The thing I've noticed most about women is how natural they are at being women. They go about being women without a second thought. They eat, sleep, dress, work, interact, and go about their business as women. They simply live their lives as women.
I've watched men a lot too. Men, per se, are boring. I've never been interested in things men and boys do. My memories of Little League are a nightmare. You can imagine.
Why would I want to go out and trade hockey cards, when I could stay in and rearrange the furniture in my sister's dollhouse. Actually, she hated when I did that.
The boys read comic books. I read my mom's magazines. I'm laying here with the new issue of Good Housekeeping open on my lap, for chrissakes!
But even with all the thinking, supposing, wishing, pretending, and regretting; even if I could snap my fingers and be fully transitioned, it would never be natural.
I was talking to a lifelong friend named Carl, whom I've, shall we say, admired since I was fifteen. I was more jealous of his numerous, good-looking girlfriends than I was of him.
When we reconnected on Facebook many years ago, I had long since openly identified as bisexual. This came as no surprise. Basically a "Duh!" moment.
Flirtatious does not begin to cover my attitude towards him, yet he has taken it all in stride. He knows it's just banter, and our friendship is too deep for that to change (as he has assured me).
Recently, since I've identified as transgender, certain hypothetical questions have turned more serious, and the bottom line is never in our lifetimes.
Carl is uber-hetero, and does all sorts of amazing manly things. In his late fifties, he still makes me weak in the knees, so to speak. (Hi Carl, I'm waving my pink-nailed fingers at you.)
But all kidding aside, it kinda illustrates my point.
Whatever gene or chromosome or brain chemistry got mixed up, for me it will never be natural.
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