I dreamed as a child of Easter dresses, and petticoats, and all the things my binary-limited brain could imagine.
I dreamed of living, and being, and knowing the glorious truths of womanhood.
I prayed and prayed that I could somehow discover the miracle of all miracles and the most wonderful of all possible wonders; the most feminine of all things female.
After having lived nearly a half century in the soul-extinguishing confines of a male persona, which had been assigned to me by an unaware world, the universe finally provided the key to unlock the box.
The male box.
And I did.
Then I skipped across the stage and dutifully (and joyously) locked myself in the female box.
The joy of my partially-achieved authenticity covered up the truth like the clouds cover up the sun. It took several years for the light to find its way into my still-learning soul.
I don’t fit in that box either. Not completely.
Whether by virtue of my perceived-as-male upbringing, or by virtue of my authentic existence, or perhaps some of both, I find myself a little bit left of the “F” box.
The who-I-truly-am epiphany was inspired by observing who-they-truly-are youth; leaving me literally unable to fail to see the beauty of their authenticity.
Immediately, I wondered who I might have become, how much higher my soul might have soared, had I known this amazing (shouldn’t-be-a) secret from the beginning.
Eventually, I came to know that the limits of my knowledge about true authenticity were a gift, of sorts, from a society that is designed to place limits on anything non-binary.
As I watch the unbridled freedom of non-binary identity, I know that tomorrow’s truth will be more true, tomorrow’s freedom will be more free, and tomorrow’s authenticity will be more authentic.
And I am still learning more about my own truth, and freedom, and authenticity. Right here from a little bit left of the “F” box. l