We're here, etc...

Poppy Brite posted today that it's National Coming-Out Day (who knew? I have such trouble keeping up with the holidays.) and put up a link to her excellent essay, Enough Rope.

Now, normally I'm interested in the sexuality of exactly two people on the planet: me and the wife. Everyone else? Do whatever you like. I don't care. And I honestly don't give it much thought. It's none of my concern.

But I've always thought it's got to be a solid gold bitch to be a transgender-type. I mean, if (back in the nineties) my hair didn't look right? I felt weird and sheepish and uncomfortable. If a shirt doesn't fit me right? I'm out-of-sorts and crabby all day. Now, these people, they don't feel right in their bodies. Imagine that shit. Imagine feeling like that. I don't like the gender of the body I'm in; it's all wrong for me.

That must be like a fucking horror movie. One of the most basic things in your life is wrong. I can't even get my head around it. The occasional experimentation with eyeliner notwithstanding, I'm very, very comfortable as a guy, and I read something like this and I'm happy to be okay with the way I am. And I'm glad Poppy has found a good place (and a good person) to live her life with; she's one of my favorite reads.

Some of us are born lucky, I suppose. And every day as I get older and see more of how life treats everyone I can't help but think that I'm one of the lucky ones.