a new set of firsts

I recently read a wonderfully written coming out letter by the outgoing American University Student Body President. It reminded me a little bit of my own coming out letter from last year, though I feel she did a much better job articulating her experience. After reading it, I had mixed feelings. Though I was incredibly happy and excited for her, I was also slightly envious – not just of her writing ability, or the platform she has to make change – but because she’s doing this six years before I did. And when that last thought popped in my head, I recalled a comment someone made recently that bothered me: “I have some trans friends who are much further along [than you].”

What does that even mean? At this point I’m living full-time, legally, as a female, what else is there to do? Being ‘further along’ seems to suggest that there are still things left to do. I mean, I have to work on my voice and there are some surgeries to consider, but transition isn’t a race. Coming out isn’t a race. There’s no prize for being first, no harm in being last, and we’re not all even running the same race to begin with. That’s the point of being true to yourself, you get to march to the beat of your own drum instead of what others expect.

Which leads me to this: Despite the great progress American society has made in accepting LGBT people, almost 50% of college educated white-collar employees aren’t out at work. Though there are several reasons why this might be the case, I’d wager the bulk of it is that regardless of local labor laws or employer benefits and policies, some people expect their work environments to change as a result of coming out – and not necessarily for the better. They might not be treated badly, just differently.

Similarly, business schools, like corporations, enjoying talking about how diverse they are – and how much they embrace that diversity. When I got to Vanderbilt, I knew I’d eventually find out if they’d walk the walk. And to be honest, the first couple of months left me unsure if I’d made the right decision. Before coming out, I thought my classmates might tolerate my differences, but I wasn’t sure if they’d embrace them – and embrace me – after I came out. I’ve never been happier to be wrong in my life (and people who know me know I hate being wrong). So embracing and accepting are definitely appropriate words to describe the Owen culture.

What’s also interesting to me is how the incoming first years (and MSFs and MACCs) reacted. They never received my coming out letter, so I’m not sure when they found out about my transition or how (I imagine when I presented female for the first time at school that was a big hint for those who didn’t already know). In some respects, it almost feels like they’re more supportive. Maybe that’s because they didn’t have a year to wonder what it’d be like when I ‘finally made the switch.’ Or maybe it’s because they never knew the old me.

And perhaps that’s what my friend meant by being “further along.” It’s not about comparing myself to others so much as it is about comparing myself to where I was before. No, I’ll never get to have that life altering coming out moment again, but instead I get to be myself when I’m around others. Instead of talking about what I want for the future, now I get to have those things. I’m not just more self-aware, or more confident, or more experienced – I’m more myself. It is a truly fantastic place to be.

I’ve been known to have a bit of an ego, and even now I still do to some extent, but occasionally I’ll get a comment from a classmate, a message from someone from my past, or even an email from someone who doesn’t know me at all – and they talk as if I’m some sort of brave inspiration. That is incredibly humbling. Even if I don’t have the platform I’d like, or the romanticized youth I missed out on, I’m still being myself and I’m finally trying to be my best – and that’s about all I, or anyone really, can do with a life.

So please accept my sincere gratitude and appreciation for bringing out the best in me.