The Good Old Days?

On a Good Adventure in 
Columbus from the Jessie
Hart Archives 

As a transgender woman of a few years, I have a tendency to look back at my life. When I do, often the positive memories out number the negative ones. Of course I remember the benefits of being younger and potentially more attractive.  I had substantially fewer wrinkles as we all do when we are younger but on the negative side, I had more and darker beard growth.  These days I can get away for the occasional close shave every couple of days with no electrolysis ever. 

Then there were all the other days when I seemingly wanted to force my way out of my closet by making very bad fashion choices and ended up being ridiculed by a discerning public. For years I was sure all the public was just looking at me. Heading home extremely depressed to the point of crying most certainly were not the good old days. As with anything else in life, I needed to learn the hard way on how to properly face the public as a feminine transgender woman before I could experience the days I remember so fondly now.

Ironically, so many of my so called positive experiences were more adventures than anything else. Since I was always under a self imposed curfew to be home and undressed before my wife arrived back from her job, I seemed some nights I was literally counting the minutes. Those were the early nights when I was approached by several different lesbians in a small venue I went to often. Perhaps on those adventures I did too good of a job projecting myself as a "lipstick" lesbian where I went with my tight jeans, boots and long blond hair. On the other hand, the more likely possibility was the other women knew what they were getting into and were just considering some experimentation. In those days my old male ego was still with me completely and I was very vain about how I looked as a woman. 

Another reason I had adventures was I put myself into situations where I could find them. I actively sought out venues where the possibility of being harassed ran high, just to see if I could get by. Those were the evenings I had the cops called on me all the way to being asked to leave one venue. Plus the worst night I can ever remember was when another woman verbally assaulted me in the women's restroom by calling me a pervert. Definitely not the good old days. Destiny was kind to me though. Normally when I was at my lowest point mentally with my long drawn out gender transition something came along to encourage me. I would use the term "gender euphoria" but I think all of this occurred well before the term was invented. What was really happening was I was beginning to learn the basics of gender survival I would need to survive a very rocky journey. I needed to learn the hard way being a woman was so much more than appearance. How I walked the walk and talked the talk became so much more important to me. Of course I still wanted to look my best and I kept my weight down as well as keeping my skin as feminine as possible. I began to look at shaving as the ultimate defoliator. 

All we can ask for in life is to get an even break. Even though the good old days may not have been that good, I was fortunate in that I was able to learn from them and survive.