Stepping Off the Train

A post on Facebook made me think the other day. A beautiful trans woman said she’d jumped off the train for a couple of days to get some things done. I’ve seen others refer to their journey as a train ride, before.

The image of a transgender railroad train coming into the station and picking up passengers is an accurate one. I think most of us "older ladies" can remember a time when we lay in bed at night, listening to the far off train whistle and not being able to find the station.

It happened each time we looked at a mail order catalog and admired the pretty, gender exclusive clothes. We heard the whistle each time we saw our sister’s panties, in the backyard, drying on the clothesline.

The way we bought our ticket varies with each person, but we all climbed onto the train at some point in our life. Some of us jumped off, only to climb back on later. Some of us jumped off and on, trying to fight our feelings, resolving to be the gender we were born with. After a while the distant train whistle beckoned, and we bought another ticket.

Some of us were blessed with the good sense to accept who were are and stayed on the train. Each time the train pulled into the station, they welcomed the rest of us back.

At first that train had a steam locomotive, now, a fission reactor is pulling the train. The train will never stop.

There are stations in diverse places, some destinations involve GRS, FFS, and complete transformation. Hopefully, those stations lead to happiness for you. Other places lead to suicide. PLEASE, DON’T GET OFF AT THOSE STATIONS.

Recently, I jumped off the train. I don’t want to talk about the reasons, but suffice it to say, I was give a second chance, a "do over", and I’m trying, once again, to fill the role. I still hear the train whistle, however.

I’m so happy for Jennifer Bryant, Sue Lighten, Krista Ann, and so many others. They finally have their ticket punched, they are reaching their destinations.

Here’s to those who continue to cross the line with no intentions of surgery. Ladies like Kimberly Huddle, Stanna Stanna, Crysti Hart, to name only a few. I love you ladies. Your beauty and courage surpass my ability to compliment. I’m jealous of your success, although it breaks my heart to think about the struggles you’ve had.

When I think of Diva Las Vegas, Southern Comfort, Krista’s pool party, or any pride happening, my soul cries out. Those kinds of events didn’t exist when I began to understand myself, some forty-something years ago. Never the less, I will always be drawn to that camaraderie. Not to mention being who I am, and not the lie of male counterpart.

So I am rejoining the journey. I’m giving myself every opportunity to succeed as a male. Somehow, this post feels like a eulogy. If it is, I will love each of you forever. If it’s not, I’ll be seeing you. Even as I write this, I’m planning a trip to the wig shop. Save a place for me at Diva 2015. I have a feeling I’ll be back.

Okay, I can’t do this. I’m going to leave my clothes hanging in the closet . . . well, wish me luck and remember I love you all.