This is a very typical scenario: a banker has a prospective investor in his or her office and there is limited time to break down the situation; I'm asked to meet the prospect and take it from there.
I followed the banker and was introduced to "Stacy" (name changed to withhold her identity), a 6'2" woman in a long skirt and sensible flats. Stacy stood up and offered her hand, and I shook it, hoping my expression didn't betray my surprise at the largeness of it, the strength of her jawline, the generous amount of foundation covering her features, the depth of her voice.
We chatted for a while while the banker worked on opening Stacy's account. She had recently moved to the area, was going to be starting a new job in a couple of weeks, was fed up with her current financial institution.
Stacy was very open. She jumped right in, and we talked about her work history, her challenging childhood, the woman she'd once been married to, and the passing away of two people very close to her.
It had been a rough few years.
Then she studied my gaze for a moment, sucked in her breath, and said, "after that is when I came out as transgendered, and things started to change in my life."
Instantly, the energy in the room shifted.
It felt as though the breath Stacy took in mirrored the one I let out, with a quiet sense of relief. We could talk about the unspoken thing that had been hanging in the air (for me, anyway).
I asked her how long ago that had been, and what her life had been like since. She said it got harder, much harder at first, and then, slowly, easier.
The banker--who had been so all-encompassed in the task-at-hand I'm not sure if the conversation had even registered--interrupted just then to ask what needed to be asked to get the account opening process moving along. Stacy and I exchanged pleasantries and a plan to meet in two weeks, and I excused myself from the room.
But Stacy stuck with me.
I thought about that pause in our conversation. That moment when she was clearly gauging whether or not this was a safe place to tell her truth. I wondered how many times she'd paused and sucked in her breath the way she had in that moment, and what the other outcomes had been like.
I thought about how much easier some of us have it than others. And I was in awe of her courage. I couldn't even imagine what it had been like to live the life she'd lived.
I have limited friendship experience with transgendered people. Two coworkers from the same former place of work have transitioned: one from male to female, the other from female to male. Before their transitions, I never would have imagined either was uncomfortable in his or her skin or gender assignments. For the most part, I have lost touch with both, but from what I can tell through my current limited contact with them on social media, both seem to be doing well.
I have another acquaintance whom I met after she'd already transitioned. Again, I am not close enough to know well how her life after the transition compares to that before. And I don't feel I've earned the right to ask the questions.
Like many of us, I have a lot of questions.
And I'm sad about the fact that I don't know how to ask them. I don't know how to show my interest in a way that doesn't make them feel other. I don't know what type of question will be seen as an expression of genuine concern and curiosity in the life experience of another, and what could be taken as an invasion of privacy.
I don't normally worry about this. I am the queen of asking questions that invade people's privacy. And most people don't seem to mind. I don't know why I feel compelled to treat this particular subject differently.
But this I know: the Stacies of the world deserve my compassion and my willingness to listen. Stacy gave me a ray of hope with her openness. I know we will meet again and engage in meaningful conversation. I know she is willing to sit with me and have this discussion. And for that I am grateful.
Just three days ago I found myself engaged in a discussion with a high school friend on social media about whether or not it's a good idea to make gay jokes in a semi-public forum. That it was even up for debate came as something of a surprise. It was a reminder to me, in my comfortable, liberal, Bay Area bubble, that some people aren't yet even comfortable with atypical sexual orientations, let alone gender identities. But gay is old hat to me.
I can do gay all day!
With my limited relationships with transgendered people, however, I still feel unsure how to proceed. Is it a subject to be talked about or a subject to be ignored? Do transgendered people want to be acknowledged in their unique circumstances, or do they want to blend in?
I feel incredibly small and ignorant in pondering these questions.
And then I remember that, first and foremost, transgendered people are just people. There is no one answer that fits all. There is no formula for how to proceed. Like all other people, some will want to discuss something this intimate and personal. Some will not. The rules of engagement haven't suddenly become cryptic and unreadable.
In short: I don't need to check my curiosity.
I need to check my assumptions. My desire to categorize. My preference to understand the whole without taking the time to understand the individual. My desire for conversation to be easy.
I have read a lot from people in minority segments of the population about how frustrating it is to be expected to be ambassadors and translators for their respective groups. I understand that it is not the job of individuals in these groups to help those from outside the group to understand, so that they can be comfortable. I get that.
I do, however, beg grace and preemptive forgiveness as I navigate what for me is relatively new terrain. I hope that my questions will be received in the sincere and non-judgmental manner in which I intend them. I hope that it will be clear that, for me, to truly know somebody is to know about the struggles and the significant choices/changes they've made as a result, all of which have molded them into the person I get to meet today.
If I'm asking questions, perhaps especially uncomfortable ones, it's because the human in me recognizes the humanity in you and wants to know more.
And I hope this will be a good place to start.
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