Funny Queer Shit: That One Road Trip

I'm a little late with this one. But I wanted to save this one for closer to Thanksgiving. Chosen family is everything to this Black transdude, no matter how long it's been since we've connected. 

Since I've been writing these past reflections I find my personhood becoming more concrete. Sometimes as a transman, my existence is fleeting. Sometimes walking into a room means leaving too much at the door. Sure we all have to leave some parts of ourselves at the door when walking into a room of our peers or co-workers. But how can you bring about collaboration if pieces of ourselves are not considered, our existence isn't fully recognized?

But since reflecting on these queer moments, I feel myself coming more into focus. Almost like the fine tuning that is done at the eye doctor. Not blinded per se. I could see my existence in the most basics of senses. A weird form in front of me. But now coming into more focus, and seeing the details, I have some gratitude for just living and breathing. I didn't have that before and why would I? Why continue an existence you can't see or one that you doesn't resonate with you?

But I'm off my soap box. One to the queer shit. 

Funny Queer Shit: That One Road Trip. 

When I first heard about LGBTQIA-led conferences in my early 20's my only reference point were work conferences. A large event held in a large facility normally hosting many talks and discussions and you only held a small interest in half of them. My first queer conference was lesbian-focused. The panel discussions were topics that held little interest to me. What really kept me coming back were the many off-handed discussions and midnight chit-chats with elders and peers. Life changing advice and perspectives that I carry with me to this day. 

But this story isn't about that. 

To kind of preface the magic of this particular conference trip, let me give background. For privacy, I'm going to refer to the main two individuals of this story as R and N. 

This was early in my medical transition, before the physical effects of testosterone. I'd just told my supervisor a few months back that I was medically transitioning. The biggest concern was having clean binders everyday and dropping weight for eventual top surgery. 

But back to the story. I show up to R's place the morning we are heading out. Pull in and get introduced to N. You  know that moment where you know you know someone, but you don't know where from? Yeah that happened for a moment. But it eventually clicked.  R knew both me and N from separate occasions, and I knew N from a random encounter at library. 

While in the beginning awkward stage of medically transitioning (the whole journey is one big wonderful awkward-fest, tbh) it helped with a soft introduction to N at the library. Nothing too personal but, you know, queer recognize queer. A knowing nod from N. I suggesting more books than normal at the checkout counter of this rural AF library. You know, the same courtesies and acknowledgements that Black people give to other Black people when we are the only ones of our skin tone in the room. 

It's one of the things I miss most now, visible queer ques. Instant queer connections that are visibly recognizable. Baggy jeans on studs. Rainbow flasks pulled out of back pockets. Shit like that. I feel queer all day, but it's hard to instantly convey that now. 

But this story isn't about that either. 

The conference was transformative. Never in my life (or since) have I been in a building with so many trans, queers and allies under one roof. For a few days at that! The conference itself had your standard organization, but gay. Talks on intersectionality, gender expression and trans healthcare. Booths and tables of trans and queer led organizations and businesses. Met the owners of Original Plumbing, the first print publication telling stories about transdudes. My mind was blown as I walked away in my newly minted OP hat and tank top, not minding that the binder showing under the tank. I was with my people, and with them, I could be the queer dude I saw myself to be. Having my flavor of dude affirmed by my peers meant having just a bit more energy to continue living queer outside of this magical bubble. 

I even met THE Laverne Cox in a banquet hall for one of the offshoot events of the conference. Well before Orange is the New Black. And she held presence even then. 

But this story isn't about that. 

The conference was cool, but everything that happened outside the conference is what cemented into memory. Late night conversations passing joints on a brownstone. Smoke curling into the chilled eve nights before conference-going. Getting lost with N as we navigated a Chinatown looking for food. Or grabbing a beer at the local bar while they played some nostalgic movie, projecting the image onto a large sheet from the projector. The bar was walking distances from our host, friends of R, with nothing but a park separating us. You could imagine long past stallions sprinkled among the bustling roads and people along the perimeter of the historic park. 

Or the house party that I found myself in one night. The house looked as if it had been abandoned and then outfited to host pop-up parties. Graffiti plastered all the walls of the interior. Jade and cobalt lights strobed. And I just kind of walked around really. Why? Because I was in a sea of Black and queer people. I felt safe as the music blared. I felt bliss to be around my people.  

But this story isn't about that either. It's about road trip music. 

To be honest, I couldn't tell you what was being played during most of the trip. We took turns playing music, but that's damn near impossible to do on one device. The music leaned more towards the driver who was R for the entire trip. N nor I could drive his stick stift. Let's just say it was mostly folk music. Music that I was unfamiliar with.  Nothing that would prohibit me from dozing if I felt the urge. N. played music that was more familiar to me, but it was all underground stuff. Not anything with a hook. I'm not saying these were the real music choices, but to express the vast diversity. The real part was that I couldn't sing along to any of it.

And throughout most of the trip, I had come to the conclusion that the music choices were going to be varied. Which was cool. I wasn't driving, which was even better. And I needed to step outside of what I had on repeat at the time. Probably something ratchet with a good beat. It wasn't until the drive back home that music became the necessary lifeblood to help us get back home. We were all beat and still had hours on the road. And the music continued to be background noise into the night.

I'm not sure who got a hold of the music next, but the music changed. I found myself nodding my head to the beat. And when I found myself reciting words out loud, I grew self conscious. Why was I mumbling the words to "Fantasy"? 

For this to be funny, there has to be a bit of background in the life of a masculine of center individual. I went through a phase of "ultra-masculinity"like a lot of MOC folks. In an effort to assert my flavor of "dude" it came off as a reflection of the misogyny that I hated as well. While trying to find some form of identity, I found myself immulating a lot of sexist ideals and notions. I thought being  a transdude meant being as "dude" as possible. Which in a lot of cases meant being a dick. 

So going back to the new soundtrack of our trip back home. To say the least, I was self conscious. Conflicting thoughts rose through my head as we continued to ride in the night. I would have been fine by myself, within the confines of my own car, but should I even nod my head now? Aren't we dudes? Am I dude enough if I listen to TLC and SWV? But this song is a banger! But I'm a dude and dudes don't listen to this. What should I listen to now? Heavy metal? Oldies? Mumble rap? 

It's funny how conflicting or anxious thoughts last in real time for a few seconds or minutes. But our memories of conflict, no matter the length, are highly impressionable. A moment of conflict can play out like a full length slasher flick in retrospect. 

When did the anxiousness and internal dialogue end? I couldn't tell you. It may have been instant. Just the next thing I knew we were all singing word for word Black 90's music of some of my favorite women artist. Belting it really. EnVogue, TLC, Jade, Brownstone, Eve Xcape. I'm sure a little Whitney was thrown in there. I'm sure some Mary J., Monica and Brandy were mixed in too.  They all eventually made there way through the speakers, giving us much needed life. 

And it was while travelling with my brothers down the dark road back home, I realized that my trans identity could set me free in unexpected ways. While boxing myself in, trying to present as masculine as possible, I'd left behind my queer identity. And while at the time I thought I would forever leave my queer in the dust, I did missed it even if it was subconscious as the early transition glow persisted. But my brothers taught me that I could have both the dude and the queer all in one. 

I've since discovered holding on to such machisomo ideals was doing to the opposite effect of intention. Instead of affirming my masculinity by immulating what I've been taught how men think and act, I was causing even more dysphoria and self doubt about myself. My life was not a cisgendered males life. And now I can say that nor do I want to have a cisgendered males life. But at one point, it was honestly the peak of existence for me.

And the queer transdude lives on! I'm a stan for all the Megan Thee Stallion's, Rico Nasty's, Flo Milli's and Saweetie's of the world. So if you see a short Black dude riding around singing "WAP" in their car, it's just me, getting my queer on. 

Current Happy Place in Animal Crossings