I’ve written and spoken of The Rubicon in the past. For those of you who have forgotten or may have never known what the significance of The Rubicon is I offer this bit of history.

The Rubicon is a river in northern Italy that for centuries marked the northern boundary of the Roman homeland and separated it from Gaul, the land of the Franks. Roman tradition or law as it were, was that when a returning Roman army reached the north bank of The Rubicon the commanding General had to surrender his command to the Roman Senate before crossing The Rubicon. Should a General fail to surrender his command at that point it was considered a declaration of war against Rome; a declaration from which there was no retreat, no “whoops I didn’t really mean that, please forgive me and we’ll go back and start over.” The fact that the river itself was notorious for changing course from time to time was no excuse for recanting. Julius Caesar knew full well when he stepped into the shallow waters of The Rubicon what he was doing.

Suetonius, noted Roman historian and biographer, quotes Caesar as saying, “Let us go where the omens of the Gods and the crimes of our enemies summon us! THE DIE IS NOW CAST!”

Down through the years The Rubicon has come to represent irrevocable decisions and actions. As individuals, I believe that each of us reaches that point in our lives where we have a choice to back away from an irretrievable decision and let life carry us on as before or … to wade into that rushing water committed to the far bank and whatever it holds for us.

I’ve had many thoughts and visions over the years about what my decision would be if I ever found myself standing on the north bank of The Rubicon. Would the forces at my command stand behind me and remain loyal? Would the forces arrayed against me on the far side manage to overwhelm me before my feet were even dry? It’s not a decision made lightly. It’s a decision made only after reviewing the options.

To remain on the north bank of The Rubicon would mean that life would pretty much go on as before. Going to a job and a church I loved in the same capacity as before, with the same creeping concerns of being nonetheless not exactly what I appeared to be. In spite of that I’ve been happy there on the north bank … always looking across to the other side without any expectation of making that irrevocable decision. Then suddenly and almost without warning the imperial city beckoned on the far side.

The resources and support fell in behind me there on the north bank. Within a matter of mere months every single possible obstacle that had kept me there on the north bank, albeit content on the north bank; all those obstacles vanished. My army swore allegiance to me and thus, THE DIE IS NOW CAST!” I waded into The Rubicon headed for the south bank and whatever awaited me there.

I hardly got wet. In the blink of an eye there I was, standing on the south bank of The Rubicon. I would love to know if Julius Caesar experienced what I did the minute he realized that he was now there on the south side, irrevocably committed to challenging the imperial city and all it represented.

I will confess, that the very first thought on arriving at the south bank was, “Oh God, I think I’ve made a horrible mistake” If Caesar had that thought when he set foot on the far side it’s never been mentioned. I doubt that he did because he had a huge support team behind him and another awaiting him there on the south banks of the river.

My misgivings at that point were short lived. Although I had been aware of the possibility of regret, I really wasn’t expecting it. But what was I supposed to do. I had irrevocably challenged the imperial city. Was I now going to throw myself on my sword? That was not an option for me.

It’s a rare experience to realize that you have made an irrevocable decision, followed through on that decision and overcome the fear to realize that the joy and happiness resulting from that irrevocable decision are yours and they are real.

Yeah Joey, I still wish on occasion that “I was three again, knowing what I know now.”

Hello Caitlyn,

My name is Georgia Lee McGowen. I am just one of thousands of people, individuals who have lived, or are living a life totally unsuited to the core nature of their beings. I am what the world refers to as transgendered, but what I prefer to think of as dual rather than trans gendered.

I’ve considered the idea that one day, more than seventy years ago, that as the day came to an end and God had busied himself pairing up souls, spirits and bodies, and as He completed his work for the day that I was a left-over spirit, a spare part so to speak, with no matching female body and soul. So, rather than let a sparkling spirit like mine go to waste he grabbed the last body on the assembly line which happened to male and plunked me in there with this other spirit that would be named George after his father and grandfather. Of course I don’t know that for a fact, but the why of it will be the first question I ask God when I am at last face to face with him.

There are thousands at least and possibly millions of us who are genuinely in a body that simply does not match what we feel in our hearts and minds and there are at least that many more who struggle with a nature that is both male and female. Whatever the case it is a fact of nature that society in general has chosen to look upon us as aberrant, unnatural freaks to shut up in a closet rather than face and attempt to understand.

In an attempt to help all the normal people of the world understand and hopefully come to accept us I offer this thought for consideration.

If you consider yourself a somewhat normal male; that you are totally happy and content with the fact that your basic emotional nature matches the body you were given, regardless of the fact that you may wish it to be a more ideal male specimen; if all this is true in your case, how would you feel if our society said the following … to you.

“We don’t care a whit what you feel like, what you perceive yourself to be, what your emotional make up is, you have to wear dresses, high heels, shave your legs, your armpits, wear makeup and be dainty in general because we, society say so.”

And if you are a woman and you consider yourself a fairly normal female, that you are totally content with the fact that your basic emotional nature matches the body you were given, regardless of the fact that you may wish it to be a more ideal female specimen; if all this is true in your case, how would you feel if our society said the following … to you.

“We don’t care a whit what you feel like, what you perceive yourself to be, what your emotional make up is, don’t you dare put on a dress, or make up or shave your legs, or wear makeup. You have to wear clod hoppers, baggy jeans, muscle shirts, open the door for men, and in general, drag your knuckles, burp and belch because we, society, say so.”

If you can wrap your mind around that thought you will achieve some degree of what we in this trans and dual gender identity world have in the past and even now endure.

If you are a Christian who takes literally the admonition of Deuteronomy 22 verse 5, which states, “Women shall not wear that which pertains to men and men shall not wear that which pertains to women. The Lord your God detests those who do this.” If you are one of those people I urge you to do some research into the original Hebrew text and the context in which that verse was written. If you do that with an open mind I’m certain you will cease using it as a club to beat us with.

I don’t think I can state any more clearly the case for our plight in attempting to live lives in synch with the nature we’ve been given, or as I prefer to think of it for myself, the life God intended for me all along. A life which was planned in two parts, the part that George lived and the part that I am now living; all the experiences of both have brought me to where I am now and I have few regrets for any of it.

A few like me have taken the time to put our experiences in print in the form of autobiographies or memoirs. Look us up. Read our stories. Most of them are written by people who feel they were simply born in the wrong body. For me personally, my memoir “Dear Mom and Dad, You Don’t Know Me, But …” shares the struggles, joys and heartbreaks of a life lived in two parts with a soul in which two separate and distinct spirits reside.

In closing I come to the real reason for posting this. Recently the person the world has known as Bruce Jenner made a very public and advertised disclosure of a lifelong struggle to come to grips with a spirit which does not match the magnificent male body he was born with.

To you “Caitlyn” I express my undying gratitude for daring to expose your life to the world. If it wasn’t for your life as “Bruce”, the accomplishments of that life and the fame you acquired in that role, your announcement would have been barely a ripple, if that, in our society. I firmly believe that God created you as he did with this end in mind. By virtue of your courage you have given us a voice that we have needed and longed for; a voice that would cause people to finally stop and listen.

Most of all I admire you for always having put your family(s), especially your children’s, wellbeing ahead of your own personal wishes and needs. It speaks volumes to the quality of your character.

You have earned my deepest admiration and I hope that someday in the not too distant future, since neither of us is a spring “chick”, that I have the opportunity to meet you and become your friend. But, come what may,

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

I began this past week with a visit to what I want Heaven to be like when that time comes … Monument Valley. It’s still as beautiful as I’ve always remembered it. The sense of peace I find there is amazing, but … and there is a “but” to this description. But, I was not prepared for the hundreds of tourists and I did not appreciate them one bit. They were interfering with my piece of heaven. It has been more than a dozen years since my last visit and that was at Easter … no tourists to speak of. So I resolved to return next time in the winter and take a room in the new “View” hotel, each room overlooking the most spectacular part of the valley. I did discover something that had never occurred to me during past visits there; even Heaven must have something constructive for me to do. So my new vision of heaven is a cabinet shop nestled among the monuments. That decision made, I departed for the second and most important portion of my vacation.

And now here I sit … mere yards away from where much of my young adulthood life was both spent and mis-spent. Durango, Colorado has changed. Some, the recent arrivals, would say for the best. Others, like me, would say for the worse. Soon after my arrival here in 1976, a young tradesman who was sent to accomplish some task related to making my new home livable, opined angrily that his home town was being ruined by newcomers, interlopers as it were. At the time I took offense to his opinion, which obviously was aimed directly at me. That was then; this is now. Now I understand.

July 4th 1976 a parking place along main wasn’t all that difficult to find. July 4th 2015 I had to park 14 blocks from where I wanted to be. There was no parade with floats, bands, cowboys and rodeo queens on horseback with rodeo clowns bringing up the rear with their scoop shovels, booms and buckets to clean up the inevitable road apple deposits of the horses. Now it’s just an endless parade of SUV’s, motor homes, camping trailers the size of the trailer house trailer we lived in on Meadow Ranch in 1966 and of course motorcycles the size of a ’50’s Volkswagen.

On my arrival here yesterday I began a systematic and chronologically inspired visitation of every home I had lived in during those 11 years. Only one of them was virtually unchanged. That was the home on the Pine River, south of Ignacio. Some homes like the trailer house north of Elmore’s store were gone entirely. The house on the river in town had been modified so as to make it nearly unrecognizable. One of them I couldn’t find at all.

The downtown area used to have a reasonable assortment of businesses, both practical homey types like hardware, barbershop,shoe stores etc. And nestled in among those were T-shirt shops, a few bars, some excellent restaurants and real estate offices. Now it’s a 15+ block long stretch of art galleries, “smoke” shops (that kind of smoke), hole-in-the-wall sandwich shops and bars. But, all this is to be expected I suppose, in this day of cyber communication.

A person can live in this beautiful scenery and tele-communicate with ease in order to make a very comfortable living, away from the mess that has become our metropolitan centers, something that wasn’t possible in 1976; well at least not without incurring an enormous phone bill. The internet has changed all that and with the change have come people from places like New York, Chicago, and California, who insist on bringing with them their liberal politics and notions that they know better than people who came before them, as well as what’s best for the town and environs. At least they appear to have some appreciation for the homes and neighborhoods that have been here for more than a century. Those along 3rd Avenue do appear to have been enhanced for the better.

I came here fully expecting to be disappointed and in the respects mentioned I have been. I came with the anticipation that I would be able to say, “Been there, done that” so I could put the idea of moving back here to rest at last. That was indeed my emotional bent in the beginning. However, my feelings are changing a bit and I think I know the reason.

I spent most of yesterday in my car without human contact; without getting involved. I spent most of yesterday criticizing what I saw as unhappy change to what I had loved without giving the people who have made it home now a chance. As I sit here writing in a bar with people visiting and laughing all around me I realize what a significant part of that past life “people” had been. Also, and this is the most important element, as I revisited all those places I wasn’t remembering joy or happy moments. I was reliving in detail all the mistakes I’d made, and disappointments which resulted from bad judgment, arrogance and substance abuse and none of the joys.

Everywhere I looked I heard Dennis the Menace saying, “Wish I was three again, knowing what I know now.” And as I review each of those bad behaviors, missteps and bad judgments I find an indescribable sense of gratitude for the woman who cared for me, guided me, forgave me so many times from a heart overflowing with love for a man who really didn’t deserve her.

I’m not three again or even four again; I’m 70. I may not be able to “…Go home again” but I can return as long as I look on it as moving on … again!” As my bride was fond of saying, “Oh well … NEXT!”

Yes indeed, enough with the silence already … Many changes are in process in my life and I have thought that once it all shook out I would resume my writing. Then, like so many other times in my life it suddenly dawned on me that my life has always been in a state of flux; always changing so why should this circumstance prevent me from my appointed expressions.

Do not take my recent silence as a sign that I have just checked out and have been ignoring what’s going on the world in general, in our nation or in my community, and by community I mean the gender-variant community. In each of these cases I have formed very specific and firm opinions that are studied and resolute.

So, let me start with the last item from the list above; the events that have transpired in the gender-variant community. The night that Dianne Sawyer interviewed then “Bruce” Jenner I left work early in order to get home in time to see the entire interview. I admit, I wasn’t expecting to be impressed; quite the opposite. I was expecting to be totally repulsed by the entire thing or at the very least to be left thinking, “Oh please, give me a break.” But that’s not what happened.

By the time the first commercial break came I was in a state of something resembling amazement. I was watching a person who had spent in excess of five of his six plus decades living in the same world I had lived in for roughly the same amount of time. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean to imply that I was in the public eye as he was, because I certainly wasn’t. I’m referring to the world of fear; fear of what others would think if they knew what unseen spirit lay hidden beneath the macho male image that I showed the world.
Bruce, and that is the last time I will refer to that name, now Caitlyn, has done something for our community that no other person has been able to do … ever! She has given us a real voice. There have been a few people over the years who have achieved some notoriety for being trans-gendered, but they have only achieved that fame, that notoriety by virtue of being trans-gendered not because of who the entire world knew them as before their gender reassignment.

Caitlyn was known to the entire world as the world’s perfect man for over fifty years. Her very public and honest disclosure of her struggle was only noticed because of who the world had known her as before. There are thousands of stories like hers but they have gone virtually unnoticed because no one cared enough to examine their plight since they were not important enough make a difference. Caitlyn is important enough to make a difference … and that’s the difference.

The world in general, does not deal well with people who are different, look different, act different, speak differently or dress differently. When I speak to college classes at this point in my life I use the following comparative analogy in the hopes of driving the point home.

“For the men here I want you to consider what your life would be like if, regardless of what your emotional, mental and gender identity is; that you most likely enjoy guy things. You may enjoy sports, you enjoy sporting a beard, muscle shirts maybe, baggy jeans, whatever it is that you visibly use to show the world that you’re a “guy”. Now consider what your life would be like if “society” said to you, “We don’t care what you “feel” like, we the society you find yourself in are telling you that you have to wear dresses, high heels, shave your legs and your armpits, spend hours putting on makeup; in short, being dainty, because that’s the way we think you should live.” Each day of your life would be one more day of a miserable existence because you were being forced to live a life not suited to your emotional makeup; an emotional makeup and gender identity which go to your very core.

For the women here … put that shoe on the other foot. What would your life be like if society said to you, “We don’t care what you feel like we, the society you find yourself in, say that you cannot do any of the things that express your feminine spirit. You must not wear makeup, must not shave your legs, armpits, pluck your eyebrows, etc. You must wear baggy jeans, sloppy tee-shirts; in short, drag your knuckles, burp and belch … and basically act like a slug.” You would live the same miserable existence as your counterparts, the guys in dresses.

I will leave you with that thought for now. I didn’t get to the other issues I mentioned earlier … but I will. But before I go I want to say to Caitlyn Jenner, “Thank you for your courage and the voice you bring to our world. I hope you use it well.”

I want to begin with a portion of something I posted almost 2 years ago, on June 15, 2013. I’m re-posting it because it bears re-posting at this point in my life.

“Today I remember that I should look before I leap. History has shown that my leaping has often led to longing … for things the way they used to be; for do-overs, rewind and re-play. Life just doesn’t work that way. Does that mean that we can know in advance the outcome of every action? Only in math, chemistry and physics; the so-called exact sciences. Sometimes though we are faced with limited choices, with no easy options because of the point our history, combined with the history of others, at which we have arrived. In world history this situation has come to be known as The Rubicon.

The Rubicon is a river in northern Italy that marked the separation of Italy and Gaul. Roman law decreed that returning generals and their armies had to part company before crossing The Rubicon. If the commanding general did not surrender his command before crossing the river, it was considered an act of treason and war against Rome. Even more important was the fact that there was no forgiveness once The Rubicon had been crossed; no “Whoops I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” There was no running back across the river and saying, “I’m sorry, my mistake. Can we just forget I did that and go back to things the way they were? Huh, please?” When a general crossed The Rubicon as a general he was … committed.

The nature of the river itself, which was to change course with regularity every time there was a heavy rain, provided no excuse for re-consideration. Just because the river was not now where it was when the general left on his expedition of conquest several years earlier made no difference. The Rubicon was The Rubicon regardless of where it happened to be flowing that year. In 49 BC Julius Caesar crossed the Rubicon and as he did he uttered the phrase, “alea iacta est” – the die is cast. We all know, or should know, the eventual outcome of that effort; “Et tu Brute?”

Is there anyone in our world; the LGBT … DG world, that has not crossed The Rubicon? Is there anyone in our world who has not had to face the reality of their own history in coming to the decision to wade into the river, knowing what waited on the far side? The act of crossing The Rubicon for lesbian, gay, bi-sexual, transgendered and dual-gendered is not the tough part. Living or dying with the consequences, like Julius Caesar did, is the tough part. You cross the river, get a little wet, dry off, grab your sword and shield live with the decision. There is one segment of our community however that can’t pull it off that way.

The true trans-sexual has a crossing that is something akin to crossing where the water is deepest and swiftest. They have to shed their armor and abandon their weapons because trying to cross with those will surely pull them under before they reach the other side. Even if they could get across with weapons and armor intact the weapons would be rusty and the armor wouldn’t fit anymore. Some come out on the other side rejuvenated and ready to take on the imperial city. Some are so exhausted they can go no further. And there are some who ignore the warnings, try to cross with all their armor and weapons and drown before they reach the other side.

Wherever The Rubicon was running when you reached it, however swift it was running when you stepped into it, how muddy the water or how deep, there are others just ahead of you to prove it can be crossed and others behind waiting for you to show them it can be crossed. Just don’t forget … it is The Rubicon. It will be a part of history, yours and the worlds and the course it takes today will most likely be different tomorrow.”

Morning of March 23, 2015

I have for the last several years stood knee deep in My Rubicon. It has changed its course a few times and each time I have pursued its new shore. I say “knee deep” because I have never been prepared to accept the irrevocable consequences of what lies on the far side for one thing, and for another, I never thought I would be able to fund the crossing. Now … once again, My Rubicon has changed its course.

By this day’s end, it’s possible that I will have made the decision to finally cross this formidable, temperamental, flow of life which is My Rubicon, or to retreat back up the banks and spend the rest of this life wondering what might have been.

And more than likely, only a few very, very close friends will ever know what my decision has been.

This is a slightly edited version of another portion of “Georgia: On My Mind” which was originally published “The Cactus Flower” in 2005.

Do you remember that set of tapes that I mentioned previously, the ones by posed by Dr. Wayne Dyer in his best selling book of the eighties “The Sky Is The Limit”? There is a set of questions near the end that have been on my mind lately. I have reviewed these questions several times in the last twenty plus years and the answers have changed since I first answered them.

For instance, the first question is: “How would you change your life if you knew you had only six months to live?”

So why is it six months instead of one day or one week. Because six months is enough time to make some changes that could be of value. One day or one week is not enough time to make any worthwhile changes. Now that I have decided on six months what am I going to do with my last six months on this earth? Am I going to travel, spend time with family, buy a Harley and ride, maybe write the great American novel or spend the last six months as Georgia? I could do all of the above as Georgia. To be honest, I’m not sure what I would do or how I would do it. Certainly the time I spent with my children would be as George. That’s who their father is and that is whom they love and would want to be with. The rest of the family and world would have to handle potluck.

The second question is: “Who would I choose to live with if I could live with anyone in the world and I had no history of living with anyone up until now?”
This one is, to me practically impossible to answer. Part guilt or ignorance? I’m not sure, but I do know this. If I had no history of living with anyone how would I know what traits and habits would be acceptable and which would be intolerable? I also know that history cannot be changed in reality, only in wishful thinking. My history is imbedded in my mind and therefore is always a part of every thought and action of my present. But, let’s not throw the baby out with the bath water. Let’s re-phrase the question slightly. Remove the part about not having any history up to now and just consider having a choice with the history. I would change nothing about who I lived with. I would change the how I lived with the who. I guess the simple answer to this is the Dennis the Menace cartoon that hung over my desk for years. Dennis and his little buddy Joey are riding down the street on their tricycles and Dennis says to Joey,

“Boy, I sure wish I was three again knowing what I know now.”

Question number three: “Where would I choose to live if I could live anywhere in the world and had no awareness of where I’d lived up to now?”
Sheesh! Again the history is being wiped away. Where was Dr. Dyer when I was getting graded on what I remembered of history? I can only say that I would have to see the entire world and then make a decision. I do know that in my life I have always been attracted to the desert. I don’t remember having any particularly magic moments in the desert. I just know that I have always been most content and felt most at home and secure in the desert. It probably has to do with housekeeping. In the desert everything just seems cleaner. There are fewer bugs, and definitely no chiggers. I remember as a child in Texas and Oklahoma coming in from playing in the grass with these red itchy areas everywhere my clothes were tight. I don’t even want to think about what the little creatures would do under a bra. I know, again with the history. In the desert there is no mud, no leaves to rake, few mosquitoes, snow to shovel only once in a while and for another positive there is no sunset like a sunset in the desert. So I’m sure that even with no history that I would end up in the desert.

Question number 4: “How much sleep do I think I would get if I had no clock and no ability to measure time?”
This one is for me, a dishwater blonde question. I actually know the answer. I would get eight hours of sleep a day. I know this because that’s how long I sleep under almost any circumstances if there is nothing else external to wake me up. If I have to be up at a given hour all I have to do is go to bed 8 hours earlier and I will wake up right on time. No you can’t ask me why I’m always late, besides you already know the answer if you just think about it for a moment. And then of course there is my afternoon nap. Just twenty minutes is all I ask and I can do it standing up if I have to. I actually went to sleep in a stand up tanning booth the other day.

The fifth question is: “How much and when would I eat if there were no such thing as meal times?”

Now this is a piece of cake for me. I have a very limited sense of smell and smell has a lot to do with appetite. When I am left on my own I eat very little and I certainly don’t like the time it takes to cook and then eat. For lunch just give me an I.V. of peanut butter and jelly and let me take a nap.

Question 6: “How would I spend my days if there were no such thing as money?” In other words, what would I do if I didn’t have to work for a living?

For starters I would write, a lot. When I wasn’t writing I would go fly-fishing. Yes, I know that I would be living in the desert but remember this is to be a perfect world when I finish answering all of these questions. So, I would go fly-fishing in the desert on horseback when I wasn’t writing. I would go for long evening horseback rides in the desert with my best friend. I would spend the remainder of my time with family and friends the way God intended me to.

And now for question number 7 which is quite a question to ask a lady.
“How old would I be if I didn’t know how old I am?”

The answer to this question can be very telling. When I was a child I wanted desperately to grow up. I didn’t want to be a child. I wanted to be an adult. My parents were my models of what being grown up was. But no matter how old I got they were always older so in some perverted way I never seemed to grow up because I never caught up. For most of my adult life I can’t honestly ever remember feeling as though I was much more than sixteen or seventeen years old on an emotional level. I have two things in my life that have affected that conception. As a recovering alcoholic I have learned that one of the most widely held beliefs in alcoholism is that at whatever stage in life the alcoholic behavior kicks in we cease to mature. I was 17 when I started drinking. The other thing that has affected my self-assessment of my age is my dual-gendered nature. I have heard it said and observed that, for most of us, we tend to go through growing up all over again when we finally accept this part of our personality. I am no exception to this theory. So, the short answer is: I would be in my late twenties or early thirties if I didn’t know how old I am.

The eighth question in the series is: “What kind of personality would I have if I were starting today?”
My knee-high-nylon-jerk response to this one was, at the age of … say twenty something, that I wanted to be charismatic, clever and entertaining with an intellectual influence. Well, I certainly failed to develop that personality and I am sure that the world is safer because of that failure. Today I would say that the personality that I would like to have is … pretty much what I have.

The last and ninth question is: “How would I describe myself if I couldn’t use labels?”

Well, let’s see. Are words like gorgeous, sexy and brilliant considered labels? How about mistaken self-identity Georgia? The unspoken part of this question is honesty. So, if I’m honest about this description I cannot use words like brilliant, above average intelligence certainly but not brilliant. I am propelled by a powerful desire to accomplish the task that I believe God has given me in this life. I deal with things and circumstances in life as they occur and do not, for the most part, look ahead with anxiety or wishful thinking. I do not look back at the mistakes and miscues with regrets. I consider them classes in life, each one of which prepared me for the next class. The people God has placed in my life, from my late bride to my friends make me one of the most fortunate people in the world. The description here would be blessed. I have been blessed with a compelling desire to express the best I have seen in both women and men on a daily basis.

I’ll close with a personal “Thank You, Dr Dyer” for your insights and willingness to share them.

Here is another excerpt from “Georgia: ‘On My Mind!’” First published in 2004.

Recently I talked about the importance to me of keeping George and Georgia separate but equal. Then I shared the process of becoming and being Georgia with the promise next, of relating the effort of being and keeping George alive and well. I am keenly aware that many of you read our articles to learn more about being feminine, so the idea of hearing about the masculine part of someone is not probably what you would expect, or want, to read about. Bear with me and you may be surprised at what you read.

The most important thing I learned as I, Georgia, grew into me, was how important George was to my bride. Through a series of exchanges I learned that it was extremely important to her that she not see any of the man she loved in the woman who wanted to be her friend as well as a part of her life. I also learned that it was critical for this other woman to not exert any influence on the behavior or mannerisms of Marilyn’s man. Sometimes it’s a fine balancing act because there are things about Georgia that are definite assets to George. George (pre-Georgia) tended to be opinionated and harsh at times as well as rough around the edges and self-centered.

The effort to fix George had been abandoned with a heartfelt and desperate prayer, informing God that I would never again ask him to take the feminine part of my soul away. I would instead, accept that part of me as a gift and asked only that he would just show me what to do with it. The result of that prayer was an overwhelming sense of peace that I had felt only 2 other times in my life. The first time was when I realized that Marilyn really did love me and the second was when I was baptized. About six months later Marilyn and I were having dinner one evening when she suddenly looked across the table at me and asked,
“Are you having an affair?”
“What?”
“Are you having an affair with another woman?” she repeated.
I was dumbfounded. It had come right out of the blue. My response was,
“No of course not. Why are you accusing me of having an affair?”
“You’re not lying to me are you? You’re telling me the truth? You’re sure there isn’t another woman in your life?”
“No! Why are you accusing me of that?” I repeated.
Her answer took me totally by surprise.
“In the last six months you have become the neatest man I’ve ever known. The anger and frustration are gone. I’ve fallen in love with you all over again and I couldn’t attribute it to anything but another woman.”

I explained that I had given up fighting the feminine part of my soul and had accepted it as a gift from God, not a curse. It was not the answer she wanted and it didn’t make her happy. It took a long time (No one has ever accused me of being exceptionally quick of perception) for me to realize that in a sense her original feeling was indeed the correct one. He was having an affair … with the woman within. It took a long time for her to accept the woman within her man as a friend. It took almost as long for me to understand the way she felt and why. Her feelings were the same feeling any woman would have, if she thought that her man was having an affair with another woman. Those feelings were anger, jealousy and the fear that there was something missing in, or wrong with, her.

Somewhere in there though, I came to the realization that she really was in love with George and that any threat to his existence was a threat to her happiness. Happily, I realized that my bride and Georgia could co-exist as long as they each got sixty percent of me. That I managed not by expanding myself to one hundred and twenty percent but by allowing a slight overlap for each. Georgia got her ten percent of George in his softer more caring and more attentive character. George got his ten percent of Georgia in her attentiveness to detail. But that’s where the overlap stopped. None of Georgia’s characteristics such as feminine demeanor, voice, personal habits or expressions are allowed to carry over to George. I suppose that you want more detail. Very well then, here are details.

George makes sure that when he walks it’s like a guy. You know, sort of lean forward and hope your legs follow and your knuckles drag the ground. George sits like a guy, or more correctly at times, like a slug. He tends to turn every chair into a makeshift recliner more or less and he certainly doesn’t cross his legs knee over knee. It is always ankle over knee or leaning back with legs straight out so that he resembles a Ken Doll in a standing posture except leaning back on a forty-five degree angle.

George wears the pants, literally (for the most part). Georgia wears skirts almost always. George can at times erupt into a verbal tirade about just about anything that has become a nuisance. George’s wardrobe is almost strictly Cowboy and is very limited in choices. That’s the way most guys are.

George drives a truck (admittedly a smallish truck, but a truck nonetheless). And he drives it way over the speed limit for the most part as the recent photo radar will attest, courtesy of the City of Mesa. Did I mention the $156.00 fine? George is always looking for a short cut and will seek out the closest parking space to the door that allows him to pull through when it is time to leave to avoid having to back up.

The pattern, as you might have figured out, is to make sure that all of the endearing things that Marilyn identified with George are not overcome by the characteristics of Georgia. The amazingly surprising dividend to all of this separation of character traits is that it makes life so much more enjoyable in both capacities. George wouldn’t trade the male banter and joking good-
natured harassment of the twenty-plus men he shares time with at six A.M. every weekday morning for anything. That enjoyment is reassurance that George is real and deserves equal time.

Finally, I refer to The Purpose Driven Life – What on Earth am I Here For?” by Rick Warren. In chapter nine he writes:
“You don’t bring glory or pleasure to God by hiding your
abilities or by trying to be someone else. You only bring him
enjoyment by being you. Anytime you reject any part of yourself,
you are rejecting God’s wisdom and sovereignty in creating you.
God says, ‘ You have no right to argue with your Creator. You
are merely a clay pot shaped by a potter. The clay doesn’t ask,
Why did you make me this way?’ ”(Psalms 119:33 LB)

What follows is a portion of the preface for a collection of essays and musings that I prepared for publication several years before the publication of “Dear Mom and Dad.” Over the next few months I will be sharing many of those here on my blog.

Like every dual-gendered individual I have met, I struggled for years with this perceived flaw in my character. Even after I arrived at a certain level of self-acceptance there were many, many moments, days and weeks of re-examination and restructured ways of looking at my situation and myself. All of the different angles from which I have viewed my world and myself are reflected in the contributions I have made in The Tri-Ess national and local publications.

The hope I have in publishing this collection of thoughts, impressions and opinions is that others outside of the limited readership that has been exposed to what’s “On My Mind” may benefit from my viewpoints and observations. Experts from several related fields of psychology and sociology have made estimates of the number of men who engage in cross-dressing or exhibit some degree of dual-gendered behavior. Those estimates range from a low of two or three percent to as high as eight percent of the male population of the United States. From that I think it would be safe to assume that probably four to five percent of the male population is guilty. I hope that if you are one who is struggling for answers that what I have written will be of value to you in your effort to come to grips with your God-given-society-denied nature.

The heart of cross-dressing/dual-gendered condemnation is one short verse found in the Old Testament of the Bible. The nearly universal interpretation of Deuteronomy 22:5 reads:

“A woman must not wear men’s clothing, and a man must not wear women’s clothing. The Lord detests people who do this.”

The fact that the original Hebrew does not support this interpretation of the verse is totally ignored by virtually all conservative and many more progressive clergy and biblical scholars. In spite of the actual meaning of the original text this verse is used consistently to beat up on our community.

In my writing I refer repeatedly to my Christian commitment and faith. I hope that by making these referrals that anyone reading my thoughts who has been driven from their congregations, if not from their faith, because they have given expression to their God given second nature will take heart and re-commit themselves to that faith.

I have been blessed in the last few years to come to know Dr. Joseph A Pearson, PhD. Dr Pearson is among many things a devout Christian who has written a treatise on “Christianity and Homosexuality Reconciled”, an effort that he devoted fifteen yeas of his life to. As a member of the congregation, which he shepherded for ten years, I had ample opportunity to see first-hand the kind of productive Christian life that people of our community can live if we take the Bible in context and reach out to others. It is his contributions, efforts and commitment to helping the members of his community accept Christ first and themselves second that I have drawn inspiration and encouragement from. I hope that I may in some small way have a similar effect on the community of the dual-gendered cross-dressers of which I am a part.

In 1961 an author, known almost exclusively for his science fiction novels about space travel and futuristic settings published a remarkable novel which became an international best seller. Robert Heinlein had found a way to get to the very core of Judeo-Christian beliefs that was, at the time, unique. “Stranger in a Strange Land” became the book of the month for churches all over the country. I don’t remember how I first became aware of it, but it was several years after the initial publication. The worn and tattered paperback on my bookshelf is from the thirty-second printing in March 1968, so I obviously wasn’t the first discover it. I’ve read it more than once over the years, but the last time that I can be sure of was during our delayed honeymoon in Ixtapa, Mexico over Christmas of 1980. I know that because I still have the picture Marilyn took of me laying on the beach reading the book.

The story centers around a young man found to be living among the inhabitants of Mars, and his assimilation into society upon being brought to earth to live. He is baffled by the concept of conflict and disagreement among the people he observed. His revelation comes at the zoo one day when he observes two male primates fighting over something; a female as I recall. Without trying to find the exact passage in my tattered copy of the book, I can only tell you what struck me about the passage. Michael, suddenly erupts into hysterical laughter. He has discovered the root of earth’s problems … Jealousy and from that the conclusion that if mankind could do away with jealousy the other five, “thou shalt nots” in the Ten Commandments wouldn’t be unnecessary.

The flaw in Heinlein’s hypothesis is this: our Heavenly Father is a jealous God. It says so in the very first commandment. “Thou shalt have no other gods before me.” And then further down list God tells us that we can’t be jealous of our neighbors. So jealousy is apparently one emotion that God reserves for Himself. If one reads the rest of Heinlein’s book it will become clear that by the end of the narrative, Michael has come to view himself as a god if not God … less the jealousy.

Since reading that years ago, I have maintained a relatively consistent attitude of agreement with the concept, at least where it pertains to humanity in general. However, I have learned to separate the rest of humanity from my own personal experiences with other human beings and God in particular. But, He is a forgiving God, is He not? In that regard, a thought occurred to me during church this week that has caused me to dig deep into my own concept and experiences with forgiveness … and it’s relationship to jealousy.

The issue of forgiveness is not mentioned in the Ten Commandments, but it’s a recurring theme throughout the bible. In general it’s in regard to Him forgiving us, or us forgiving others. What I haven’t found in scripture is an admonition to forgive ourselves or to forgive God.

Start with forgiving yourself. I’ve heard it said that to forgive is to forget. For me, the process of forgetting required accurate memory of what I perceived as the circumstance which surrounded the act that required forgiveness. The process of writing “Dear Mom and Dad” was often excruciatingly painful because the idea of other people becoming privy to my life meant that the absolute accuracy of a circumstance had to be admitted. The unforeseen dividend of those admissions was that much of the guilt I felt for so many of the wrongs I had committed boiled to the surface of my consciousness. And I was miserable.

I beat up on myself frequently during that time period and found it impossible to to forgive myself. What I eventually realized was, that the more honest I was with myself the easier it was to forgive, not only others, but more importantly myself. Something else I eventually realized was that failure to forgive myself was equivalent to saying to God, “Hey, it’s my problem, let me wallow in it some more. You’re God, you’re suppose to forgive me. After all You said to ‘forgive others as I would have them forgive me. I don’t read ‘me’ as being part of the ‘others’” Have I totally forgiven myself for everything I ever did that needs forgiving? No, I haven’t but I’m a whole lot closer to not being human with myself and finally looking at me the way the bible says that God does. And speaking of God …

How much of what’s holding you back is the result of not forgiving God? That’s a subject which is never, or hardly ever, brought up. I’ve read stories and seen movies that involve the lives of people who have held God responsible for various misfortunes in their lives. But within the context of my Christian experience I have no memory of a discussion about forgiving God for creating me the way he did.

For most of my life I’ve been personally guilty of first blaming God and then failing to forgive Him for nearly every loss I’ve ever suffered. The mere fact that I repeatedly asked “why God, why?” when Marilyn died was a form of blame and failure to forgive.

I don’t remember when or exactly what occurred to cause me to accept all the happenings in my life and cease blaming God for every unpleasant moment and result of my various actions. But somewhere along the road I came to accept responsibility for most of my life. Maybe that was because I eventually asked Him to let me see myself through his eyes; to see what He saw in me.

To wrap all this up and connect jealousy with forgiveness I offer my own explanation. The emotion of jealousy is, to my way of thinking, an emotion which God reserves for himself alone. If I track all of the circumstances involving my own experiences with jealousy, back to their beginnings I find that, for the most part, they could have been avoided if only I had overcome the jealousy with forgiveness.

I have frequently referred to the effects of my mother’s and grandmother’s favorite behavior control phrase which was, “What will people think?” As far as I could tell and as I recall now, Mom took that phrase to heart in her own life, but Granny was another story altogether. While she was obviously concerned with appearances she was a dedicated woman of propriety. In other words she was far less concerned with physical appearances than she was with behavior.

If we were observed engaging in less than absolutely normal, acceptable protestant behavior those words, “What will people think?” were the first words out of the mouths of both women. Being what I think was a normal child of the ‘40s and ‘50s I heard the phrase with consistent frequency.

Living in a world consumed with appearances, made the effects of that upbringing an integral part of my decision making processes for most of my life. It never occurred to me to make even the most modest effort to address the possibility of what life would be like, if every act was not predicated with that thought. And then change became mandatory. It became mandatory because there was no way I “Georgia” was going to be able to live anything resembling a normal life.

In “Dear Mom and Dad” I wrote about those experiences of leaving the house for the first few times and the sense that everyone in the world could see me and were laughing uncontrollably at the sight. It was horrible. On those occasions my heart nearly exploded from the flood of fear induced adrenaline. I managed to overcome the fears by sheer force of will power fueled by the burning desire to be “real.” The problem of fearing the opinions of others still existed. I just overcame the fear enough to have some life of my own.

As time passed, and I spent more and more time in the company of others like me, I began to see them as a mirror of me. Fear of being discovered was rampant. True, not everyone exhibited the fear, but those who didn’t were rare. The fear of what others thought was masked by statements like, my neighbors, my boss, my family “will never understand.” I hated that fear. It permeated every relationship, every act, it even marred the stolen moments of self-expression our gatherings were meant to facilitate.

I knew the fear and I knew its source, but try as I may to ignore it, stifle it, kill it, I couldn’t.

I don’t remember when or where I arrived at the notion that I was, in essence, disputing the way God created me, but that’s what finally occurred to me. I’ve heard some people call that kind of idea or awareness a come-to-Jesus moment; an Ahaa moment. Whatever you choose to call it, I got it, and eventually realized that it was that very idea that Isaiah was talking about when he wrote, “Does a jar ever say ‘The potter who made me is stupid’?”

Like most everything else Abba does, or at least has done in my life, He is the perfect father and he sneaks ideas into our heads in a way that makes us think the ideas are ours. Then He waits to see if we recognize the ideas as coming from Him and if so do we have the presence of mind to thank Him? It took a while but I finally did.

I still wasn’t “there” yet. There was still one element of understanding I didn’t have, and looking back now I wonder why I was so slow to reach that critical juncture in my life. Once again I can’t tell you when or how I finally realized what was missing, but when I did my life changed in ways I never would have dreamed of.

I had spent my entire life looking at myself through the prism of what I thought other people saw when they looked at me. It was a subconscious image of someone who had everything going for them but somehow still managed to fail at everything attempted. I put up a magnificent front for others to see, but deep down there was this nasty voice which repeatedly pointed out, that they really didn’t know me. They didn’t know how flawed I was and if they did they wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me.

It was one of those moments when I was wallowing in the fear of what others might think that it finally occurred to me … What does God think of me? Asking Him what He thought of me didn’t seem like the right approach. I guess that question as well as the solution was out of some sermon that I didn’t really hear, or some scripture I really didn’t absorb.

At last, I asked Abba to let me see myself, the person He created me to be, through His eyes.

Did I have an immediate vision of that person, that soul? Not hardly. One day I suddenly realized that I was really happy, and for the first time content with the way, and who, I am. Does that mean that I don’t give a whit about what people think about me anymore? No it doesn’t. I does mean however, that if I sense that they don’t like me or the way I am, it doesn’t affect the way I feel about me. You see, I do want people to like me. How else am I ever going to be able share the message that Abba has assigned to me, which is … if I can find peace and happiness at my age by accepting and seeing myself as Abba intended all along, anyone can. But first you have to ask the same question I did.

“Please Abba, Let me see myself, the person You created me to be through Your eyes.”