighted to think only of my own life, my own affairs. Now some of what I do hopefully has an impact on that, be that little decisions like leaving another seat on the bus for someone who needs it more when I bike or making decisions about what I eat or what I use at home that perhaps have some small impact. Some of it hopefully has more direct impact beyond those rather modest sorts of measures.

But content? I doubt I’ll ever be content. There’s always something more I could be doing to try and leave the world a better place than I found it, to be a better person. And I don’t think I’ll ever be content with the person I once was. That person did things wrong; that person was ignorant of many things, some of which had consequences I no doubt did not intend. I do not want to be that person, yet I am undoubtedly still that person, and always will be. The more I learn, the more there is to learn. The more I get from the world around me, the more I have to give back. If I feel a bit worn down, perhaps counter intuitively, I feel that is a sign that I am not doing enough. Entropy may win, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make things better in time we have. Entropy may win, but we have to keep fighting it. The problem then is not that I’m fighting entropy. It’s that I’m not fighting it enough. Obviously I still manage, if I’m getting out there and doing my thing. But I can’t be content with that. Before I get distracted again, though? There’s more to do.


My life is full of great people I love and care for, but I doubt most days there will ever be someone. That feeling laces itself into the way I process my life, when I say not entirely joking I’m going to spend the rest of my life in this one-bedroom in Inner Richmond alone. It laces itself into buying single tickets to concerts and checking with little more than my calendar before I make the purchase. It laces itself into the way I act when I’m around other people, especially new people. It’s frustrating going through the motions when I know where those motions most likely lead. That may sound overly pessimistic or self-fulfilling; I try to push that line of thinking aside. But understand that as much as I enjoy meeting and interacting with new people, it’s also just another opportunity to be insulted and let down, intentional or otherwise. If I’m wary it’s because I have reason to be.

It’s something that’s frequently on my mind, but someone shared this piece that got me thinking about it again. Even as someone who’s lived in urban areas since college, someone who has never been married, someone who is much closer to being on the right side of the age divide in terms of finding more accepting people, a lot of those points resonate. While I’ve probably never used the word despair, that’s an accurate word for the feeling. I can, and still do, lead a fulfilling and full life. I have been and continue to be quite fortunate in so many other regards that it can help assuage that feeling. But I never have a plus one when I’m invited to something, and I frequently account for the odd chair at the table. I don’t see that changing any time soon either.

Being open to possibilities is great thing. Whether they are good or bad, it was something I had to figure out how to do when I came out, something I’ve tried to hold onto as an attitude since. Many trans individuals steel themselves for the inevitable losses. We celebrate when they are minimal. Think about that for a minute. The best case scenario for most trans people coming out and being themselves is hopefully we don’t lose too much. I didn’t lose my job, or my place, or my family, or most of my friends. In being myself, I’ve picked up a lot of awesome people along the way, and I definitely feel better sharing who I am with the people in my life. But instead of it just being a given that people will not be awful, it’s the hope that the fewest number possible will be. Imagine how that informs someone’s life.

If learning to be open with myself and others was a major hurdle, learning to be realistic was not. For years, I was barraged with messages that I could not possibly be a woman, whether it was because I saw no examples, what box someone checked when I was born, how I was socialized, or how I felt I would never fit in even if I managed to get over everything else. Learning to get over all of that does not equate to learning to forget it, though. I will always be tempered by those experiences. I thought for so long being myself, my whole self, was not possible. Even if I’ve since learned my definition of realistic needed some work, I’ve fostered an attitude where I’m still constantly surprised about the good things that happen. Even if so many things have gone well, I have to be aware things can all change quite quickly. So the realistic part of me still finds the idea of dating daunting. Finding a guy who is open-minded enough to see me as who I am, a woman, not a fetish, not someone trying to turn them gay or whatever other bullshit masculine philosophy they uncritically buy into, is a tough thing. That’s the baseline I’m working with. That’s before hoping that all the strange little things that happen to make a relationship happen occur. I know that’s possible, I see examples of it, but so far, I’ve been let down far more often than I’ve been picked up.

Still, I know I have to try. At least in the sense that things do not just magically happen, even if the deck is stacked. If I don’t feel like putting in too much sometimes, can you really blame me? If I spend nights alone in my apartment occasionally overwhelmed by despair? Why put in the effort on something that doesn’t feel all that likely anyway? Those feelings don’t exist in a vacuum. I have all these other great things going on in my life that take effort too. Is some of that learned societally? No doubt we are also barraged with messages supporting notions of the magic of romantic love and special someones. There are aspects worth breaking down in how we view relationships, how we treat people both in and not in them. But I think our desire for companionship and finding people who gets us runs deeper than that. Perhaps I’m a bit too cynical to uncritically accept the idea that there’s one special person out there; rather, I think that one special person is perhaps more fungible than we’re willing to admit. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to find out for myself. I want to find someone who sees me not just as who I am, but someone who sees my possibility, someone who sees the best version of me. I constantly face the feeling that I don’t deserve that, or that I’ll be lucky to find that, feelings still deeply ingrained in me. There are parts of this that I have to work on. I freely admit that. But it’s not just on me. There are wider aspects that others have to face such how society treats trans people, our rigid notions of masculinity. I can’t do this on my own. I don’t want to do this on my own. And I shouldn’t have to.

Maybe The Time Is Right

Maybe The Time Is Right

The speakers hiss as I drop the needle
onto what was once my parents’ copy of War.
Over the years, I’ve traded plastic for wax.
Though I flirted with vinyl in my youth,
it took me a while to admit I’m a woman
whose style is more LP than CD.
Maybe it’s just the time is right,
that it’s easier now, though there’s a lot
I missed out on as a teenager and
it has cost me quite a bit to make up for that.
Turns out the records my parents gave me
are just a few of the many I’ve had to replace.

Never Enough


Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing enough. Mind you, it’s a bit tenebrous what enough means most of the time, it’s just a worry I have periodically. Should I write more? Should I read more? Should I see check out this band? Should I try to get in another run? Should I make it down to the SF LGBT Center for this event? I definitely haven’t been writing much recently, though the amount of reading I’ve done recently has ticked back up again recently. Even if I go to a lot of shows, there are always ones I have circled on the calendar that I still don’t make. As much as I make a concerted effort, I really haven’t maintained much of a running schedule. And as much as I want to be more involved at times with trans causes, sometimes I find it all a bit overwhelming. I don’t know if other people feel this way, but I have this strange feeling in my day-to-day life where I’m surrounded by cis people that I am too trans and the feeling I am not trans enough whenever I am with a lot of trans people. Not that there’s a way to be trans, or that it’s true or anything. To me, it’s just that reminder that I’m always getting over the idea of how to be that was instilled by a cisnormative society, no matter how long I’ve been living authentically. Even being trans, it can still be easy to judge things with a cisnormative lens. Society inculcates us to view the world in such a way. That’s why it’s incumbent to break down those views, to instill new ones. Perhaps, to some degree, that feeling is a reminder that I feel like I should do more, whether more is taking a minute to have a discussion with someone or giving more time and money to worthy causes.

There’s a line between challenging yourself to do more and doing too much in an unhealthy manner, though. And with trans stuff, there’s also a balance between trying to do more to help improve the world (in whatever ways big or small one might) and still doing all the other things one might want to, which is the point of trying to stake those advances anyway. I don’t want to use that as an excuse, it’s just that no one can always be on, and there are lots of things I want to do. And while we live in a society that still worships the cult of busy), it’s important to figure out how to take care of oneself when surrounded by that. Sometimes, taking care of myself means not doing very much at all. Other times, it does mean a pretty full schedule. But there’s always going to be too much to do and there’s nothing special about working too much and not leaving time for the things we might want to. Of course, not everyone has that luxury. I get that. But I do have that time. What should I do with it?


We have a dishwasher in my office. Offices are a curious environment. There are numerous people who leave dishes in the sink. While I do that at home, I don’t share my sink with anyone, so I don’t feel like it’s an issue. It’s always going to be my problem. In the work kitchen? You are making that everyone’s problem. In addition, I run the dishwasher, but the only other person I know who ran it regularly is no longer in our office. Which means that even though several other people contribute to the dishes, I feel like I’m the one who’s always running it or emptying it. Classically, it’s game theory in action, and I appreciate that. Why do the work someone else will? In reality, that’s a pretty shitty way to act. One of my coworkers has staked out a middle ground where he washes his own dishes and leaves them to dry on top of the microwave. When I expressed a little frustration no one else seemed to be running or emptying the dishwasher, he stated he was not part of the problem. Unfortunately, that doesn’t make him a part of the solution.

Recently, I feel like I’ve been firmly ensconced in a life where I’m not a part of the problem. Which is good. It’s nice to not be a part of the problem. But there’s an important distinction between I am not a part of the problem and I am a part of the solution. They both reflexively answer whether you are a problem, or actively causing harm, but only one is actually represents doing something to try and change that. Or at least doing that beyond the sphere of yourself. I feel like I’ve done a good job of moving in my lifetime from being a part of the problem in terms of many of my attitudes and actions. But occasionally, I feel stuck there. How do I move past that?

I’m no proselytizer, but I am definitely willing to talk about my ideas and experiences. I don’t feel like that’s an area where I need to do more because it’s up to you what you think about something. All I can do is say my piece and I feel like I do. I can’t think for you anymore than you can for me. I do act by passive means; whether that’s cutting a check as events come up or dropping off a few items when the roll out whatever collection bin they have set up at the office, I definitely am trying to direct a bit more that way. But again, that’s just a passive thing. It’s still something, and it’s still a good thing to do, but I don’t feel an active role in checking a box, picking a number, and sending the funds on their merry way or finding a few stray cans of soup in my cupboards.

Perhaps it was inchoate at the time, but I feel that’s what’s driving a lot of the decisions I’ve made recently, little individual things like getting back to biking, going vegan, etc. I still feel like a lot of those things are more not being a part of the problem than actively doing anything. It is, perhaps, just a frame of reference. They are things I can do (and have done). Perhaps what I need, or at least what I want, is something more tangible, something I can see the results of. No matter what I do, there’s always something more to do. I don’t say this in a negative way. There’s always going to be too much to do as well, but I still have the agency to decide what things I want to do (within reason of course). Just because of that doesn’t mean I should get overwhelmed by it. If I want to do different things than what I currently am doing, the questions remain the same: what’s important to me? What should I do?


As a record collector I understand the desire for more, but it becomes a battle of whether I own my records or my records own me at times. Do I really need Lolita Nation? Or that copy of Snowball I just missed out on up on eBay? I don’t even listen to my records all that much these days. Part of that is just not being home that much. Part is being a good neighbor. Part is that it’s hockey season so a lot of my nights at home I’ve got different media on. It’s hard to say I need my records in a real tangible way. But they are important to me. They are a part of who I am. They say something about me. What I choose to own, what I choose to keep around, what I chose to keep when I moved, those things are reflections of who I am, whether they are reflections of taste, fortune, or whatever else you may see.

I don’t see demands on our time as that different. There’s always going to be too much to do, see, consume; there is always going to be more to do to support what you are passionate about, in my case, trans issues, music, biking, etc. Some of those I can choose to engage more, some come up more often. If we’re lucky, we have the time, energy, and facility to do the things we are passionate about. And what we do is a reflection of who we are. There is always too much. I just have to decide what to do with my time, and some of that may well be sitting in my couch catching up on the latest episode of Arrow, and there is nothing wrong with that. I can’t always be an advocate; I can’t always fight. Maybe you can, but I just don’t have that kind of energy. It’s too taxing. I need mindless nights making guacamole and fiddling with my bike and doing things that don’t require me to think (that still need to be done). Those things are important too. Perhaps I can do more to actively make more of my time when it comes to helping and supporting people, but I am at least confident I have reached a point where what I do with my time, how I act, how I interact with the world around me is not actively causing harm. Now, it’s just the matter of taking that next step, of continuing to moving forward.

It’s important not to judge yourself too much by the pace of others. Of course seeing other people excel and do more can give any of us inspiration. The converse, though, is that we can get discouraged when our progress does not happen at the same pace. We all get there at our own pace. Running more frequently has taught me it’s paramount to run my pace, not get caught up trying to catch the person on the path in front of me or the person who just jetted by. Of course it’s important to drive yourself sometimes, to try a little harder, to try to do more. But the important part is that we keep going. Some people do seem to have gotten there sooner, wherever there is. They seem more actualized, more together, more whatever. But that’s just a different facet of modern life, of how social media affects our perceptions of what we do, who we are, and how we spend our time. And maybe they really are, but they’re not you. You’re you. Trust me, it’s a lot of work to figure out how to be yourself sometimes. That’s okay. I’m still figuring it out too.

Lay Bare The Cupboards

I used to clean when I was putting stuff off. Now I clean to put things back together. Perhaps that’s a subtle distinction, though that could be said of many things in life. Either way, I have spent today giving my kitchen a thorough cleaning, one it has deserved for some time now. I have been cooking a bit more the past couple months, so it was definitely overdue; besides, it was nice to do something automatic that gave me time to think. Not that I don’t normally have time to think. Just that it gave me time to think in the proper reference. It’s been a while since I sat down to write. I’ve jotted down a couple things, as they’ve come to me or as time has allowed, but mostly, I just don’t feel like I’ve had much to say recently. I could say it’s because I’ve been sick or because I’ve had a lot of shows or whatever I might say, but it’s more honest to say I just did not feel like putting time into it.

We are all the authors of our lives, as much as circumstances allow. I’d rather write my own story, because if I don’t, someone else will. But sometimes that means not writing; sometimes that just means getting out there and living. Sometimes it doesn’t involve getting out there at all, but that doesn’t equate to sitting down with a notebook or jotting notes between sets or firing up Word when I get home. There are shows to go to, baked goods to make, runs to go on, beers to drink with friends, and friends yet to make waiting in lines at shows or at the tables of Zeitgeist. In the end, though? Writing is how I organize my thoughts best. It’s how I explore those thoughts best.

I feel like I’ve had nothing but short thoughts recently, pithy little things that play well on Twitter. Sometimes the pithy plays host to quite real fears, sometimes a tweet lays it bare, but the nature of the medium makes it funnier. Or at least makes it seem funnier. A meditation on comparing mixing bowls and food processors might lead me to joke that I’ll have nothing left for a wedding registry (but that’s okay, they are going out of style anyway). Behind that, though? There are those real fears of loneliness, isolation, and sadness that it seems unlikely to change anytime soon. Sometimes the only way to beat those thoughts is not thinking about them or avoiding the long-form, sticking to a little tweet and another drink. It is, perhaps, just a safe medium to put something out there. For someone else and myself. Sometimes I want to get it out because I don’t want to think about it any more.

Other times, I feel like I’m just covering the same ground, explaining the same frustrations again and again. Explaining things I shouldn’t even have to explain. I am glad I’m a more open person now, but that means I have to remind myself that it’s not my job to explain who I am to everyone. Still, I am pretty open to talking about my life experiences, and I feel like it’s a pretty easy thing for me to do. But that’s just one trans woman’s experience, and not even a terribly interesting one most of the time. And while it can be a humanizing sort of thing to do, sometimes it just feels like it’s never going to reach the people that I would really like to reach, irrelevant of whether that’s me taking a few minutes to talk or a few minutes to write or whatever it might be.

Every time I spend some good time cleaning my kitchen, I look for a better place to store something, a better way of handling it or labeling it or making it accessible. Sometimes things just stack up because I don’t want to deal with them. And sometimes my thoughts are like that too. Sometimes I’ve just have to take stock of what’s kicking around in my head or on my phone or in my notebooks, clean it up, put away what’s worth keeping, and throw away the rest. I’m going to have to deal with the mess eventually. There are still going to be the joys and frustrations that I deal with daily in the process of living an authentic life whether I share them with you or not, the fears of loneliness, the annoyances of missed socialization, the happiness of finding that next vintage dress that fits just so, or anything in between. Every act of talking with someone or writing is an act of precision, of trying to figure out an even better way of explaining what I’m thinking and how I am processing life, whether that’s how I eat or who I get around or who I am on a fundamental level as a woman, to myself and to others. It’s time to lay bare the cupboards, give them a good wipe down, and stock them once more. Metaphorically or otherwise.

Where Do You See Yourself In Five Years?


My employer has a pretty standard set of interview questions, and since it’s been a long time since I interviewed externally, that’s all I’ve had to deal with over the years. They are much more focused on how you’ve handled a situation in the past and much less concerned about how you will handle hypothetical future situations near as I can tell. I’ve also been on the asking side, so I’ve seen some of the methodology. But I can tell you the book does not have any of those esoteric questions (at least that I saw) about what kind of pizza topping you’d be or how to solve random problems that you would never actually encounter like what you’d do if stranded on the moon with these five objects or where you see yourself in five years. This isn’t to denigrate those questions. Well, except for the last one. That one, while not worthless, is the kind of question I like least, a question that just opens people up to poor answers. Seriously, what are you going to say to a question like that? I understand the point, but I can’t even tell you what I’m going to be doing tomorrow, let alone in five years. I can tell you what I plan to be doing (which I see as the point to some degree), but the problem is the further away you get from what you are trying to forecast, the more difficult it gets, the less useful that plan becomes. I am working in a role that essentially didn’t exist 10 years ago, and sometimes I’m applying for jobs that didn’t even exist five years ago. I’m supposed to forecast that? Anyway, it’s really hard for us to figure out where we are going. It’s great to have ideas about where you want to go; I have them too. It’s just important to occasionally look back and see just how off-base they were because we’re really bad at predicting the future. It’s hard enough to trace a path back. If my previous boss had asked me where I saw myself in five years when I got my last job, I probably would have said Wells Fargo, but I don’t know if I would have believed it. I probably wouldn’t have said San Francisco. If I had, it would have been a guess on a very long list of guesses.


Recently I decided to go vegan. I’ve been building to it for a while, honestly. And I had just reached a point where I said to myself, you know what, why not? If you want some grandiloquent explanation as to why, I’m afraid I don’t have one. Health is a consideration, of course. And ethically speaking, I get the arguments, but that wasn’t a tipping point for me. It’s the same with the environmental impacts. I get all of those things, but I can’t give you a nice succinct statement as to why if that’s what you really want because I don’t have one myself. Because I can seems like a weird way to answer that question, but it’s the closest to the truth.

Now I’m not here to tell you what you should do. All we can do is put information in front of each other. It’s up to us as individuals to decide what to do with it. And honestly, I don’t really care what you choose to eat. That’s up to you. That’s not a judgment, either. That’s how I approach my own life as well. I have to be the one to make the decisions, no matter what anyone else says. It’s something I learned to truly embrace when I came out, and it’s been a guiding force in my life ever since. Many things, we have to do ourselves. This isn’t to say that we don’t have good support networks that help us, or that some of us don’t have better opportunities or access than others. Some of us obviously do. I’m no exception. It’s just to say that even with those sorts of things, we all still have decisions to make that no one can make for us. Whether we can follow through with them? That is a different discussion altogether. But in this case, where I am right now, with what I have access to? I can.

I live in a time where it’s easier to go vegan because there are a lot more options. I have access to tools, simple things that make life easier like a smartphone that can help me find places nearby that I might not have known about otherwise or even a reliable internet connection at home to figure out the same things. I live in a place where I really have a lot of options when I go out to eat, or even when I’m buying groceries. Of course it still takes effort; there’s still work and considerations and questions when I go out. There’s still habits to change. But mostly, it’s just that I’m in a different place in my life than I was years ago, a time and place where it just makes a lot more sense to me. Whether it’s because the ethical cost of the decisions I make wears more on me now or it’s because I’m more cognizant of what I put in my body because I just can’t get away with what I could even five years ago or just that I can is hard to pinpoint. It’s probably all of those things, and a lot more. Was it a possible future in the past? Of course, because here I am. Was it a probable future? That, I’d have to say, seemed less likely even a couple years ago. And yet, here I am.


The Golden Gate Bridge is about a mile and a half across. I’ve walked it a couple times and I’ve ridden my bike across it a couple times as well, but finally, on Saturday, I did something I’ve been meaning to do for a while now: I ran across it. It was kind of annoying, to be honest. Super-windy and full of tourists that weren’t paying any attention. And while I’m used to some degree of that in Golden Gate Park, at least there they can hear me when I try to get their attention. But the views? You really can’t beat them. Plus, it’s a beautiful run to get there from my place, up and through the Presidio and out to the old batteries. I ended up going it was just over 11 miles. It was a nice way to kick off my Saturday morning, though it meant I didn’t particularly care to do much else the rest of Saturday.

I’m not entirely sure at what point the switch flipped, but since I’ve lived here, I’ve come to think of myself more as a runner. I hated it in high school, and over the years had sporadic bursts where I tried to run a bit more, but I never really put anything solid together until just before I moved here. And while it’s still a challenge to get out as much as I’d like, I still find myself at least doing a 4.5 mile loop through Golden Gate Park with enough frequency, down to the bison and back, more often than I even thought I would when I moved here. Part of it is a function of the fact that it is a bit more difficult to just get on my bike and go for long bike rides here. Part of it is that I have spent more time running. Once a three mile run seemed to be an insurmountable challenge. And though I was out for quite a while yesterday, it didn’t really feel like a challenge in that same way. I was pushing my body, sure. But I knew I could do it. Like most things, a lot of running is mental. And it took me a long time to get over that initial hump, to get to that point where what was once felt like a long run is now a short run, to know I can do it instead of wondering if I could. Though I’d still like to do a better job with it, it’s less a question of when I’ll run and more a question of when I’ll do the other things I need to get done after work.


I know there are reasons why people do, but I still can’t fathom why so many people choose to drive in this city. Even when I moved here initially, when I still had my car, I chiefly drove it once every week or so to make a Target run. It was not something I used to get around town. Have you tried driving here? It’s awful. And though it took me a while after I got rid of it, I have finally become the bike commuter I knew I could be if I just didn’t have a car. Of course there are times I miss it. I probably would have gone to Bridge School with a car; not that it would have necessarily been quicker, just that it would have given me greater latitude. As it was, I didn’t particularly want to deal with Caltrain, and no one I knew expressed any great interest, so my next trip to Mountain View will just have to wait.

As long as I live here, I don’t envision a future where I’ll own a car. But there I go again, forecasting. It’s hard to say. What if one of the parking spaces opened up in my building? Or if I were making more money? Or if my job were no longer in the Financial District? Lots of things could impact my decision vis-a-vis car ownership. Lots of things enable it right now, the fact that I’m able, that I live close to where I work and much of what I do after work, that it’s actually basically the fastest way to get from place to place much of the time. Suffice to say, I don’t see a time where I will enter into getting a car again lightly. I will definitely think about the impacts a decision like that much more. I no longer view driving as a birthright, something that was just what you did to get around the suburbs and reach your far-flung friends. But it stands to reason that if 33 year-old me has a drastically different view point on the issue than 18 year-old me did, who knows what 48 year-old me will think? At present, I do not know exactly what circumstances could change my opinion that I am a bike commuter and a bike commuter first. But that’s still a pretty new label for me, so perhaps I shouldn’t get too far ahead of myself.


Tomorrow morning will be like any other morning. I’ll get up for my 9-5. I bike in and it’ll take me between 24 and 26 minutes depending on which lights I catch. I’ll get a coffee at Coffee Bar, hoping the medium roast is the grab and go; I used to be a dark roast kind of person; then again I used to never drink coffee. I will sit at a job I’ve had for a year and a half and now people will ask me questions because I’m one of the experienced ones. I’ll eat a lunch I brought in because I’m in one of those phases right now, and when I’ve pushed enough widgets, I’ll reverse the bike ride back out to Inner Richmond. If there’s time, I’ll go for a run. If there’s not time, it’s probably because I’m going to a show. The World Series may well blow all those plans up. Because really, that’s all those things are. Plans. Some of those plans, like my job, are a means to an end, and something I’d never consider blowing off. You just can’t do that. Or at least I can’t. Not where I’m at right now. But most of those plans are highly fluid. Perhaps one of my coworkers will suggest Tlaloc and instead of leftovers, it’ll be an ensalada nopales and that wonderful pumpkin seed salsa they do so well. Perhaps I’ll get a text that an old friend is in town and wants to grab drinks somewhere after work. I still have the plans. I still have an idea of how tomorrow is going to go, and I still made preparations for those plans. But if you really want to know how it’s gonna go? Ask me again in a couple days.

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