You don't know what you've got 'til its gone

I've been incredibly lax about writing lately. I don't have any excuse other than laziness, but I do think the lack of compulsion to write has been somewhat telling of where I am in my life.

I got a new license a few months ago. I didn't realize how much legally changing my name and gender would affect me. It was something I had put off for a long time. I didn't want to deal with it, I didn't want to spend the money on it and I found it incredibly unfair that I had to do it at all. My legal name didn't come up much, it only caused the occasional inconvenience, it wasn't a big deal, it was important to recognize my female past--I came up with any number of excuses to put it off as long as possible.

The saying you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone applies to negative as well as positive. I didn't realize how much fear and anxiety I was carrying around in my back pocket until it was no longer there. I could show my license in a small Midwestern airport and not fear the questions, not wear bulky clothes to try to look female-ish, not be scared to speak. I could rent a car without fearing an awkward confrontation. I could buy beer in a small town and not fear for my physical safety.

I didn't realize the stress and fear i was carrying in my body and self, how my ID affected my self confidence and personal sense of safety. Now that its legal, my transition is completely on my terms. I can tell only who I want. Those that do not need to know can also be told, but I retain the power. My identity is truly my own.

I still had to go through and change my name with the credit cards and phone company but now I had the law on my side. I was legitimate in my request. I am still angry that the law has this much power over my gender, but I can't deny the strength and confidence this has given me.

I still get the occasional junk mail addressed to Elizabeth. I didn't realize until now that I used to actually feel embarrassed. Now I feel indignant. Indignant and a little embarrassed that I ever felt embarrassed. Transitioning will always be an incredibly emotional process but you don't know what emotional baggage you're carrying until you suddenly leave it behind. For a moment I stopped transitioning and started living. It felt really good to be boring.

Hats off to the ladies in City Hall room 269

With all the budget talk, taxes and general fear and despair in the city of Philadelphia, I thought I ought to tip my hat to some of the greatest ladies I've run into in a while. I'll name no names to protect the awesome.

My legal name change went through in August but in order to take care of any of my identity documents I would first have to go to City Hall to get a certified copy. Not only did this cost over $40 after a long process that has nickle and dimed me to death, but I in no way felt like dealing with City Hall. For those that have never been, Philadelphia City Hall is an enormous building and incredibly physically daunting. It just felt like an intimidating and grossly overwhelming endeavor. After weeks of dragging my feet I finally steeled my reserve to just get it taken care of.

I rode my bike straight up Broad Street, entered where I had when I had attended my hearing. I prepared for what would hopefully be one of the last times I would have to show my ID and get a name tag that said "Elizabeth." However, this time no one asked. I just got a sticker that said Eli.

I went up to room 269 expecting a long line but instead walked right up to the counter. This efficiency was tempered by a sign on the wall that said all certified copies would be ready for pick up in 3-5 days. I cringed at the thought of having to psyche myself up all over again to enter the building. I handed the women my paper and said I needed a certified copy. I bit my lower lip as I watched her read the paper that lays way too much of my life bare and exposed. She looked up, said "$42," and immediately went to make copies.

"Is it less expensive if I buy two copies at the same time?" I asked.

"Yes. Two copies would be $83.64," she said with a coy glint in her eye. I smiled and said I'd pass on that "deal" and just take the one. While she went to make the copies I joked with her co-worker finally giving in to feeling a bit of comfort about the way things were going. The first woman sat back down and asked when my birthday was--I assumed for official reasons though no where on my documents is my birthday listed.

"2/16/79."

"Get out!"

"That your birthday?" her coworker asked.

"No, mine's the 21st. His is just two days after Valentines Day," she said.

"I'm always getting cheated on Valentines Day presents," I chimed in, her use of 'his' ringing in my ears.

"At least it's not in December," she said, "I always felt bad for those people in December." I nod as she signs the papers in front of her. She then looks up and smiles. "Well, I'm going to say to you--Merry Christmas," and she stamps the embosser, "Happy Valentines Day," she stamps it again, "and Happy Birthday," and again. She hands me some paper and holds up three fingers. "Always keep one for yourself," she tells me.

I thank her with a look of shocked amazement. Something free from City Hall? I didn't think that was possible. I left room 269 and walked out into the cavernous hallway. It was a small success in the grand scheme of things but somehow it felt like so much more.