Atypical Trans Late Bloomer

I have a part-time job at a bicycle shop. There was a bike waiting for me, it's rear end was thrown out of rig by a car hitting it when it was parked. So I trued the rear wheel, which is becoming a semi-skill of mine; at least the other folks at the shop are no longer sighing as I approach the truing stand. I trued it up, lubed some lubey stuff, inflated the tire, put in on the bike and the wheel was rubbing the frame. But the wheel was good and the frame was bent and so I reached for the tool we use to adjust that. Tools are amazing. As I held this gizmo, which has a lot of adjustment points and when used correctly is just a flying dervish of adjustment, and I could not comprehend the sequence of actions to be taken. The boss looked at me and said, You feeling all right? And I said no, and signed off for the shift. The boss is a very decent man, and so he's talking with me about needing to get this check, and calling a mutual friend a nurse for advise, and he followed up an

I was visiting at the house I used to live in. There were hedges to be trimming and gutters to be cleaned. Fortunarely, the Hedge Squad appeared and took care of that. I spend part of the evening cleaning the easy half of the gutters. The next morning, before the sun had heated things up, I turned to the harder half of the gutters and it went pretty well. There's a second level of my house where cleaning the gutters means sitting over the edge of the roof with your calves dangling over open space and it went real well. I was uncharacteristically feeling pretty strong. Then I took an old wheelbarrow out and put air in the tires. Brought it back the the residence, than grabbed the empty recycling bin and brought it inside. Click, Click, Click, things were coming off my list of tasks. I felt a nostalgia like I was back to being my own self, getting things done, moving on to next tasks without intermediate naps. My last task was to write some code for a client survey, which is an e

Reparations are in the news lately; specifically, reparations paid to descendents of slaves by the owners and institutions that profit off the slavery (for instance, Georgetown University ). Some people say there is no case for Reparations. All the people who participated in slavery are dead and buried. Although your ancestors may have owned slaves, you certainly didn't. America fought a civil war to abolish slavery; that should be enough. We've had a black President; that should prove we're post-slavery. This is the Mitch McConnell school of thought. Others say: the two-caste racial system implemented to make slavery work outlives actual slavery. They say, the school-to-jail pipeline substitutes prison labor for slave labor. They say, the Civil Rights Act only took effect in the 1960's. Redlining persisted until the 60's. Racial disparities in income and education are still obvious. The wounds haven't healed. Children who are fifth-generation post-slavery

It's been five months since my spouse and I separated. I've come to use the term, ' estranged spouse ' because I feel the need for a name. For financial reasons - for starters, health insurance, pensions, and survivor benefits - it seems more just to perma-separate rather than divorce. We've had advice on this. Parts of it are terrible. It's been difficult personally. My life feels empty. I feel shame at this failure. It's been hard for my kids (ages 24 and 28). I moved out of town, to a place where I could live much cheaper. The isolation of this small town is a negative for me, compared to what I think I'd experience in the city. Parts of it are healthier than where I was pre-split. I feel more like myself. I feel less stress. My use of "as-needed" drugs is significantly reduced. We talk cordially. We discuss money, the kids, the logistics: cars, houses, etc.

I can handle the loneliness of being the guy living in a tent. I think I can. I do feel the impact of it, though. It's the isolation from people that gets to me more. Just the absence of conversation. No watercooler conversations, no shop talk, none of the social lubrication that (I've learned) means so much. People leave you alone. Generally I've considered that a kindness. Carried to a consistent ongoing policy, it leaves a void. I am so grateful to the few folks that I have the privilege of calling friends, that I can drop in on for conversation - politics, conversation, the President. I wish I could be in the local book club, to have something to discuss and ruminate over, but it's women only. The few people I speak with transactionally - checkout staff, or wait staff - they're working and doing their job, but their few extra words mean so much to me and I am grateful for their graciousness.