I feel a little like I am looking through a tunnel at a bright and shiny entrance ahead. Do babies feel this way when they are entering the birth canal? A baby may not cry from fear or trauma or shock, but from the uncontainable joy of ultimate possibility that awaits when transitioning into the light after spending its entire existence in darkness. My passage is not one of birth, but rather renewal and regeneration. At this time I know only what has passed behind me, with a vague impression where my transition will lead. Despite the uncertainty, each step feels like a fluid progression that has been illuminating a path of tremendous creative, emotional, and spiritual growth with increasing intensity.
On December 1, I moved out of the home I have shared with my spouse of 22 years. I am moving willfully—no, eagerly—from the darkness into the light. Heart first, not head first. I am dancing through this transformation. Each step will fall wherever it takes me.
I am not supposed to be. I was born with this contextual information, just like being a girl. I don’t remember anyone telling me I am a female or explaining what that means, rather it is just a condition that has always existed and that I have always known and accepted. Indeed, today I embrace my womanness. Similarly, no one ever told me I am not supposed to be, but that knowledge has always existed. Similar to being female, the condition of being does not change, so I embrace being, too.
The recent change of seasons marked by the winter solstace holidays has been a season of death for me; rebirth and renewal should come by spring. One loss has been memorialized with the release of the film Foxcatcher, marking 18 years since the death of a friend’s close relative. There is nothing seasonally festive about Foxcatcher, other than the last scenes take place over the river and through the woods in snowy Pennsylvania. The film has made me reflect on my personal friendships as well as the work that I do.