Taking off and landing: learning to live as transgender

Swan landingSome people take a few quick paddles, spread their wings, and up they go. Then, with a perfect glide, they find where they want to be and settle with hardly a ripple or feather undisturbed. I wouldn’t want to equate myself with a swan, but have you seen them take off and land? There’s a lot of bird in the serene, white creatures that, in facing pairs, form a romantic heart! Well, that’s me too. Maybe I appear calm and flowing, even romantic – but new things in life keep me beating the waves a bit too long. But at least I fly, and I know my take-offs and landings aren’t always tidy.

This site is so we can share a bit of transgender life – the take-offs and landings – and maybe discover some good things! I write (mainly poetry), I publish (and make eBooks), I edit, I design, I play the trumpet too – and I get things done. I also happen to be transsexual, and if you are interested, I want to improve the understanding and increase the respect of anyone who does not know how to handle something so ‘different’ as being transgender, and can only fear or ridicule. There are rather a lot of people like me, and this is a bit of the human story. You will find me very open and honest, but of course this can only be my own perspective. They say, ‘if you want to understand anyone, walk a mile in their shoes’. Is that right?

Here is a poem (2013) that sums up some of this experiential difference of me on the inside and you on the outside, on returning to my home to divide it up:

Through my eyes

Never mind the shoes, never mínd the mile
climb up inside me, reach over my smile

Adjust your seat, be comfy, and rise
until without strain you see through my eyes

Watch me knock, push the bell, and feel the start
where love is a stranger – yet still draws my heart

Scan books that tell stories of holidays and times
I, reading science and she, reading crimes

Climb steps to the loft, find childhoods stored
rummage things forgotten, and toys once adored

Feel grass underfoot where I mowed, where I lay
smell the flowers, stroke the cats, let it all go away

Clear the shed where the wood is cut into shapes
of parts of my home, of my heart, of my hopes

And now watch me turn, watch me leave it behind
see the images blur until we are blind

Is it something I said? Is it something I did?
Was I harsh or unloving? Infidelities hid?

Did I fall? Did I fail, for this all to be gone?
It was none of these things, just the way I was born.


And if you want a sympathetic and highly competent publisher, book designer, editor, eBook re-designer, or even websites and full corporate templating of your documents, please go to my other site at Bramley Press.