Declaring My Freedom from 1000 False Krisses
No one knows me like I do. For every person who has ever met me (or you, for that matter!) — virtually or actually — and there have been thousands across 74 years — there is a version of me that seems very real and makes sense to them (based on their own biographies, sensibilities, interpersonal interactions, values and ethics)
BUT!
I have never been a daughter. I have always been a son.
I have never been a sister. I have always been a brother.
I have never been an aunt.I have been an uncle.
For every person who loves their concept of me, there is probably another who loathes me, or who simply doesn’t care one way or the other about me.
How do I know this? Because I share the same mindset, always with one compelling exception: just because I might not care one way or the other about someone else, I certainly don’t want them to be harmed (intentionally or unintentionally) by anyone else!
Animals know the real me
Animals gravitate toward me, seeking interaction and cuddles. They feel safe, truly seen, and sincerely loved. This is because I am entirely safe, I see them as clearly as I see everyone else I’ve ever met or read about, and I love them — which, sadly, I cannot say about every person I’ve ever met. (Discernment is among my keenest,most well-developed habits. I needed it from a very early age to know who to let into my life and who to avoid. It worked well to keep me — or to quickly get me — out of a few ditches.)
True friends (the family I chose for myself) know the real me
The lifelong non-blood family we’ve mutually adopted along the way — there have not been a lot, but I’m happy to report that there are more than five of them — know the real me. They didn’t even flinch when I came out as transgender about a decade ago in my book WOMB MAN. In fact, the book answered a lot of questions for them. They always knew there was something different about me, but until I named it, they couldn’t put their finger on it. But then, it was… well, of course! BINGO! There it is!
Trying to fit into someone else’s “Kris” costume has never felt hand in glove to me. It has always felt more like hippo in tutu: Not right. Not funny. Not cute. An abrogation of an essential truth. Inauthentic. It felt like selling out, like going along to get along, because I despise contentious conversations. I prefer peace over ego-centric power trips.
So… when I get to Costa Rica, it’s goodbye to the illusions of family attachments (a couple real ones will survive), of strained or concealed emotions, of a myriad of small surrenders that left me (and likely others) feeling like strangers (at best) or passive-aggressive warriors (at worst).
I like the Kris I am. I trust and respect the Kris I’ve become by recognizing and insisting on the bare minimum required to retain it. I’m proud that I’m still optimistic and adventurous enough to boldly go where I have never gone before and start anew, with a spring in my step and a light and love in my heart.
Nothing and no one has been able to kill the essential Kris — the Kris I have always been at my essence, from birth.
This Kris has staying power.
And perhaps I do because of all that has gone before. It hasn’t ever been easy, but the decisions I made along the way to find fun and love and meaning have always been exhilarating. It has been well worth the trip!