The Year of Wendy

As another year draws to a close, I am inevitably called to look backward at what has been and forward to what may be.  2014 was certainly a year like no other in my life, and it certainly feels like a turning point or watershed or something equally portentous.

There are two main threads that are running through my life right now.  One thread is, for want of a better phrase, "the Transgender Experience".  I began the year in a rush of elation after a month of attending church services and other events as a woman (see The December of Wendy).  Yes, I felt very liberated by these experiences, but also confused.  Now that I had stepped farther out of the closet than ever before, what was I going to do next?  Was I going to go to church as a man or a woman, both, or neither?  At first I made it a point to reappear in my male guise for a few Sundays, just to show (to myself and others), that nothing had changed; I was still the same old me.  But I couldn't get back in the closet.  Now that I had gone to church as a woman several times, I wanted to do it again.  And again.  As the year went on, I made fewer appearances as a male, both at church services and other related activities,  When I did go as a male, it was generally due to some circumstances beyond my control, and I found that I felt frustrated in those instances.

There was one special fear that kept me at an impasse for a while: fear of performing music as a woman.  It's a situation where I can't hide--in front of everyone, the center of attention, an obviously trans person who looks more or less like a woman but sings more or less like a man.  Eventually I found the right way to negotiate this fear.  My first performance was in a group, where I could stay more in the background, singing backing vocals in a high register, performing two songs written by women.  My second performances was singing one of my own songs solo.  I eventually became pretty comfortable with performing as a woman, to the point that I sang two songs by myself and participated in a jam session only yesterday.

This year I also screened my rock opera, Transposition, for the first time in front of two small audiences.  Transposition has a transgender main character and is about the struggle of that character to come to terms with gender identity and spirituality.  It was received at both screenings with enthusiasm.

I spent more time as Wendy this year than ever before; I averaged about once a week.  That doesn't seem like much, but considering the previous years I averaged once every two or three months, it's a huge jump.  For the first time, I was able to explore social situations consistently as a woman.  I'm still trying to figure out what kind of woman I am or could be, but fortunately, I've got a lot of strong, intelligent, quirky, and all around fabulous women for role models.  Really, I've only just begun to integrate the long-compartmentalized sides of me into one whole person.

Finally, there was the dawning conscious realization of what I long knew in my heart of hearts: I want to be a woman.  I found (with trepidation) that I was already moving on a path that could lead to a full-time transition to social womanhood.

I mentioned two threads; the other thread is "The Caregiver Experience".  My wife's health has been deteriorating for some years now, and our relationship has gone from being equal partners and best friends to more like me being a parent and she being a child.  She is basically helpless and completely dependent on me now.  Much of the spring and summer of this year was spent in hospitals and inpatient rehab.  This fall she seemed to decline rapidly for a time; and while she has made some improvements in the past month, it's clear that the end is coming.  It could be tomorrow, or in a year or two, but it's coming.  I've prepared for it about as much as one can do, but I know I will be devastated when it comes.  Meanwhile, we exist in a limbo.  Our love is intact, but her capacity to understand what is going on around her is greatly diminished.  Consequently, I feel lonely much of the time.  My best friend is still there, yet she's not there.  My life is going on, hers is drawing to a close.

To be honest, I dread the coming year.  I don't see any path forward that doesn't lead through hell.  Maybe more than one hell.  It's clear that I want--no, need--to spend more time as a woman, perhaps even all the time, but I don't see any way of doing that that doesn't lead to great loss and pain.  Add to that the loss and pain of my soul mate's decline and eventual death, and it becomes something so big that I doubt my ability to get through it.  I'm a strong person, but this seems too much to bear.  I've been pretty depressed lately, brought to my knees by the enormity of it all.  All I can do is try to stand up and put one foot in front of the other, praying for unexpected grace, hoping for an unlooked-for path to open up.  Or barring that, the strength to keep breathing and pushing through to daylight again.

Sticks and Stones...

Recently I made the mistake of reading the comments section of an online article about transgender actress and activist Laverne Cox.  By now I should know better than to ever read the comments section.  They are almost always filled with hateful language that sends me reeling.  Words can hurt.

When I was about thirteen, I went from being a fairly happy-go-lucky child to a self-hating, morose teenager.  It was all about words; words from an authority I trusted: The King James Bible.  Perusing my grandmother's huge and ancient family bible one day, I stumbled upon Deuteronomy 22:5:

The woman shall not wear that which pertaineth unto a man, neither shall a man put on a woman's garment: for all that do so are abomination unto the Lord thy God.

I was struck to the heart. I had been crossdressing for as long as I can remember, but not until this moment did I feel guilty about it.  Yes, I knew it wasn't socially acceptable, but I really didn't think it was morally wrong until now.  Now I was branded an abomination, "a thing that causes disgust or hatred", according to my dictionary.  It was the beginning of a long, dark period in my life.

No matter how I prayed for help, though, I could never stop dressing in women's clothing at nearly every opportunity.  I called myself the most horrible names: Sinner. Evil. Abomination. I cried in anguish and despair.  I hated myself so deeply at times that it's a wonder I didn't try to commit suicide.  I heard words at school, meant to ridicule and wound, and wondered if they applied to me: Sissy. Queer. Fag. Homo. Gay.  I policed my movements and speech in order to hide any suggestion of femininity.

When I was a little older, I started looking at psychology books for more insight into why I wanted to dress and act like a woman.  Many of the books were old, and none of them were very enlightened.  I got some new words for my internal collection: Pervert. Deviant. Neurotic. Sick. Crazy.

By this time I was filled so deeply with self-loathing and shame that I could not conceive of anyone actually loving, or even liking me, if they knew the truth about me.  I felt had to carefully maintain a facade of likeability to hide what I really was underneath.  Like a chameleon, I tried to blend in. At the same time, I castigated myself with more words: Impostor. Fake. Phony. Liar.

Thankfully, I eventually turned a corner and headed in a healthier and more positive direction.  I've come a long way, baby.  But those hateful words are still rattling around in my head, and when I read or hear transphobic speech those words can come alive again, buzzing, swarming, and stinging like angry bees.  Sickened, I feel myself teetering on the edge of depression, and sometimes I fall in.

Words can hurt.  Why do some people lash out at others, using hateful words to inflict pain?  Why do some people torture themselves with those same poisoned words? There is enough pain and suffering in this life. Be kind to each other. Be kind to yourself. No more hurtful words.

"Afraid of Knowing Where I Belong..."

Way back in 2001 or thereabouts, I wrote a song called "Pariah".  The lyrics are a bit cryptic, but it's basically about a person who goes crazy at work and starts singing and dancing in their cubicle until they're carried off.  Some of the lyrics, though, are less fantasy and more autobiography:

     Daring to dream I'm as good as you
     Was I made in His image, too?
     Once I thought I knew (Afraid of knowing where I belong)

Even then, I was acknowledging that I was afraid of knowing the truth about myself.  And I have been pretty successful in my denial.  In fact, for someone who is so introspective, my capacity for self-deception is astonishing.  Even as I type this, I hesitate in stating the unvarnished truth.

I want to be a woman.

There it is.  To be fair, I have long admitted that "in a perfect world", I would choose to live in a more feminine role.  If there were a third gender role, I would belong to that gender.  But this is the real, imperfect world, and it's time I confront what I really want for the rest of my life in this world.

I have been thinking about transition a lot in the past year or so.  Trying it on for size in my mind--if I transitioned to full-time womanhood, what would I do in this or that situation.  Most likely another transition--my wife's decline in health and the inevitable end of that decline--has been a stimulus, forcing me to examine what my life will be like after she's gone.  And middle age is a time to reexamine the road you're on.  Yesterday morning I was brought up short when I suddenly realized that I am already transitioning!

When did it start?  When I started coming out to people at church?  When I starting writing a transgender rock opera?  Or is it more recently, when I started laser hair removal on my face?  That was certainly taking it to a whole new level.  My decision to start coming to church services as Wendy was probably the real turning point.  At first I was a little ambivalent, but as I've grown more comfortable and confident I've gotten to the point that I'm reluctant to go as a male.  I've started going to other social events as a woman as well--keeping within my comfort zone, but pushing the envelope all the same.

There are other ways that I am not-entirely-consciously preparing the way for a full-time existence.  For quite some time I have been reluctant to spend any money on men's clothing.  I need to replace several articles of clothing that are becoming old and worn-out, but am uninterested in doing so.  I just can't bring myself to buy a new pair of men's shoes or shirts or underwear.  I am forever planning more hair removal on pretty much my entire body, and other cosmetic changes like a more feminine hairstyle and pierced ears (and forever procrastinating).

Beyond mere appearance, I have become more reluctant to identify myself as a man.  When my wife refers to me as her husband or as a man, I feel little gnat bites of pain in my heart.  I am beginning to identify more with my women friends and less with my men friends.  I have long counted myself a feminist, but take it more personally than I used to.  Generally, my gender dysphoria is on the increase.

So is it inevitable that I will transition to full-time womanhood?  I don't know.  There are so many rational reasons not to, reasons I have spelled out in other blog entries.  Who would choose to do something that could cost them family, friends, and employment?  Who would give up male privilege for the misogyny, inequality and downright belittlement women have to deal with all the time?  Even more, who in the world would want to be a visibly transgender woman and risk ridicule, harassment, violence and death at the hands of transphobic rednecks?  Who would transition in northeast Tennessee, for Pete's sake?!?

Can my rational and well-founded fears stop my heart's yearning?  Once I thought I knew.

Afraid of knowing where I belong...


 

Coming Out Stories

A Night at the Opera

I thought that it would be nice to share some of my coming out stories on this National Coming Out day.  Yes, stories plural--I am not out everywhere and to everyone, but I have come out to quite a few people at different times over the years.

The first person I ever came out to was my best friend.  We were both in our early twenties, I was deeply closeted and had never heard the word "transgender".  I was also a teetotaler.  After I heard him talking--with some amusement, but not unkindly--about some Penthouse letter he read in which the letter-writer, a man, confessed he liked to crossdress, my deep dark secret began to burn a hole in my soul.  I needed desperately to confide in someone.  So I arranged to hang out with my friend one evening when his roommate was gone.  I told him I wanted to try drinking some alcohol; I thought I could only overcome my fear of telling someone if I got drunk.  In truth, I don't think he gave me a great deal of alcohol, but in the early hours of the night, I finally, haltingly, told him that I liked wearing women's clothing.  He was very kind, even tender, as he assured me it was OK.

The next day, things were a little awkward.  He didn't seem to want to talk about or reference the night before, though he did call me later on to make sure I was all right.  In the years to come, he ran hot and cold about the subject.  Sometimes he didn't want to hear about it, other times he did and seemed fascinated.  He did eventually see me as Wendy, once, but I think it unnerved him a bit.  In recent years, we have lost touch.

In 1998, I began attending a transgender support group in Knoxville called Swans.  In the course of just four months, I went from being totally in the closet to hanging out with other trans people and even going out in public a couple of times.  I was riding high in what is sometimes called the Pink Fog: a state of euphoria brought on by the sudden release of my transgender feelings.  In this state, I determined that the time was right to come out to my parents.  After all, they were fairly liberal, relatively speaking.  I wasn't sure I could verbally tell them, though, so I wrote them a long letter (we don't communicate very well).  I told them that I was a crossdresser, but not to worry, I was not crazy and had no intention of transitioning to female.  I mailed the letter and waited in an agony of anticipation.  In a few days, I got a phone call; my mother assured me that everything was all right, that they loved me just the same.  Relief flooded through me and I felt on top of the world.

Then the other shoe dropped.  I got a letter in the mail in which my mother expressed all her fears (and my father's).  She was not surprised by my revelation, but my father was devastated.  They felt that I was deluded and perhaps under the pernicious influence of the people in the support group.  Their counsel was to get back into the closet and tell no one.  I was stunned; my euphoria was drowned under a tidal wave of depression.  My next visit with them was very strained.  I tried to bring the subject up with my mother, but it was clear that she was very uncomfortable talking about it.  When I showed up one weekend wearing shorts with my legs shaved, I was asked to wear long pants in future visits because I was upsetting my father.  Later, when I started growing my hair longer, my father unleashed a contemptuous verbal assault upon me.  He later apologized (after a fashion) in an email.  As it stands today, our relationship is cordial, but strained; we have established a don't-ask-don't-tell detente.

The third and final story I want to share today is a happier one.  After attending a Unitarian Universalist church for a few months I had become friends with a lady who, like me, sang in the choir.  She played violin and wanted a guitar accompanist; she and I began playing music together, and in that way we gradually got to know each other better.  In fact, despite a significant difference in ages (she was older than me), we became good friends.

One Sunday a member of our church, who happened to be gay, delivered a moving sermon about a transgender friend of his; I think his purpose was to raise awareness of trans people and issues.  I was very affected by this, and again, I had a burning desire to tell someone.  By this time I had been going to the support group for years (though it was ending) and was much more self-assured, but still this part of my life was very compartmentalized.  Anyway, I decided to tell my new friend.  I sat down with her and told her my little spiel and showed her a few pictures.  Her reaction was astonishing.  She was very interested in knowing more, was smiling broadly.  In a few minutes, she was going through her jewelry for clip-on earrings I could borrow and had me trying on high heels she no longer wore.  I had never felt such total and instant acceptance from a cisgender person before.  My head was spinning.

In the ensuing months, our relationship deepened.  She wanted to meet me as Wendy, face-to-face.  When I stood before her, feeling vulnerable, she embraced me and whispered, "It's nice to meet, you, Wendy".  She continually supported and even egged me own.  Our first night out together was as two women, watching an opera in Knoxville.  Our first vacation together was as two women, also; a trip to Charleston, SC, and nearby beaches.  Though I had difficulty dealing with the difference in our ages at first, we fell in love and eventually married.  She has always been my staunchest supporter and has never wavered in her total acceptance of all of me.

I have more stories to share, but that's enough for now.  Happy Coming Out Day!

Certainty

As I watch and listen to the emerging stories of transgender children, what strikes me the most is how certain they are about their gender.  They know they are boys or girls, in spite of what their parents and others say, in spite of what kind of bodies they were born with. I enjoy hearing these stories because they help validate the transgender experience, that this is something inborn and not caused by bad parenting or whatever.  At the same time, I'm troubled that the current transgender party line seems to be an emphasis on certainty; trans people are 100% sure of their gender, that there is no doubt and was never any doubt.  That doesn't jibe with my experience, though I did tell my mother when I was a small child that I wanted to be a girl.  It's safe to say that I'm not sure of much of anything, at least not for long (that's probably why I'm a Unitarian Universalist). 

So what am I sure of, as pertains to gender?

1. I know I like to wear women's clothing, jewelry, and makeup.  I've been doing it since the age of three, though my parents made it clear that it was not acceptable.
2. I want to look more like a woman.  I spend a lot of time thinking about what steps I can take to make myself look more feminine (under the radar).  I would prefer having a feminine hairstyle, more feminine curves, and a lot less body hair.
3. I usually feel a deep sense of peace and rightness when I'm in feminine mode.  When I look in the mirror and see a woman looking back at me, my soul says "yes". 
4. I'm generally more comfortable in the company of women than men.  I could care less about the things that most men talk about, while I often find women's conversations interesting.  All my healthcare providers (family doctor, dentist, optometrist, etc.) are women.  I like chick flicks--well, at least some of them.
5. I feel pretty comfortable interacting with people as a woman.  I feel more sociable, somehow.  And I like being addressed with a feminine name, pronouns, and honorifics.  I don't even mind it when someone calls me "ma'am" when I'm in male mode.
6. I'm very sensitive and empathetic.  It's not uncommon for me to get teary-eyed during a tender moment, or to feel real pain when seeing someone else suffer.

Does all this mean that I'm really a woman?  Beats me!  I really don't know what it means to be sure of your gender.  It just doesn't compute with me.  I'm sure that I'm me, that's all.  And I'm also sure that:

1. I've been socialized from birth as a male.  I know how to navigate social settings as a male pretty well.
2. I have a male body and am comfortable with my "plumbing".
3. I have a male voice.  Especially important for someone who sings, my voice falls within the male range.
4. I'm attracted to women.
5. I've built a career as a male and have generated a lot of good will that has helped me stay employed through numerous layoffs, corporate buyouts, etc.
6. Society often exacts a heavy price on those who publicly cross gender lines.  Sometimes it's marginally OK to change from one gender to the other, as long as you're never ambiguous and are certain about your gender identity (from birth, if possible).

So add all those things together, and what do you get?  I don't seem to fit comfortably anywhere.  I'm unable to pledge my allegiance to the idea that there's two, and only two genders.  Even if I someday transition to full-time womanhood, I don't think I'll ever be 100% certain.  Most likely I will always be a square peg.  But I'm not sure of that either.
 
 

Hiding in Plain Sight

I have been going out in public as a woman since early 1998; you'd think I was an old hand.  But on Sunday, after attending church services, a committee meeting, getting takeout food, fueling my car, and getting groceries, I felt a real sense of accomplishment that I was able to do all these things with little anxiety.  It felt like something new, and it took a little soul-searching to figure out why.  In a nutshell, I concluded that I was, for the moment at least, no longer hiding.

As I mentioned, I've been doing things as a woman for quite some time.  I've gone shopping and dining out too many times to count.  I've gone to museums and musicals, taken dance lessons, even went on a week-long beach vacation.  But in surveying all those experiences, I can break them down into two groups: experiences in LGBT-friendly territory and sojourns into "civilian" territory.  My strategies for dealing with each have historically been different.

For LGBT-friendly spaces, I tend to operate relatively normally; outside of my normal shyness, I have very little fear.  'Nuff said.

For "civilian" territory, my strategies have more or less been to blend in the background as much as possible, avoid attracting any attention, and for God's sake, don't talk to or look at anyone!  My anxiety levels tend to be high, and I feel very tightly wound.  Not that I've had any really horrible experiences so far.  Yes, I've been stared at, pointed at, giggled and laughed at--temporarily humiliating, not majorly traumatic.  Still, I feel much more pressure to "pass" and therefore escape unwanted attention, especially from people who react to trans folk with violence.  If I am with a cisgender person, I try to get that person to shield me from any other human contact as much as possible.  For much of my time out, that person has been the woman who is now my wife.

Take the aforementioned trip to the beach and surrounding areas.  Sounds like a trans person's dream, doesn't it?  Well, what I remember most is constant fear (that, and how much it hurts to shave closely twice a day for a week).  I was a walking bundle of apprehension, and my now-wife did nearly everything in the way of social interaction for me.  She paid for the meals (male name on the credit card, you see).  She bought the tickets to attractions.  She made the phone calls.  Meanwhile, I was like a little child clinging to my mother's skirts.  It was a relief to change back to male mode just to get away from the fear (well, and the shaving).  And so it continued for much of the next decade; despite her efforts to encourage (and sometimes goad) me, I largely depended on her to shield me from human contact.  And then, illness crept in and she became unable to be a companion and buffer on my forays out into the world.

Left to my own devices, I was forced to come up with new strategies.  For a while I stopped going places as Wendy, but I couldn't retreat into the closet again for long.  I managed to fight down the fear and begin finding new outlets.  The main outlet, as documented in previous blog entries, has become my church community: first I came out to a small group, then a larger group, then the women's group, and finally, I have recently begun attending church services as a woman.  Even though our church is LGBT-friendly, and therefore in the "safe" zone, it is still enough of a stretch and demands enough social interaction that my confidence and social skills are gradually improving.  I am also finding that my increased confidence in "safe" spaces is gradually seeping into the public arena, too.  And encouraged by the example of others, I am increasingly feeling that it's OK not to pass; being openly transgender is somehow freeing (if still scary).

I think of my journey thus far as a slowly-opening flower.  An incredibly, glacially slow-opening flower, but it's opening nonetheless.  Here's hoping that it will continue to open, at whatever pace.

My Dysphoria Ain't Like Dat-phoria

(Sorry for the title, but I couldn't resist.)

I think it's pretty hard for for people to understand my particular variety of transgender.  Heck, it's pretty hard for me to understand.  Mostly that's because of the conflict between our binary conception of gender and my internal gender, which I believe falls somewhere in between male and female.

Transsexuals have the advantages of a relatively easy set of metaphors (x trapped in a y body, etc.), and a clear destination (i.e., they identify fully with a particular gender).  I'm not saying that they have it easy--they don't.  I don't think any trans person has it easy.  But I think people have an easier time understanding transsexuals because they don't call the gender binary into question so much.

Then there's me.  I do experience gender dysphoria--there is a conflict between my internal (brain) gender and my body.  However, from all I've heard and been told, it is of a different order of magnitude from most transsexuals.  I discussed this in an earlier blog entry--I don't experience distress about my genitals.  But in large part, I do wish my body was more female-looking.  I feel better and more attractive when I'm in feminine mode.  In my case, it's mostly hair that distresses me most--the scarcity of it on top and the proliferation elsewhere.  Sometimes I do wish I had breasts, and smaller hands and feet.  Occasionally, I think about taking female hormones, but am frightened by the accompanying loss of male sexual function and the fact that it would become harder to pass as a man.  My voice is another source of conflict, as I love singing, doing impressions and generally using silly voices.  I'm getting a little better at using a more feminine-sounding voice as Wendy, but if I had to sacrifice my lower register permanently I would miss it.

I do think of transitioning to full-time female sometimes.  But, unlike most of my transsexual brothers and sisters, I would feel loss at giving up my male identity.  And since my gender dysphoria is not so severe that it overrides all other concerns, and absent a third gender role in society, I'm left with a choice.  I can transition to full-time female, which I believe would be a better fit in some ways.  However, I would most certainly lose my job, and given the fact that the IT pool is so small in this area, I would almost certainly be blacklisted and either have to take a job in another profession or move.  Since the state I live in does not recognize same-sex marriage, my marriage would be invalidated if I managed to get my gender legally changed to female--not good at any time, even worse given the state of my wife's health.  Furthermore, I would be a lesbian with male genitals, which would perhaps make me even more of a social pariah.  Of course I could have GRS (Genital Reassignment Surgery), but since I really have no desire to do that, it would be a surgery forced upon me by social pressure and not something I really wanted to do.  Oh, and some, perhaps all, of my family would cut off contact with me.  The employment difficulties mentioned before would no doubt force me to move, so I would be separated from my friends--and I don't make friends quickly or easily.  This is not a very appealing scenario.

The other choice is to remain as I am--living in a male role most of the time, spending enough time in a female role to keep me sane.  It's a compromise solution, but I get to keep my job, my family, the friends I treasure.  I'm lucky in that I have an accepting spouse and a church community that has thus far shown me nothing but love and support.  Right now I'm not thinking much about the future or how my circumstance or feelings may change in times to come.  I'm just taking one day at a time, grateful for what I have.

The December of Wendy

It's been a long time since my last post. Events of the last few years have made my life increasingly chaotic and my time to devote to this blog has been, and will continue to be, limited. My wife is suffering from a degenerative disease and so she needs ever-increasing amounts of care. Plus I have involuntarily changed jobs. So, too, time for getting out and about as Wendy has decreased. Until very recently.

I had a couple of landmark events earlier in the year. Back in May I made my first appearance during a church service as Wendy. That went very well, but it was a big step and I felt I needed to draw back and get my bearings. Then in November I attended our church's Women's Retreat for the first time, to my knowledge making me the first person to have attended both Men's and Women's Retreats. That also went very well; although I only attended for one day instead of the whole weekend, I participated in a number of activities. One of the scariest in a way was doing an hour-long yoga workshop. I do yoga pretty much every day but this was my first time as Wendy. I was a bit worried about losing my wig and/or breast forms, but somehow managed to keep together. Anyway, it was an enjoyable day, I was totally accepted, and I was invited back next year.

Meanwhile, a TS woman joined our church choir, and somehow her presence spurred me toward making further appearances as Wendy during church services. I still had some apprehension about this; as I have blogged before, it is difficult to switch genders back and forth in a social setting. I felt like I almost had to renegotiate all my relationships with people who know me primarily through my male identity. I also had major apprehensions about stand up in front of everyone while singing in the choir. I talked about these things with the minister of our church; she was very encouraging and positive, and assuaged my fears for the most part.

At church

So for three Sundays in a row in December, which happened also to be special holiday services, I attended as Wendy. I even rehearsed and sang with the choir--in the tenor section. I could have sung alto, but our choir has a greater need for tenors. That felt a little odd, especially on a couple of songs where the tenors and basses sang sections without the altos and sopranos. Mostly I felt very relaxed and not out of place at all. Occasionally someone slipped and called me by my male name, but I expected that. A number of people didn't recognize me, even though I sat in my same old place and sang in the same old place. Even the choir director didn't recognize me at first, despite having been given advance notice! I was a little disconcerting having people I know walk right by me with no sign of recognition, though. I was greeted with some warm hugs and compliments, too. It was overwhelmingly a positive experience.

New Year's Eve

I followed that up with an all-too-rare shopping trip and a New Year's Eve party as well. As the party was disco-themed, I scored a pair of very gaudy sparkly silver 4-inch platform heels. I wore a formal gown and a tiara to top it all off. I had a wonderful time that night, too. I saw a number of people I hadn't seen in a while, hugged some, surprised others, danced, talked, and generally felt a warm glow. Incredibly, I didn't break an ankle in those heels, though I did lose a pair of sequined earrings.

Having ended the year in so glorious a fashion, I am now faced with questions: What now? How often am I going to attended church services as Wendy? Where am I going? But those are topics for other blog entries.