Frost on the Paths --

The Road Not Taken

By Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

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Let me first move into the first person, singular. This is about me, not us.

Having read a great deal about the socio-cultural paradigms relating to gender, and how gender is distinct from "sex" and reproductive function:

Mostly what I feel is that life handed me a Ford.
I would really prefer a Chevrolet -- metaphorically.

And so it's not so much about "gender mapping" or "sexual identity." I've felt this way most all my life, as long as I can recall, back before I was four years old. It's not that I "feel like a female" or some other complicated embryological developmental concatenation. Fundamentally I feel like me, not sure if that "feels like" a "female" or a "male" . . . insofar as I have nothing with which to compare my ontological orientation except external manifestations which I can observe, but cannot be.

I am certain, that I do not feel like a horse, or a feline. But I really don't understand the ontological construction of "feeling like a woman" or "feeling male."  And these days my orientation is to challenge the dyad paradigm of "if not A then B." "If not male, then female."

OK, so I view the Western hetero-normative dyad (male hegemonic dyad), etc, etc, etc . . . as a sort of cultural prison. What culture thrusts upon the stereotypes of "male/female" are pretty absurd. I see absurd, pathetic examples in both camps.

Stereotypes:

I don't want to be "a dude." Nor do I want to be "a babe." I don't want to buy into the cultural stereotypes. I'm not disordered, not delusional, not neurotic (arguably), not confused. I understand that I am male. I don't like being male -- for a lot of reasons. I wish I were female.

I don't wish I could "pass" as female. And I don't wish to "transition" into "female" (surgery/hormones, etc.) . . . I just wish for a "do over" -- another roll of the dice in the gender-crap-shoot.

-- adapted lyrics from a blues song: "She caught the Katy [Cadillac], left me a mule to ride." (Taj Mahal, 1968)

"Gender caught the Katy, left me a mule to ride . . . "

She Caught The Katy"

She caught the Katy
And left me a mule to ride
She caught the Katy
And left me a mule to ride
Now my baby caught the Katy
Left me a mule to ride
The train pulled out
I swung on behind
Crazy 'bout her
That hard headed woman of mine

Man, my baby's long
Great gosh almighty my baby's tall
You know my baby's long
Great gosh almighty my baby's tall
Yeah my baby she's long
My baby she's tall
She's sleepin' with her head in the kitchen
And her feet's out in the hall
Crazy 'bout her
That hard headed woman of mine

Well I love my baby
She's so fine
But I wish she'd come and see me some time
She don't believe in our love, ah
Look whatta hole I'm in
She don't believe what I'm sayin'
Kid look whatta shape I'm in
Huh-huh

She caught the Katy
And left me a mule to ride
She caught the Katy
And left me a mule to ride
Well my baby caught the Katy
Left me a mule to ride
The train pulled out
I swung on behind
Crazy 'bout that hard headed woman
Hard headed woman of mine
Huh-huh, huh-huh

"Gender dysphoria" . . .  Not confused, not ontologically disoriented, just unhappy.