I’ve periodically pondered whether any pivotal moments from the past 18 months could be defined as the exact moment my life really began. There have been so many proverbial-forks-in-the-road though, that it’s difficult, and probably completely unfair, to choose just one. One of these keystone memories rudely shouldered it’s way into my prefrontal cortex this afternoon whilst I was trying to design a spreadsheet, or write email account management procedures, or something else equally as banal. It took all of my will and concentration to prevent the arrival of what felt to be an unstoppable deluge of tears. Being too much effort in the end, I left work early for the safety and refuge of home.
1 year, 3 months and 11 days ago, I stood in front of two of my dearest friends. I had nervously bought my very first dress only a few weeks prior. I had daringly worn it a few times in private in preparation. That day, I wore my first dress for the first time in the presence of others. It is nigh on impossible to overstate how exposed I felt. Absolutely everything depended on their response. My very soul was on trial. One friend looked me up and down and said “It just looks like you … you wearing a dress. I guess it probably should invoke more, but it just doesn’t.” She shrugged. Sweet relief: my soul had lived to fight another day.
The three of us went outside to sit down to drink tea and talk about whatever.