Birthday Wisdom: 37 Years: Part 2

 You're one year older, one year wiser. What is one thing that you learned this year?

Remember your "why."

I often get caught up in existential musings, such as questions like these: “What’s the point?” and “What difference does it make?” and “Who cares?” and “Why does it matter?” Not literally asking for the answer, but more rhetorical frustration of “Why am I here because none of this life feels worth living” kinds of meaninglessness despair. 

These questions most often come up for me when I’m in the middle of something really challenging. I might be trying to get motivated to do a hard thing, like write a book or train jiujitsu or go to work or go skiing, or even just get up in the morning, get out of bed, and get through the day. Or perhaps in the middle of a quagmire at work or a difficult relationship dynamic. When I’m spending a ton of energy on something, I start to doubt the validity of that effort–or even just question the nature of existence altogether: Why am I here? 

If I look at the immediate reasons for something, I often get discouraged. The immediately felt benefits of hard work, while sometimes rewarding in and of itself, are often not enough for me to keep going.  

But something helped me a lot this year. I remembered a motivational saying that captured the essence of purpose and meaning that I was craving: Remember your why.

Take my job for example. If I took it too literally, where I actually saw that my mission in life was to coordinate engineering projects for consumer electronics clients who have no other goal besides getting rich, I don’t know if I could get myself to go into work and devote hours of each day of my life to that mission. To me, that mission is not only meaningless but also potentially destructive to the environment and even to society. I would and do get discouraged pretty quick.

So I have to remember my larger “why”: to contribute to the family and take care of my Bruno. It’s not about making money itself. It’s what that money signifies: my money and energy traded in to provide for a shelter, food, and medical care for me and those I love. That’s it.

If my why for training jiujitsu was simply “to get a black belt,” I’m already gone and quit. I’ve thought about my “why train jiujitsu” a lot recently, because it’s expensive and time consuming, and I’ve thought about quitting many times. “Why am I doing this?” And a tiny voice inside responds: “To move my body and feel strong, to feel alive. Because this is my playtime. To stay mentally engaged and devoted to learning. To share my presence and story as a trans athlete, offering visibility, connection, or inspiration to others.”

Jiujitsu itself isn’t the ultimate “why” — it’s a vehicle for a bigger purpose: living a life that feels strong, curious, creative, and joyful.

So when you’re caught in the spiral of “why does this matter?” or “what’s the point of living?” remember your why. And not the immediate reason of “I want to be fit, look good, feel good, get recognition, get wealth, get validation.” But instead the bigger picture: a higher purpose. Only you can know what that is. Remember your why — it’s usually pretty abstract and separated from the immediate task at hand.

I don’t know a lot. In fact, what I don’t know is a lot more than what I do know. But this is some of the wisdom I’ve gained in the last year. I hope I remember it throughout the next year, and I’m also excited about what else I’m going to learn. Already excited about the jiujitsu and yoga and writing and spiritual journeys that I’m on and excited about what that could turn into, while not losing sight of what really matters: taking care of my Bruno. And to grow. To create. To love.

What’s your “why”?

Birthday Wisdom: 37 Years

You're one year older, one year wiser. What is one thing that you learned this year?

Don’t be afraid to change course.

I was on the academic path for a long time: learn a foreign language, get grants, do cool shit, write about it, present it, publish it, teach it.

To my twenty-some-year-old self, it was all pretty straightforward. The clear path was comforting. Despite all the hoops to jump through, at least I knew what and where the hoops were.

Let me be clear: It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows either, nor was it easy. I also wasn’t totally in the dark about how hard it was going to be, if not impossible, to make a living and career out of it.

At the time (and this was over 10 years ago now...), a lot of people told me that studying the Uyghurs was a dead-end for a research career. Some told me that it was only a matter of time before the Chinese government shut it down. Besides, I knew that there was a greater chance of getting into the Olympics than there was becoming a tenured university professor.* Others cautioned me against going into the social sciences in general, especially when spending so much time on a graduate degree in a field that had little to no practical applications.

Despite all these warnings, I remember making the conscious decision to pursue an advanced graduate degree: “I’m going to do this because I want to do it, because I’m passionate about it, because I believe in it, because I believe this work is important, because I believe this research has value, and because I would rather try and fail than to have never tried at all. As long as my school keeps getting external funding, I’m going to keep going,” I thought to myself.

I had planned to quit grad school after my Master’s degree, but upon receipt of the National Science Foundation grant that funded my research for three years, I decided to keep going. It would be foolish to turn that down. I was getting paid – however measly a stipend, it was still an income – to follow my intellectual passions and pursuits. How lucky was I?

And yet, there was another narrative being woven in: That if I just worked hard enough, if I was just smart enough, if I was just determined enough, that I would succeed. I would be the exception. In some ways, I was the classic millennial: I thought I was special. I would be the statistical anomaly that would make it through to a successful, well-known career as a Uyghur and China expert and would eventually become a tenured professor with a stable and secure job. You could have even gone so far as to say that it was "my dream." And I really believed that it was possible. Hard, but possible.

Hope is a powerful thing until it runs out. 

And then, that dream chipped away slowly one day after another, until finally there was nothing left. The realities of this world came crashing down and at the fork in the road, I chose a different path: consulting. Applying my knowledge and skills to data analysis. Learning a new language: computer code. This was smart. This was practical. This was lucrative. This had potential. And I was contributing to the environmental advocacy efforts striving to mitigate climate change. 

Last year that life came crashing down once again. My year-long job search for something better was fruitless, and my boss’s consulting business lost enough clients that I was laid off. I felt lost and hopeless, and in many ways, it felt like the last few years were a huge waste of time, not to mention all the years spent on graduate school.

But you know who was hiring? The tech sector. There was space for me and my skills, long cultivated during my years of schooling and professional life: connecting different people and things, bringing out the best in people through proper planning and direction, navigating different cultures, priorities, and personalities, juggling multiple deliverables at once, and analyzing large amounts of data in a short period of time: Project Management. 

It’s not glamorous. I joke that I’m a glorified administrative assistant. It’s a humble position. You’re like the stage crew of a theatre production: in the background, making sure everything is set up in the correct time and place, that everyone has the gear and information that they need to do their job. But not the main character. Not even the supporting actor. You’re more like the prep cook than the sous chef. In an orchestra, you're the bass player rather than the violin (and certainly not the conductor…). And I can find the joy in that, too. Because ultimately life is really just about finding your place in the world no matter how small.

So, for me the main lesson from this last year is: Don’t be afraid to change course – sometimes in dramatic or unexpected ways – no matter how long you’ve been on your current path (...and sometimes finding a new path in ways that are completely out of your control). You never know what you might find on the other side.

Maybe the point is that none of it was wasted. Every version of me—student, researcher, post-doc, author, consultant—was learning how to adapt, how to be resilient, how to let go, and how to begin again.

This year taught me that identity can be fluid without being lost. That changing course isn’t failure; it’s responsiveness. That meaning doesn’t disappear just because the plan does. And that grounding yourself in your values, your relationships, your body, your curiosity matters more than any single outcome. And certainly more than any single career. 

*This is popular folklore among graduate students and has not been independently confirmed as a statistical fact.

Poem for Myself

I am a hamster on the wheel,
I am the bird in its cage.
Is this how a wolf would feel?

Is this how a horse feels?

Is this just how life is?

A never-ending loop:

Make money, spend it.

Still feel empty.

Make money, spend it.

Still feel exhausted.

What's the point?

To feel safe?

Why did I work so hard?

Why didn't anyone tell me: don't try so hard cuz none of it matters and nobody really cares.

I hate the victim narrative.

I know I have the power.

But do I have the energy?

Do I have the resources?

And even if I did, does anyone care?

Baby Sammi deserves a second chance.

Everybody has their own gifts, 

their own contributions.

It all fits together,

like a tapestry,

like a mandala, 

each fractal a reflection of the whole.

I am you and you are me. 

Human.

Child.

Ego

Heart.

Spirit.

Temporary soul.

When the Stars Don't Catch You: Falling, Flying, and Everything in Between: Part 3

Tears stream down both of our faces. We're standing with our foreheads against each other, rocking back and forth and holding one another. We’re the only people who exist in the world. It’s just us, nobody else has ever existed or ever will. It’s us against the world. 

“You die, I die, we die together.” It’s April 2020, the height of the COVID-19 pandemic.

We’re sitting on a big boulder that juts out like a little peninsula, a creek flowing around us, full with the spring snow and rain propelling it fast down the mountains.  

“I love you,” I said to them for the first time. “I want ALL of you. Even the frustration and the distraction. I want to see it all! Your anger, frustration, sadness, fear, excitement and happiness. I want it all. You are so beautiful. There is a whole solar system in your eyes.”

The craziest experience I ever had was falling in love with B, my brain dosed in the chemicals serotonin and dopamine: I was high all the time. They could do nothing wrong and they were perfect in every way. I could never imagine them doing anything bad.

However, I noticed that when I put them on a pedestal, I found myself cowering in fear—what if they found out that I was imperfect? What would happen then? Once they found my demons, those monsters that sit inside my chest gathering smoke and tension, the tension in my shoulders and in my hips, that feeling of ache that manifests because I’m not good enough and I work and work and work as a way to fight and run away from those demons, the demons that tell me that I suck. The anger that arises from that fear? It explodes sometimes. But when B saw those demons, they didn’t run away. They stayed and deeper in love I fell.

But then one day like a slap in the face, I plummeted down to earth when I realized that B wasn’t perfect either, that B has flaws, some fatal flaws, flaws just like me, just like all of us, flaws that tell us that we are human.

---

I used to write in order to create and share, to play with versions of infinity. As a way for my spirit to dance, as a way for my spirit to dance with other spirits. As a way to inspire others to find, feel, play and realize their own spirits. Like others showed me the path, I wanted to show others, not by telling or lecturing nor teaching directly, but by being and sharing that spirit, the spirit of play and creativity. 

Writing was a way for me to learn and improve language and mind as one tool for play and creativity. A tool to share with the collective consciousness. To contribute to the collective consciousness ideas about how divisive categories are not optimal, that there is another path to a better life and a better world. To share knowledge, being, and spirit for the collective benefit of us all because stifling and silencing hurts everyone. 

I hoped that all beings may find a way to dance with their spirit and with other spirits, so we all may find an even better way to communicate and create, love, and connect in a way that celebrates and honors the spirit of life.

Those were my dreams and my ideals. 

A lot has happened since I dreamed those dreams and held those ideals: friends lost, jobs ended, books rejected, words deleted, money dwindled. 

---

My balloon of pride and hope and expectation did not pop all at once but slowly let air out as I deflated. And I distracted myself. With love and sex. With drugs. With food. With alcohol. With work. With anything that would not allow me to think about the fact that the reality of the world and our human-made systems constrain all of us: Time is limited. Resources are limited. Energy is limited. 

Maybe in our capitalist upbringings when we are falsely taught that energy in the form of oil and electricity is unlimited, we mistakenly absorb this message and think that all energy is unlimited. Human energy to produce and consume. "Money doesn't grow on trees," everyone likes to say. Ain't that the truth. But leaves do, and still there is not enough to absorb the carbon we keep releasing into the air. There are limits to everything. Including the ability of the earth itself to handle the destruction we as humans feel compelled to inflict for our own growth and benefit. Including our ability to keep up with an unsustainable pace at work and in life.

---

To quote the late Andrea Gibson, "I knew you blew this world a kiss..." when you helped me open not only my heart but also my body to the violence of transphobia. 

Those phobias live so deep inside of me that I don't even recognize that when I look away it's because I'm looking away from the shame that lives deep inside myself. 

It happens when I look away from the homeless person on the street. What triggers me to look away? Is it their precarious position and the ravages of their addiction and mental health? Or is it the exposure of their bodily functions: urine, odor, and wild hair? Because that image of the wild, unkempt human? That is all of us inside: raw, gross, smelly humanity. I tend to look away from reality. Look away from the fact that the person could be me if I lost my job. It could be me if I let my secret compulsions of my own get too out of "control."

So I look away, I control myself. And maybe I don't understand that gender fluid person because I don't understand my own gender, something so personal and yet shaped so deeply by society at the same time. And I don't understand the world and its destruction just like I don't understand myself and my own self-sabotage. 

But I knew you blew this world a kiss when you said, "I'm going to love myself AND you AND the fear AND the hate anyway." I put myself and my body out there. I said, "Fuck it, I'm gonna love myself and the world."

Then I felt my limitations and looked at reality in the face and saw all the flaws in the world and in myself. Limitations that tell us that we are human and therefore we too will always make mistakes and that forgiveness is also worthy. Worthy for ourselves and worthy for others, no matter how fucked up things get.

So, to my dreams and ideals, I don't know what I'm going to do with you and your creativity and imagination and hope and impracticality and distance from reality. But maybe there is a way I can hold on to you in the full awareness that you are a complete fiction. 

---

“I’m reminded...of a famous cartoon. It’s of a prisoner, shaking the bars, desperately trying to get out—but to his right and left, it’s open, no bars…All the prisoner has to do is walk around. But still, he frantically shakes the bars. That’s most of us. We feel completely stuck, trapped in our emotional cells, but there is a way out—as long as we’re willing to see it.”--Lori Gottlieb

I used to think I was a bird in a cage, flying and slamming against the bars until I was too exhausted to move. They were only lines I drew myself, too close to see through the blur of exhaustion and fear. Maybe the freedom isn’t in the flight I once imagined, or in the perfect life I thought I’d earn if I just worked hard enough. 

Now, when the dread rises and the weight of the world presses down, I remember this: I can still walk around. My wings might be tired, but they’re not broken. I can stand, stretch, and step forward—out of the cage, into the open air—carrying my dreams as a compass towards something else. 

And for the first time, I am not slamming. I am simply walking.

Perhaps freedom isn’t in the soaring I once chased, but in the tender, steady act of walking forward—wings folded, dreams trailing gently behind me like the shadow of flight.

And as I cross the threshold, I realize: the cage was never the end. It was only the beginning.

The world still sucks. Life is still a struggle. I'm not sure those ideals are ever coming back. Is it time to resurrect old dreams or come up with new ones?

The point is that there is no point...except to walk your journey and find some growth and freedom along the way.

---

Dear dreams and ideals,

You were the reason I got up in the morning. You were the light at the end of the tunnel. You were the thing that gave me and my life meaning and purpose: that there was a happy life out there waiting for me. That hard work would reward me with success and money. That if I pushed off pleasure now that I would get mine later. That there was hope for a better world. 

That there was a future where I could live off the grid–on my own communal farm with chickens and goats and spinach. That I would live in a big, shared house that I co-owned with all my closest friends and lovers. That I could change the world–or at least, have an impact. That the point of everything was love and connection. That I could find interdependence, for living in harmony with myself, others, and Nature.

I miss you.

When the Stars Don't Catch You: Falling, Flying, and Everything in Between: Part 2

 It’s Saturday, December 1, 2022. 

Brie and I had gotten married a few months prior and we were living in Phoenix, Arizona. We spent our honeymoon that October kayaking in Antelope Canyon, hiking the Grand Canyon, and rock climbing in Sedona. Thanksgiving was spent backpacking in the Superstition Wilderness, star gazing and enjoying the shade of the oases that sprung up in the middle of the desert, fed by the underground springs that bubbled up seemingly out of nowhere. 

Riding high on the new freedoms--and unemployment--of my life after academia, and starry eyed with optimism in a new trans male body, I was preparing for a jiujitsu competition in Phoenix. The competition was scheduled for mid-December. 

---

I had recently switched gym affiliations and was newly training with Jay Pages’ gym. We had competition training at the gym every Saturday morning. 

“Slap hands and go,” came the instruction from the coach. 

The timer started, the music blaring. We engaged first in hand fighting–grabbing the wrist, then the forearm, then the tricep. I used my forehead to bore into my opponents’ head, then I controlled their hips, went to the left and then the right. We were immersed in a tangle of limbs and sweat. My brain turned off. There was nothing else that existed in the world except for my breath and the pressure of our bodies against each other, which was strangely calming, simulating murder but in the most loving and playful way you can imagine.

Competition training meant that the session was focused on stand-up (wrestling and judo, something that normal jiujitsu training rounds didn’t always include); higher intensity (faster pace with more muscle leverage involved than a normal training session); and playing for points (this meant keeping positions for the required 3 seconds, switching positions as often as possible to rack up points, and making sure that positions met the requirements for points, things you didn’t normally pay attention to when you were just training for fun or exercise).

That day, December 1st, I let out a sigh of relief when I was paired up with a blue belt female. She was the only woman in the class that day and the only person close to my size. She was kind and friendly and a good jiujitsu player, someone I had trained with before, someone I felt comfortable going hard with because we were about the same strength level. 

We started the session with some wrestling rounds aiming for a take-down: getting the opponent off their feet, either on their back or with their knees and hands on the mat. Round 1. She took me down and I took her down. 

Round 2. She came at me hard with a double leg, where you wrap both arms around your opponent’s legs and use your shoulder to push into their ribs to bring them to the ground. She came in for the kill, made contact with my lower ribs with great force and my foot got caught on the mat. She plowed through me like I wasn’t even there and as she fell on top of me, I felt something snap in my ankle. Pain seared through every molecule of my being and I saw a flash of white light. 

Before I knew it, I was face down on the mat. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t talk. I just felt tears leaking out of my eyes against my will. But in seconds, I got my bearings. I heard voices yelling as my partner stood over me.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” I said. “Just twisted my ankle.”

Training resumed and I crawled over to the side of the mat. A few minutes later, my partner re-appeared with some Advil and a big bag of ice. “I’m so sorry!” she said, looking concerned. “I just ran to the corner store to grab you these.” 

“Thank you so much,” I choked out, still breathing heavily. “I’m okay, just in shock. I better sit out. You guys keep training.” 

With a couple of Advil in me and a bag of ice on my ankle, I sat for the rest of the practice. Nobody paid too much notice. In jiujitsu, injuries aren’t uncommon. 

At the end of training, I tried walking and quickly collapsed in pain. One of the guys offered to give me a piggy-back-ride out to my car. I obliged, my arms wrapped around his neck and my legs wrapped around his hips, feeling silly and childish but thankful all the same. I drove home with my left foot, my right leg useless and flopped like a dead fish to the side. I laid on the couch for the rest of the day. Brie came home a few hours later.

“I hurt my ankle at jiujitsu,” I said. “It’s bad. I think it might be broken.”

“It’s not possible to break an ankle. You can sprain or tear an ankle but unless you shatter the ankle bone you can’t break an ankle,” B replied. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” I said. 

“Do you want to go to urgent care?” B asked. “If we go to the ER, we’re going to be there for the next 8-12 hours, just think about that.” It was 7 pm and I didn’t want to be at the hospital all night. 

“Yeah, let’s just wait and see if it gets better,” I said. “I’ll call the doctor on Monday.” 

---

I texted my friend who had crutches from a knee injury a few months earlier and asked him if he still had them, and if so, could I borrow them? He brought them over and I hopped to the front gate of our house to retrieve them when he arrived. 

“Sorry, I’m on my way to an event, I can’t stay long! Hope they’re helpful!” he yelled over his shoulder as he slid back into his car. 

Brie was gone all day on Sunday and I walked my dog with the crutches. At one point I slipped and put weight on the hurt ankle, only to be met with that bright white light and searing pain again. I gasped and went back to hopping with the crutches.

On Monday morning, it wasn’t better and had swollen to twice its normal size. I found a foot and ankle doctor via Google and they had an appointment open for Tuesday. On Tuesday, I drove myself to the doctor, again using my left foot, my right foot collapsed in uselessness. They took an x-ray and reported, “Yeah, it’s very, very broken. Shattered. You’re going to need surgery unless you want to be handicapped for the rest of your life.” 

It turned out that I had broken my fibula (not my ankle exactly, and for this Brie was partially right). It was a bone I’d never heard of before, never having taken biology or anatomy (the fibula is the thin bone located on the outer side of the lower leg, parallel to the shinbone).

I was on board. No way did I want to be handicapped at age 33. By some miracle of God, I was “blessed” to have health insurance that year (or was it extreme structural inequities that health care is not guaranteed in this country? The bill later would read “$65,000” just for the surgery alone, not to mention the doctor’s appointments and supplies needed before and after. Without my insurance, I don’t know what I would have done.)

“OK, when can I get the surgery?” I asked. 

“Right now it’s too swollen to operate on,” the doctor reported. “You’re going to need to elevate and ice it 24/7 for the next few days to get the swelling down and then we can do surgery on Friday.” 

So that’s what I did. Foot propped above my head and encased in ice, I slept and felt sorry for myself for the next few days. My parents and in-laws were scheduled to come visit that weekend, so I called them and cancelled. On Friday night, the only time the operating room had an opening, I went under the knife at 11 pm. Known as an ORIF (Open Reduction and Internal Fixation), it was a surgical procedure used to repair severe bone fractures. They put in 2 metal rods and 12 screws to put the bone back together and secure my leg in place.

---

The nurses warned me that it was “one of the more painful types of surgeries we know of.” The next month was a taste of hell. Only given five days of opiates (“It’s for your own good, the addiction risk is too high and those drugs lower your pain tolerance, resulting in more pain long-term and overall,” explained the surgeon), the rest of the time I was in pain 24/7. Especially at night when the pain demons seemed to emerge just to cackle at me from on high while I laid in bed and stared at the ceiling, in so much pain that I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. The one thing I needed to heal was sleep and that was what I couldn’t seem to get.

Brie and I were moving back to Colorado the next week. But I was SOL, and not allowed to be weightbearing on that leg for the next 8 weeks. The following days were a blur of TV shows and audio books, totally dependent on Brie for everything from eating to brushing my teeth. My parents flew in from North Carolina to care for me while Brie packed up the house and drove the car and the dog to Colorado where we were moving.

One day in the midst of my parents visiting, I opened my email to find a rejection letter for a job application I had filed the previous month: “We regret to inform you that you will not be chosen to interview for this position.” 

The room started spinning and the air caught in my throat, my chest heaving. WTF? Not to be cocky, but…the position was for the director of a teacher training program in Asian Studies at CU Boulder. Not only had I graduated from there with a PhD specializing in Chinese Politics and Culture, but I personally knew the current director of the program, who had invited me to apply. I had worked for them in the recent past and I had thought that for sure I would at least get the chance to interview. 

That night, over grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, I cried like a little kid who had been chosen last for kickball at recess, my tears dripping down my face and onto my sandwich. My parents sat dumbfounded, not sure what to say, at a loss for how to comfort their grown adult child in a world they always knew was cruel. They gave their feeblest encouragement but mostly just stayed quiet. 

I had been unemployed for a year at that point and my hope that I could somehow make a living using my degree was dwindling as fast as a paper towel in a fire pit. 

It was that night that I decided I needed to start a new life using the skills I had. No more of this idealistic dreaming bullshit. 

I learned how to code and started looking for data analyst jobs. In January 2023, I found one. It was in the consulting industry with the what everyone told me was a "best case scenario": helping non-profits with their environmental work, especially in regards to public transportation, climate change, and animal and land conservation. What could be better than that? 

Yet I found myself miserable sitting in front of my computer day after day, feeling like a waste of life and a waste of space. Wake up, eat, work, sleep. Wake up, eat, work, sleep. The following months passed in a blur. I gave up on publishing my book. I was too exhausted to work on it.

---

Before, I had a vision of how my life was going to be. I was going to be successful. Use my Chinese language skills to set myself apart from the crowd. Use my writing skills to add creativity and communication to whatever job I got. Spread my knowledge by teaching the next generation. I was going to one of the rare few that knew how to have a healthy and successful work-life balance. 

If I didn’t make a lot of money, at least I would be happy. I’d have a fulfilling career spreading the joy of learning about other cultures and politics, especially in Asia, to other people. I’d write books about all the things I was thinking about: culture, politics, theory, inequality of globalization and capitalism. 

But rejection after rejection eventually wore me down. 

Nobody really cared. Nobody really wanted to hear what I had to say. Most people just needed to get through the day and make a little bit of money in the meantime. Soon that became my path as well.

There was no broader purpose for my life, no broader meaning, no broader message that I was meant to share and pass on. Life was short and cruel. 

“Life sucks and then you die,” said Mrs. Evans, my tenth grade chemistry teacher whenever we complained about the homework. It turns out, she was right.

My dreams about changing the world--or even making an impact--were very, very wrong. 

After all, "the higher you climb, the harder you fall." I had poured myself into learning Chinese, earning a PhD, writing a book, and carving out expertise in a niche corner of Chinese politics. When I was faced with the reality that none of it held any value in the world of tech and capitalism, the blow landed hard. It felt as if all of that time and energy I had spent had been for nothing.

So now, when I wake up and immediately feel the existential dread of life, the doom and gloom hovering over the work day ahead, and on Sundays when I’m filled with anxiety about the next week, when I just barely make it through the day without a nervous breakdown, when I rely on pots of coffee just to make it to 5 pm, I have to wonder, what’s the point? 

But it also gives me empathy. Who has time to appreciate art and learn about politics when you’re just trying to make it through the day?

When the Stars Don't Catch You: Falling, Flying, and Everything in Between: Part 1

I flap and flap and flap and slam and slam and slam against the walls of the cage.

My muscles scream at me to stop. My heart pounds and my stomach lurches, my lungs burn and my eyes water, my head swims and my skull throbs. I smell the cool, damp earth and I shiver in the cold. I hear the screeching of the other birds, crying out of fear and anger. I’m a candle burned down to the wick, and I can’t help them. I am too exhausted to help. I taste the metallic in my mouth and the bile rising from my throat.

“When can I stop?” I wonder.

But when I do stop, I panic. My breath is so fast that I get light-headed and dizzy from the lack of oxygen. They will know I’m a failure if they see the true me. I want to reach out but I’m so scared, scared of rejection, scared of judgment, scared of getting hurt, scared, scared, scared. All I want is a break but when it comes I feel I might die from exposure; that someone will kill me for my failure. 

I’ve never been this stressed out in my life. I’ve never been this busy in my life. I’ve never been this tired in my life. I repeat this refrain over and over again and somehow it comforts me even though I know it’s not the first nor the last time.

Maybe I’m not alone. Maybe we’re all just birds in a cage.

---

Work is one cage, that reliable friend we never had, always there for us. We suffocate there, fainting and losing consciousness for a while. When we wake, we see our shared struggles and we unite to break the chains that hold us down. But then we suffocate and the world goes dark again.

---

It was 2021 and I was living in Prague. I had “made” it: I was getting paid to write a book about a subject I was deeply passionate about. I had a PhD, I was fluent in a foreign language and proficient in another (a life-long goal of mine). 

I was living the dream: I had my own office and a fancy title on my business card. I had a rough draft of a book. Words were flowing from my fingers at the keyboard everyday.

I had finally come out to myself and my community as trans and was starting my gender transition. I went from ponytails to buzz cuts, from bras to swim trunks. I went from make-up to pomade, from earrings to studs. That was the moment that I truly took my life into my own hands, took the wheel and drove off into the sunset.

My muscles tightened, my eyes dried up, my sex drive sky-rocketed, my body hair thickened, my voice deepened, my shoulders tucked back, my chin held high. I was true. I was authentic. No more faking, no more lying, no more posing, no more being an imposter. I was ready to move on, and live in my full authentic self, my fully unmasked body, heart, mind, soul. I was going to be an artist, a writer, and help others find their true selves. I was going to be a role model for growth and transformation, a physical model of what it means to grow and change and not care what anyone else thinks and not care what society thinks, and just be myself. Nobody was going to let me down, nobody was going to get in my way. I was the true embodiment of authenticity, of soul, of essence, of being. I was going to drive the car from now on. The driver was no longer my fear, nor my ego. It was my Self. I had agency and I was taking responsibility for my life. I was handsome. I was trans. And nobody could tell me otherwise. I was a writer, I was a geographer, I was queer. And I was in love. That summer felt like poetry, the rhythm of the sun and the afternoon rain, the sound of thunder in the day and the crickets at night. The back and forth of cool nights and hot days. The freedom of a lengthy daytime, the beat of music at the rooftop bar, the slip and slide sweaty mess of jiujitsu, riding my bike home, weaving between the traffic lights and headlights, the late night noodles and shawarma and pizza by the slice. Summer felt like possibility, adventure, and freedom. Time for something new, for play: word play, mind play, body play, heart play. Thick with desire and hot with pursuit, I was growing and settling in. "Anything is possible," they said. "Dream big," they said. I was so close. This was all I ever wanted. My last dream to complete. Just finish the damn book already. But nobody ever said it was going to be easy.

---

All of the sudden, I’m slammed on my back and choked out. I get up and am immediately tripped, and my head slams against the mat again. A man with a full tattoo suit from his skull to his toes smothers me with his size and weight. Wristlock. Ankle lock. Knee lock. I stand up and tie my belt back on. And again: Choke, arm bar, triangle, shoulder lock. I look at the clock. Two minutes have gone by, five left to go. His eyes look like a cat who is stalking and batting around its prey before the kill. Fear bubbles up into my throat and my eyes smart, my nose running from the pressure of the chokes, liquid overflowing in my nasal passages. I’m scared but I don’t know how to walk away, to ask for a break, to concede defeat while keeping my dignity intact. 

I’m in Prague at the local jiujitsu gym soon after my gender transition and I have a sick feeling in my gut that I’m being bullied and targeted for being trans. But there’s no way to prove it except for the fact that this is the first time I’ve ever felt this way in my 10 years of training jiujitsu at that point. Words float into my head: “If you want to be a man, then you better be ready to be treated like one.” 

The most toxic of all toxic masculinities: “I was traumatized so the only thing I know to do is to traumatize others. I was hazed so you also need to be hazed.” Something known as “malgendering:” If you want to be a man, you have to act like one. If you want to be a man, then you have to be ready to receive the physical abuse that we suffered. There is no alternative narrative, no other way to be. To be gentle is not to be male. To be male is to inflict pain and wield power.

I was someone who had embraced and celebrated idealistic notions: “Don’t let anyone tell you what you can’t do, prove them wrong every time, you are the only thing standing in your own way, you can achieve anything that you put your mind to, all you have to do is believe in yourself.” And I was learning that my ideals were not all they're cracked up to be.

---

The poster on the 7th grade classroom wall said to shoot for the moon, even if we miss we’ll land among the stars. They told us, don't worry, we must fall before we can learn to fly.

But now here I am, 4 years later, and I have nothing to show for it. Disappointment bangs in my head, and my chest burns with shame.

The truth is that I chose this life–the comfort, the predictability. No more risks, no more chances to hear criticism. In its place is boredom.

I had to admit that I chose this life. If I wanted change, then I must claim accountability. If I wanted joy back. Doubt started to creep in. Questions popped in my mind. Regret ballooned in my chest. And with that anger. Anger at my past self for not being stronger. 

When is it too late to make a change? 

But with any change, loss comes along for the ride, and with loss, pain follows. And that’s what I’m afraid of. 

My dreams, my hopes, my ideals. They were crumbling.

And now I have a choice. Negligence versus accountability. Resurrect old dreams or come up with new ones. 

But is this all there is? Wake up, work, go to sleep. You set the goal, you do the thing, you feel empty. You watch the world go by, but feel utterly alone: Nobody cares, nothing matters. We’re all gonna die anyway, so what’s the point?

Entering Age 36: Part 3- Agency in Life

Every year, I like to do a post for my birthday answering the question: "You're one year older, one year wiser. What is one thing that you learned this year?" Of course, being the verbose person that I am, I always end up with more than one thing. This year, I'm going to post in multiple installments, each with one lesson from my 35th year (in no particular order). Here's the third one.

TLDR; Life is a very short creative project. You create your own destiny. You write the end to your own story. 

It's so easy to blame others for my problems. To blame the system. To blame my parents. To blame the narcissists and control freaks for what they could be doing better and differently. Blame my boss for giving me too much work, blame co-workers for being too lazy. 

The truth is that it's terrifying to take a good long look in the mirror and my flaws and the role I have played in my own failures. 

Maybe this is obvious to everyone else, but for me this was a huge breakthrough: You create your life. And in doing so, you create your own destiny.

--------

The big change I made this year was cutting my work hours to 32 hours per week (back from 40 hours). 

Last year, I was burned to a crisp. And I would complain about it to anyone who would listen. Life for me was miserable, I didn't have enough time to take care of myself, the house, my dog, or my spouse. It was an endless hamster wheel of staring at a computer screen while my hunchback go worse by the day, causing me serious shoulder and neck pain, as well as frequent headaches and stomachaches.

I had money though. I had money for massages and toys--outdoor gear, jiujitsu training clothes, ski passes, and multiple vacations. But I was not happy. None of those things bought me happiness. Comfort? Yes. But what was I actually seeking? Not comfort, but intense experiences like mountain biking trips in Moab, jiujitsu memberships, and a 4-day fasting retreat that was anything but comfortable. 

So what was the point of running in this endless rat race?

I had to face reality. I was just not cut out for this crazy ass mother fing dog-eat-dog world. But what could I handle? I could handle 32 hours a week. I asked my boss if I could cut down my hours and not work on Fridays. She said yes. 

Nobody told me what to do. Nobody did it for me. I had to take charge of my own life and say: this is what I want for my life. 

---------

Call it human evolution or spiritual consciousness or ego or dopamine or whatever you want, at the end of the day it is in the seeking that you shall find and it is in the struggle and pain and difficulty that you will emerge liberated. And nobody is going to do it for you. 

You're on your own, kid. You always have been. 

I'm an adult now. With great power comes great responsibility. So it's time to take responsibility for my own life and start writing what I want my own obituary to say about me. 

Entering Age 36: Part 2- Hope and Disappointment

Every year, I like to do a post for my birthday answering the question: "You're one year older, one year wiser. What is one thing that you learned this year?" Of course, being the verbose person that I am, I always end up with more than one thing. This year, I'm going to post in multiple installments, each with one lesson from my 35th year (in no particular order). Here's the second one.

TLDR; Allow hope but embrace disappointment. Because you can't control the future and you can't control other people.

I saw a shirt once that read: "Hope is my superpower."

"Wow!" I thought. "That's SO profound. I love that. YES! For without hope, what actually IS the point?" And I resolved right then and there to always hope for a better future and allow that to inspire me in all my endeavors! 

If there is not hope for the future--whether that be hope for a quiet and comfortable retirement someday, hope for the Earth to reverse climate change, hope for world peace--then why live?

If there is no hope for change, why put in the work?

Isn't hope and change what Obama won on? If we have no hope, no dreams for the future, nothing to look forward to, then why live at all?

I mean, if you're not striving for anything, why endure the suffering that defines the human condition?

And yet. The pain of disappointment makes me question whether the hope is even worth it in the first place. Is it worth the eventual letdown to try, to dream, to hope? 

The Buddha might say to that: "Hope but with no attachment to the outcome."

-----------

This past year, there were three specific events that I was super excited about, looking forward to, and invested in. All three of them got cancelled or did not come to fruition the way I had hoped. The reasons ranged from financial to logistical. It was a roller coaster for me. The excitement and the hope, the anticipation and the longing, the planning and the energy spent, to the realization it was not possible and the reckoning with the reality of limitations on time, energy, and money. 

I was super disappointed. I vowed, "Never again!" I was resentful. I was frustrated. I had taken the initiative and it was wasted. 

The Buddha might say: "It's about the journey, not the destination! It's about the process, not the outcome!" It's so true. And I learned a lot about the process of hope and disappointment, as well as control and flexibility, letting go and attachment. 

-----------

Young people are known for their idealism. Their energy. Their hope. They have a talent for innovation and growth. Adults are more known for cynicism and nostalgia. 

Is disappointment and facing reality an inherent part of becoming an adult? Or is that just societal programming speaking?

My dad especially has always been very pessimistic. Maybe he was just protecting me from the disappointment of life that he knew would come?

Once I claimed agency for myself and my life in adolescence, I really took off. I did a lot of things people told me were going to be very difficult if not impossible--learning Chinese and Uyghur, playing rugby, training jiujitsu, transitioning my gender, changing my name (again), and getting a PhD by 30.

But there's also been a lot of disappointment too. Not getting a job as a professor, multiple drafts of my book getting rejected, my marriage not being all sunshine and rainbows like the honeymoon period was. 

The realization that the world was burning down literally and figuratively. That capitalism and democracy are not actually the best systems ever. That America is not free and noble like we were taught to believe. 

That, in the end, we can't save the world. And maybe shouldn't even try, lest we come off as having a savior complex. 

The realization that it's really been our ego running the show and driving the car this whole time, and we don't even know who we are or what we want to be. The we might have been living a lie this whole time. 

---------

Which is worse? Save yourself from disappointment and live a life devoid of hope, choosing realism and pessimism? Or allow yourself hope, but experience the gut-wrenching grief and frustration of never realizing it? Or, allow yourself hope and detach from the outcome, being flexible when plans change? Be realistic by remembering the limitations of time and money, but plan fun things knowing that we only have limited time here on Earth?

You can't control others. You can't control the future. Allow hope but embrace disappointment as part of the human condition. 

Yes, disappointment will come. Things will get cancelled. People will let us down. Plans will unravel. But maybe that’s not failure—maybe that’s life doing what life does: unfolding in its messy, uncontrollable way. And maybe being human means staying open to it anyway.

So I’ll keep hoping. Not because I expect it all to work out, but because hope keeps me alive. Hope connects me to others, to creativity, to action. And when disappointment comes—and it will—I’ll try to meet it not with too much bitterness. With the understanding that to hope is to be human. And to keep hoping, even after heartbreak, is to be brave.

Entering Age 36: Part 1- Addictions and Burnout

Every year, I like to do a post for my birthday answering the question: "You're one year older, one year wiser. What is one thing that you learned this year?" Of course, being the verbose person that I am, I always end up with more than one thing. This year, I'm going to post in multiple installments, each with one lesson from my 35th year (in no particular order). Here's the first one. 

TLDR; If you burn the candle at both ends, you will burnout. You are borrowing energy from your future self and it will catch up to you. 

When you override your instincts or your natural needs to eat and sleep, you are using a credit card with an interest rate to get the energy you need. Eventually the debt will catch up to you and you will have to pay the price, plus the interest that has built up on it. The longer you wait to pay it back, the more interest you will have to pay. That cost might come in the form of taking years off of your total life span. Or it could come in exhaustion, physical pain, injury, which could result in losing your job, hobbies, or relationships. It begs the question: is it worth it?

This borrowing of energy from your future self comes in many forms, sometimes addictive behaviors. Coffee is one mainstream example. Partying is another--whether imbibing in alcohol, indulging in drugs, or staying up too late. Workaholism, meaning that you are neglecting your mental and physical health for the sake of your job (such as staying up all night to finish a project at work) is one that society rewards. 

Taking long periods of time to rest, reset, and recuperate are beautiful and worth it and important. Depending on how much energy debt you’ve built up, this period of time to rest could mean months or years. 

On the other hand, choosing safety and rest and sleep – and the joy that comes with those things – over excitement is very fulfilling. Joy is and can be very quiet and just for yourself, though it can also be shared with others too. It doesn't have to be a late-night party or a big promotion at work. It can just be staying at home with your dog. 

For me, my addictions to work, coffee, and other types of adrenaline- or dopamine-producing activities have led to some burnout, and working through some of those addictions has been huge. 

Everyone has addictions in some form. Some are good coping strategies, some are more harmful. Which are yours and why? Having the awareness and self-compassion for those addictions goes a long way. Is it something you’re choosing to do or is it choosing you against your will? To me, that's the difference between a behavior and an addiction: consent. In my mind, if you feel like you must do something in order to survive, get through the day, or it feels like something you can't NOT do, then it might be an addiction. If it is, it might be robbing your future self from yourself, your energy, and your future joy. Eventually, you will burnout. And it might not be worth it. 

Everyone has addictions (plural!). It’s not about escaping them completely (for that can become an addiction in and of itself), but about being aware of them. It's about listening to the message that the addiction is bringing to you about you and your life. How can that awareness help you take the high road (aka, the more difficult and challenging steep path)? The one where you contribute to society without ego instead of your base instincts toward animalistic pleasures? You’re an animal but you also live in a society. What is your role in the collective at each moment? Sex (or similar pleasures including sugar), money and power are our base instincts. But does that lead to a fulfilling life? 

There’s something about surrendering to a higher Self, to a higher Good, that is even more satisfying. I'm talking about the person that picks up litter even though nobody is watching or cares or knows. Even though picking up a piece of litter won't really make a difference. The person who takes the bus because it saves on a microgram of a microgram of air pollution. The person who writes the review on Google even though you’ll never see them again. Who feels and believes and contributes as a person living in and contributing to this society. 

Is this society perfect? No. It has so many flaws as do you and I. But we’re here and we’re living in it. To feel like you’re contributing to it in some way feels good. Feels really good. To spend time with Bruno on New Year’s Eve so that he has some company during the fireworks instead of with Molly, the friend that always goes away the next morning. To empty the dishwasher. To refill the water in the chicken coop. To do yoga in the morning and work on a creative project and then go skiing because you’re not so exhausted that the next day is totally shot. To wash the solar panels because that increases their efficiency even though nobody else cares or will notice. To take the EV because it has a smaller carbon footprint even though you then have to stop and charge it. To boycott social media. To tip the delivery worker. 

Because it’s not all about you. It’s about the collective good. It’s not all about your immediate pleasures. It’s about the society we’re making and the universe that we’re all a part of. It’s not about fame, money, power, pleasure, sex, adrenaline, dopamine, serotonin. It’s about contributing in our own small ways to the universe that we’re all a part of. But it’s not the big things. It’s the small things. And they all add up. And nobody is going to tell you what to do or pat you on the back. In fact, it might be quite the opposite. People might be jealous of you or codependent with you. They might be projecting their own insecurities onto you, which might cause them to feel resentful or angry. And in the meantime, you’re going against your most basic urges and cravings that make you an animal. But there’s something bigger and better out there. But it can only be achieved through moderation and sometimes a bit of struggle and discomfort. 

But most of all, it’s about embracing the concept of only spending the energy you have and not taking out a loan and spending energy with debt. Because it will catch up to you one way or another. 

Are you using a credit card with your brain and body to buy energy that you don’t have? Or are you living within your means? And are you being present to the suffering and struggle that is life and humanity? Or are you numbing and hiding out? 

Because eventually you will reach the rock bottom of that pleasure and there will be nothing left to fill that void.

The alternative is that you can be present with that struggle. You can use contributions and quiet joy and rest and care for yourself and others to fill that hole, one shovel of dirt at a time. 

I’m not saying that it’s easy. Choosing truth over comfort might be the hardest thing I’ll ever have to do and I still feel that void and that hole all the time. But I have felt greater fulfillment and satisfaction in the smallest moments of overcoming struggle and facing my discomfort and fears head on instead of hiding and numbing out with drugs.

So, as I step into my 36th year, I’m trying to live within my energy means. I’m learning to honor rest without guilt, to find joy in the quiet, and to choose presence over escape. I’m learning to spend energy like it’s sacred, not infinite. And in doing so, I’ve discovered rest. Maybe that’s the wisdom of this year: not to reach for more, but to care more deeply for what I already have—my body, my mind, my future self, and this flawed, beautiful world we all share.

Night between Day 3 and 4 of the Vision Fast- stargazing

 In the middle of the night, I woke up hot with a dry mouth and chapped lips. I stripped off my layers and lay there for a long time. 

My chapped lips remind me of childhood because I frequently had chapped lips. It brings me right back to that place of being a kid. 

Chapped lips are about shedding the dead skin and regrowing new skin. 

Finally, I realized I needed to get up and tend to my body. I drank some water, put some of my layers back on, put my shoes on, and went to pee.

The moon was yellow, almost full, almost at the horizon, and huge in the sky. But I couldn’t fully see it because there were trees in the way. I wanted to get to a ridge where I could see it. 

I made myself some electrolyte water and packed up my emergency pack with my first-aid kit and lighter. I secured my sleeping bag and other stuff at camp so it wouldn’t blow away if the wind picked up. I got my headlamp on. 

Much to my dismay and surprise, by the time I did all that, it was already too late. The mood had fallen below the horizon and I could no longer see it. 

I walked toward where it had been. I tried getting a little higher and closer so that I could see it, but it was gone. 

I was so disappointed. 

Sometimes things don’t turn out the way we hope. Everything is temporary. 

I returned to my tarp. I moved my sleeping bag out from underneath the tarp and laid underneath the stars. The sky was so black since the moon had set that the Milky Way was clearer than I’d seen it in a long, long time. 

I saw 3 shooting stars over the course of the next few hours! 

I also saw many airplanes and satellites moving across the sky, and I wondered what the people on the planes were doing, where they were going and why. 

I meditated. 

I did one meditation where I think “filling up” on the in breath and “letting go” on the out breath. I thought of all the people in my life who I will most likely witness their death and attend their funerals in the coming years: my parents, aunts and uncles, mentors, and friends. Even Bruno. Even Brie (at some point unless I die first). Even me. 

Either they will mourn me or I will mourn them. Either way, we will have to say goodbye. 

I thought of grandpa and said “Hi” to him. 

I told my Dad I love him and thanked him for everything. Same with Mom. 

I just watched those stars and thought about how big the universe is and how small I am. 

And how small an atom is and how big I am relative to that. 

The macro and the micro. They both exist in one, big fractal pattern. 

Cancer is when the cells go haywire and the whole body - one type of universe - dies. 

So the best thing we can do in this world is to be a good cell, not a cancerous one. 

Day 3 of the Vision Fast- getting lost

I turned left, heading West, into a grove. I was so sure that I was right. But all of the sudden, everything was unrecognizable. The sun was starting to set. I was out of water and I was exhausted. I felt disoriented and not able to think clearly. I went down into a valley I thought I recognized but it wasn’t what I thought.

I took a deep breath and retraced my steps, heading back East. Finally, and luckily, I found my way back to the dirt bike path I recognized. 

I walked North toward the direction of my spot for a long time. I had a dawning realization that I had been completely off when I had turned West into that grove of trees. The correct turn towards my spot was another half-mile North up the trail. 

Finally, I got to the intersection with the cow trough that I recognized and from there I could see my tarp. I got back- sweaty, exhausted, and parched.

I once was lost but now am found. 

Home sweet home. 

It was the coming back that was so right and good. The arrival was so sweet and welcomed. It’s the coming back that’s the best part. But to come back, you must first get lost. 

I thought of my grandpa. He must have been so scared when he got lost in the car driving around Pittsburgh.  

I am a neurodiverse and integrated artist of connection

 South. 

West.

North. 

East. 

I contain multitudes.

He/they/she.

Practical Daddy Sam. 

Playful Baby Sammi.

Introverted and autistic Samuel. 

Diligent Elizabeth. 

Spiritual and creative Liz.

All are artists. All are present. All are hungry. 

Hungry for trust and affirmation.

Hungry for attention and care. 

All want to be seen, heard, valued. 

All want what is best for me. 

All want and need connection. 

Is it possible to dream a life where all of them get airtime everyday? 

I am whole. I am integrate. I am an initiated adult. 

I am creative. 

I am at the integral level, creating my life. 

Is it possible to check-in with each part each day?

Yes, my soul screams!

Yes, my heart screams!

Yes, my body screams!

My mind, exhausted, doesn't have the energy to scream. 

What do we need to let die?

To make room to what I need. 

My book. 

Drugs. 

Social media. 

Let go and let love. 

For you, for them, for us. 

Poem for Day 2 of Solo Vision Fast

 Grumble. 

Rumble. 

Uh oh. 

I race back to camp. 

Grab my TP. 

Hastily dig a hole. 

The Great Purge of Day 2. 

Brown water bursts from my asshole. 

Letting go of old ways that no longer serve.

Releasing myself. 

Earlier I spoke to Elizabeth. 

Is it okay if you take a backseat? 

Yes, I'm exhausted. 

You have so many gifts and privileges

I just want you to be seen

and appreciated

for all your hard work and self-sacrifice. 

And, besides, 

I like challenging intellectual tasks. 

Sammi Bear needs some time to play. 

I will never forget about you.

The burden, 

the weight, 

flowed out of me

and splattered on my bare feet. 

We all make messes. 

We all make mistakes. 

We all have regrets.

Flies swarmed. 

Something or someone

will always benefit from

your shit.

I cleaned up, 

washed up. 

All done. 

Purged. 

Clean.

Healthy.

Safe.

Comfortable. 

You just have to be willing to clean up your messes. 

I touched the Earth. 

Thank you for holding me.

All of me. 

The disgusting and the beautiful. 

The hope and the despair.

The dark and the light.

Poem for Brie

 Neurodiverse as shit. 

Queer as fuck. 

Society doesn't appreciate our gifts. 

Fuck society. 

You are a weaver of Worlds, 

a protector of Truth. 

You are an artist, 

creator of beauty. 

Your curly hair, 

your bright green eyes. 

Your long legs, 

and wide smile. 

You are perfect. 

You are everything and nothing. 

"To the world, you might be one person, 

but to one person, you might be the world."

I'm that one person.

You are my world. 

May we both multiply beauty and joy

with our Love now and forever. 

Entering Age 35

“You’re one year older, one year wiser. What is one thing that you learned this year?”

Okay, one thing or four things?

1. Work is always too much and never enough.

2. Do your own thing and don’t wait for others. Just go. 

3. Never let your threshold guardians dictate your path. Let them teach you. 

4. Flow with the seasons.

Work is all consuming and yet is a never-ending cycle of never catching up to the finish line. What is it about work that makes it feel like an endless void, a chasm of energy drain? I can never catch up, I can never get away from the tiger chasing me. I am on a hamster wheel. I am flooded endlessly by tasks that creep into my consciousness and tell me, “You must get this done!” in a snake-like hiss. Instead of going outside to play, I hunch in front of my computer, slurping coffee and click click click, tip tap tip goes the keyboard as I stare at a screen for hours on end. Bruno wonders what I’m doing. “Can we go outside? Can we play? Can we snuggle?” No, no, no. I am busy. I am working. No time for anything else. My shoulders ache, my neck screams to stop. When I do finally stop for the day, I have no energy left. My brain is fried, my eyes tired. The only thing I can do is eat something, as my body and mind think that I’ve been running from a tiger all day and thus am desperate for quick fuel. I do this day after day, and yet I still have to race the clock to get my 40 hours and I just barely make it, and the to-do list continues to grow. “It’s too much,” I say. And, it is never enough. 

I am a leader of trips. I move fast, I think fast. I plan, I do. I travel, I organize logistics. I think my way into the future. I imagine my Vertellis questions that will be waiting for me at the end of the year. I create experiences for myself and others, knowing that I’ll be grateful later. Not everyone appreciates this. Not everyone wants to have everything planned. Some thrive with an open and blank calendar. Some do not or cannot organize lots of logistics at once. Some like to think things over and weigh the pros and cons, and do research about all the possibilities. NOT ME. I like to plan and execute. I think about the trips I want and bring everything together to make that happen: flights, AirBnBs, permits, applications. I like to invite others but I do not like to wait for others. I will join and I will lead, I will invite, but I will not wait. I am adventurous and I go by myself if I have to. 

Listen to your threshold guardians but do not be discouraged by them. I am on a Hero’s Journey of transformation with many challenges and obstacles along the way. Some people call these threshold guardians, symbolized as the Siren Sisters in the Odyssey, for example. My threshold guardians are jiujitsu professors, teammates and empty morning classes; Nasty peer reviews and constant delays and re-writing of drafts; Challenging clients and a perfectionist boss; Doubts, insecurities, narratives of scarcity, narratives that I am not worthy, not good enough, will never amount to much. DO NOT LISTEN TO THE SIRENS! If you persist, you can and will prevail. Some evidence in my own life is: my blue belt in skiing, my brown belt in jiujitsu, progression on my book, improvements in training Bruno, lead climbing outside, 401(k) benefits and raises at work. I am married to the love of my life and living my Truth as a non-binary person. I have amazing friends who I show up for and who show up for me. BConnected is a strong and growing community. I am in great shape physically. I am progressing, growing, and evolving on this journey toward the integral level of spirituality and creativity. You must confront your threshold guardians OR ignore them but never let them dictate your path- let them teach you what you need to know to succeed on your journey. 

The seasons have a lot to teach about the constant shift in weather, mood, and focus. Seasonal sports come and go. Enjoy them while they last. Summer is a time to be wild and free, swim in the creek, dance at Red Rocks, hike the Colorado Trail, visit Rocky Mountain National Park, mountain bike the Monarch Crest Trail. It is a time to nourish my body, listen to the call for play, energy, and sensuality. Fall is a time for hibernation, sleep, rest as resistance, composting the shit, cocooning, reflecting and embracing the dark. Winter is a time for community, holiday parties, Christmas gifts, and skiing. Hot cocoa and snuggles. Stripping down to the bare essentials. Getting in shape for spring. Spring is a time to write, to watching the blooming flowers, to bask in the sunshine, to meditate and pray. Getting stuck in one season for too long is suffocating and boring. Changing up sports and routine, focus and goals every 3 months or so allows for change, shifts, and growth, movement and space, diversity, variety, adjustments, excitement, and rest. 

Octagon: The fight, the belief, and the myth

This year, I have been using an Intuitive Writing deck that my friend, Three, gifted me. Each card has a word or shape on it, and you use that word or shape to prompt a piece of creative writing. I'm going to post a series of entries from my Intuitive Writing practice here, just for fun. 

[OCTAGON]

This reminds me of the UFC, which reminds me of MMA, which reminds me of competing at jiujitsu competitions. 

Fighting in the cage. Your mind goes blank. It doesn’t matter who it is or what time it is. Just go. Turn off your brain. Your mind is no longer helpful. Your body already knows what to do. 

Your body already knows from the hours of training. From practice. The information is already there. Every thought you’ve ever had? It can be manifested in that moment. Just be present. Everything you need to be or have is already inside of you.

The important thing is to not think. Never think. Just go. Turn off your brain. Just go. Believe. 

Believe in yourself. Believe that you can fly. That’s all you can do. Just believe in yourself. It doesn’t matter what the outcome is, but in that moment, you need that belief. Believe in the myth that you can do it, that you can succeed, that you can win, that you can fly, that you can fight. 

You’re exhausted and just fighting to stay alive. You consider giving up. THAT IS YOUR EDGE. You consider saying, "I can’t do this." 

Why would you say that? Of course, you can. You got this. You just go. There is no alternative. You just have faith in yourself that you can do it. And you do. You keep going and you’re really not that tired in the end. 

Same with writing. Just believe that you can do it. I have hit my edge. I really questioned giving up. I’m not going to though. Even if it means writing a new book, finding a new publisher, whatever it takes. This book is going to get written. I believe that my book will somehow find its way into the world and one day it will move and touch at least one reader. That’s all I want. 

Life isn't a never-ending fight. Or, at least, it's not supposed to be. Life is about practicing for the fight. Most of the time, you are drilling and training. It's boring sometimes and tiring other times. It's not always exciting. But you show up anyway. You show up to practice unless you're sick. If you're sick, you have to rest. But otherwise, you show up and do the moves. Even if you don't want to. So the next time there's a fight, and you want to give up, you turn your brain off and you let your body take over. And you already know what to do because you've done it so many times before. 

Because it’s so easy to fall out of practice and just coast on auto-pilot, not really paying attention, doing the bare minimum. But showing up to practice, and then doing the practice is what matters. Not getting the gold medal. Not winning the competition. But drilling. Going through the motions, but with attention to mistakes so that you can learn, rinse, repeat, iterate, grow, and evolve. 

Evolution and the nature of evolution is a kind of higher power. We’re always changing. We are free to evolve into the highest version of ourselves. 

Thoughts on Creativity, Evolution, and Jiu-Jitsu

How does creativity and evolution tie together? 

What really sets apart good and great, black belt and brown belt is creativity. Once you reach the higher levels, your jiujitsu starts to evolve not by studying moves and replicating what you see other people do. Progress comes at the higher levels when you start inventing your own jiujitsu. And a big part of that creativity is wholeness: when the pieces of the puzzle start to come together, you start to see more and more of the whole picture. Seeing the wholeness and being creative is what unlocks the secret of beautiful and fun jiujitsu. 

The ingredients to evolution being creativity and wholeness is something you can see both on and off the mat. 

You start taking one move from a position and see how you can use it in a different position and bring a bunch of different pieces together in a creative way that is unique to you and your own jiujitsu journey. 

Whole + creative = evolution. 

Jiujitsu is an example of where going to the next belt signifies that you are evolving in your own game by integrating different moves together: linking sequences, translating concepts in multiple scenarios, setting up chains of offense and defense. But the way you ultimately progress to higher levels is by taking risks, being willing to fail, and in responding to those risks and integrating multiple sequences and theories, you are creative. 

Being Transgender in Jiu-Jitsu

Introduction

“For your next competition, are you going to sign up for the male or female division?,” my girlfriend at the time (now my wife) asked me when I was talking about competing. 

The question of which category--male or female--to choose at a competition is not a concern for most people. But for transgender people who have just started transitioning, like me, this question could be at the forefront of their minds because they might not fit into either category. 

The transgender spectrum is wide. Some folks don’t identify on either side of the male/female gender binary. They may identify as “non-binary,” “agender,” “genderqueer,” or “gender expansive.” These folks are a fluid mix of genders, or otherwise transgressing binary gender norms. They may or may not be on hormone therapy. 

When you exist somewhere in the middle of the gender binary, picking a name and pronouns--much less the male or female category at a jiujitsu tournament--is not as straightforward as it might seem. 

Trans and non-binary people are an important and often invisible part of the jiujitsu community. Furthermore, they remain untapped talent that could benefit the grappling world if they knew that they would be welcomed. Creating inclusive environments for gender non-conforming people at jiujitsu gyms and competitions means growing the sport and the community.

Why does gender matter in a sport like jiujitsu where all genders train together?

With a sport like jiujitsu where players wear an androgynous kimono and people of all genders train together, it can be easy to say that gender “doesn’t really matter” or that “gender is a personal thing.” Why is gender identity in jiujitsu spaces important to talk about? 

Indeed, the other day I was rolling when I saw someone I didn’t know who was sitting on the side of the mat looking directly at me. The person pointed at me and Sam overheard them ask their friend, “Wait, is that a boy or a girl?” 

I just kept rolling and didn’t really care what the answer was or what the conversation was about. But I asked in my head, “Does it really matter what my gender is?” The truth is that, on the jiujitsu mat, whether someone was born male or female--and indeed, what their genitals are presently--certainly doesn’t matter. And that is one of the beautiful things about jiujitsu: equality. The way we all roll the same is what brings the jiujitsu community together. People from all walks of life--disability status, race, gender, and sexual orientation--can come together and roll. These labels don’t matter when we’re focused on our technique. 

The main thing that matters in that moment--that suspended time warp of sparring--is just the time spent on the mat and the sweat and blood you spent to get to where you are. The thing that matters is the connection that you share with the other person. At the end of the day, jiujitsu is not even about the color of the belt nor the medal at competitions, it’s about a shared community coming together to make the world a more kind and connected place through the beauty of martial arts. 

Nevertheless, our identities and the experiences that have been shaped by our identities contribute to who we are as a fully integrated human. 

The people on the mat are more than just a bag of limbs and techniques, but whole people with experiences which affect who they are, the life they face and how they're treated by others. Ignoring gender is analogous to being “colorblind” to race, which ignores the experiences that People of Color face in their lives and overlooks the privilege that white people the world over enjoy. 

Trans people have a different experience than cis gender people. Full stop. Therefore, creating environments that treat trans and non-binary people as equals is essential to incorporating a richer and fuller jiujitsu community. 

Why inclusivity matters in the jiujitsu community

I am trans masculine and use they/them pronouns. He/Him are okay too. 

With this in mind, I come to you as the humble author of an article set out to share some of my experiences as a genderqueer person who trains jiujitsu. In the end, my goal is to assert that transgender inclusion is within reach of the standard practice of jiujitsu, including competition settings. I will conclude with a few policy suggestions that will help the community as a whole attract and retain more people in jiujitsu for the betterment of the sport and its practitioners. 

People who are trans, questioning, or genderqueer will be more likely to start and less likely to quit if jiujitsu communities start with a baseline of inclusivity. This baseline can include a few basic practices that help people who are different from the mainstream feel more comfortable, such as asking for and using correct pronouns and celebrating mixed gender competition divisions. Inclusive practices help diversify the training environment and competition scene, ultimately helping everybody improve and elevate their own jiujitsu game. 

GENDER, COMPETING, AND TESTOSTERONE

Here are a few facts about myself to help situate my background and where I’m coming from in writing this article:

● I was Assigned Female At Birth. 

● I primarily use they/them pronouns. 

● I am transmasculine and genderqueer.

● I’ve been on testosterone for several months. 

● I am from the United States and I live in Central Europe. 

● I’m a purple belt in jiujitsu. 

As I socially transition into life as a male, I have gone from being perceived as a relatively strong woman to a weak and skinny guy. Thomas McBee also writes in his book Amateur about boxing as a trans athlete and his experience of masculinity in a fighting sport, where aggression and vulnerability coincide. Relating to what McBee writes about, I regularly get my ass kicked on the mat and I love it. 

“Competition is ‘força’ (power) and then some technique,” my jiujitsu professor wrote to me when I told him my intention to compete in the male division. “Realistic goals are the key to success.” My heart sank. He didn’t think I was capable. 

When I tell close friends that I want to compete in the male division, they often protest. Several months of testosterone doesn’t compare to a lifetime of it, they insist. I will be at a significant disadvantage and I should just sign up for the female division, others say. Men and women are on steroids to improve performance, and my hormone replacement therapy is no different, they argue. I shouldn’t compete in the men’s division until I change my name on my official identification documents, some suggest. 

As the advice poured in, my thoughts went round and round. In the end, I decided competing in the male division is a better choice for me...if I’m allowed. I emailed Jiu Jitsu World League to ask if I could compete at one of their upcoming competitions as a female-to-male (FtM) transgender athlete. After following up a few times, I finally received a kind response that concluded with “we currently don't have any rules regarding this situation in place.” 

As an FtM, I also couldn’t help thinking: Why is this even a question? Are they really that scared about what would happen to their fragile male egos if I *gasp* possibly won? Still, I’m determined. I regularly train against men who are much bigger than me. Why is it such a big issue for me to compete against men who are the same size as me? 

The thing I love about this sport is not the competitions. The jiujitsu journey is not about the outcome, the gold medal, or the podium stand. It’s about the community and connection that this art provides. Still, nobody should be barred from competing--this makes our already small community even more limited. 

And this is just my experience as a female-to-male transgender athlete, where I seemingly do not represent much threat to my competitor. I am also in a relatively privileged position because I present as male in a patriarchal society. Transfeminine and non-binary athletes have a whole different set of challenges, where they face more exclusion, discrimination and hate crimes due to their gender identity. 

Locker Rooms

These were the thoughts I was considering in the last several months as my body--my voice, the shape of my face, and my facial hair--has started to change with hormones. When I came out to my jiujitsu professor a few months ago, he was affirming of my gender, supportive and respectful. He agreed to use my new pronouns and name. And yet. 

“You can’t use the men’s room at the gym. First of all, it’s not safe. The guys will eat you alive in there. You will be bullied and harassed, so it’s better if you continue to use the women’s room,” he told me. 

I agreed, but there should be some rules or basic standards of human dignity in place so that I wouldn’t be bullied if I used the locker room of my choice.

In the months that have followed that conversation with my coach, I have continued to use the women’s room as I was told. Because the entrance to the mat space requires passing through a locker room first, I must enter the locker room before each class. Our jiujitsu club shares the locker room with a big sports complex and I often encounter people who don’t know me. 

When I first walk in, I am often met with stares, giggles, or shocked faces and embarrassed looks. Then, a well-intentioned person informs me that I’m in the wrong locker room, telling me that the men’s room is down the hall. The only thing I can usually muster in response is, “I was born female.” Their eyes get big, they nod and turn away, usually not saying anything in response.

Every day I dread going into the women’s locker room. Not because I’m going to be misgendered, but quite the opposite: people see me as a guy, because I look like a guy. And I am a guy; I’m a trans guy. And women react quite strongly to the presence of a guy in the locker room for social and historical reasons. But I still must use the women’s room according to the gym’s policy--and a policy that lacks any kind of enforcement against bullying. I have considered quitting multiple times because of the locker room policy.    

While women react to my presence in the women’s locker room with confusion at best and horror at worst, I have no doubt that the men’s room would not be any better, as my coach himself said, they would “eat me alive.” 

It is striking to me that jiujitsu is the one place in my life where people are not fully accepting of me yet: some of the men bully me on the mat, people don’t necessarily respect my name or my pronouns. When I tell people I’ve changed my name because I’m trans, they look away in embarrassment or confusion. Competing is still only a maybe for me, and the locker room situation is awkward to say the least. Being trans is uncomfortable and I know that. However, in my experience, the jiujitsu communities in every place I have lived--even in open, liberal, urban areas--are behind most other people and communities in terms of thinking and inclusive policies, from sexual harassment to race relations to gender identity.

However, in recent days my heart has lifted with some optimism. When I returned to my former gym, they had a transgender person on staff as well as more gender inclusive language during classes. Jiu Jitsu World League finally responded to my email. They not only agreed that I could compete in the male division at one of their upcoming tournaments, but also offered to sponsor me and waived my admission fees. My professor responded to my news with “I’ll be there in your corner to support you.”

I’m pleased to see these changes and excited to compete in the male division soon. Still, there is more work to be done. My fiancée and a number of friends are male-to-female transgender athletes in jiujitsu and other sports, and their experiences are not so positive--especially when they are white belts. The jiujitsu community’s imperative to break down hierarchies and gender norms, and enforce anti-bullying and inclusivity policies for transgender people, go beyond simple solutions, and must include interrogation of racism and sexism as well. 

We can do better

Let us not continue to be a backward community that continues to tout outdated definitions of toxic masculinity and gender binaries. Let us continue to progress and broaden our horizons, keeping our hearts and minds open to what is possible, so that we may expand our community and not limit it. 

Ask people their name and pronouns. Trust that the adults in the locker room have chosen the room that is best for them, and if they look different, they are probably more uncomfortable than you are. Allow trans people to use the locker room of their choice and compete in competitions. Be respectful and treat all people with dignity. Have a zero tolerance policy for bullying, harassment, and assault. It sounds simple, but these practices are not something I’ve consistently witnessed in the jiujitsu community. 

Creating a more inclusive community starts with small things. Show people that they matter to the community and that they belong just like everyone else: a smile, a hello, an invitation to roll. Inclusivity continues with the big things like locker room and competition policies that are inclusive of trans people. Ultimately, we are striving for a cultural shift towards open-mindedness and away from prejudiced thinking in the jiujitsu community. 

When you get on the mat, whether born male or female, whether cis or trans, straight or queer, it all doesn’t matter. What matters is your jiujitsu. At the same time, gender matters and is a fundamental part of people’s experiences, especially in sports, and the jiujitsu community as a whole can do more to include people from the entire spectrum of identities. 

CONCLUSION

I have a few suggestions for gyms and competition guidelines that could help keep evolving the community to be more inclusive to people from the entire gender spectrum, with our ultimate goal being to recruit and retain more people into the sport. The aim of Roll the Same and this article is to encourage people to adopt behavior and policies that will ultimately elevate the sport and improve everyone’s jiujitsu by expanding the diversity of our recruiting pool and retention numbers. 

Gym policies

● Jiujitsu gyms would benefit from a policy that encourages coaches and teammates to ask for and use the players’ correct pronouns. 

○ Most genderqueer people are unfortunately accustomed to being accidentally misgendered on a daily basis. Cis gender people would likely be displeased with ill-intended descriptions of themselves as a different gender, such as describing a woman as “looking like a man” or describing a man as “girly” as an intended insult. In the same fashion, a culture of respecting others’ pronouns ensures that genderqueer people are not misgendered in a way that could be hurtful or insulting. 

○ One way to help gym staff to fulfil this is to include a text box on membership forms which asks people’s pronouns, and include text at the top of the form which advises the student on who to contact to provide updates if any of their personal information changes. Roll call or attendance lists will include each players’ pronouns. 

○ Such a policy wouldn't criminalize mistakes, but would set a precedent to endeavor to address people appropriately. 

● A policy that allows people to use the locker room of the gender in which they identify signals an inclusive environment to all. 

○ There is no evidence of increased assault in places with inclusive bathroom policies and allowing people to use the bathroom of their gender identity (e.g., allowing trans men to use the men’s bathroom) is a crucial part of making genderqueer people feel safe. 

○ Inappropriate behavior should be handled by management. If someone makes another at the gym feel unsafe, such as through harassment or assault, that person would be removed from gym participation. 

○ Gender neutral bathroom or locker room options will be provided if space and resources allow. 

● Gender inclusive environments means grouping and pairing people together during technique, drilling, and rolling sessions based on size or weight instead of biological sex.

○ Unless, of course, someone has expressed an intention to learn to defend themselves against a particular gender or body type which they struggle against. All policies should have flexibility to real world application, but the idea is to have the focus on training be about body size and technique rather than gender.

● Harassment, abusive behavior, lechery and assault is not tolerated. If someone is doing things which made someone else feel unsafe, then this would be acted upon and that person would be asked to leave the gym. 

Competition policies

 

● Competition guidelines can outline language and policies inclusive to trans, gender expansive, non-binary or not fully transitioned trans people. Big shout out to Chloe Moore who pioneered gender inclusive guidelines in her competitions. Chloe has already established guidelines based on the International Olympic Committee Guidelines for transwomen to compete. While fully transitioned trans men can usually compete in the male divisions “undercover,” it is best if a policy explicitly welcomes all trans and non-binary people to sign up for the division of their choice. 

● Guidelines can also include policies for non-binary people. For example, language in the competition rules can include policies such as the following:

○ “Gender expansive and non-binary individuals are also welcome to compete, however, they will be accepted on a case by case basis depending on current exposure to testosterone.” 

● Competitions, as an extension of the universal training approach that mixes male and female training partners, can offer mixed and/or absolute divisions that do not separate the divisions biological sex. 

○ Again, shout out to Chloe Moore who already had this idea and is currently planning an absolute division where all genders will be included in the divisions. She wrote on the Fight Like a Girl social media channels that for the next competition she would like to “create a mixed competition division for Blue - Black belt. This division would be open to both male and female competitors, and separated [only] by weight category.”

I love this sport. I love the people in this sport. We can all evolve in our thinking and behavior to become more inclusive in order to grow our community. 

Additional Resources:

Many organizations, like “Roll the Same,” are already championing equality in jiujitsu, especially when it comes to gender and the LGBT umbrella, as well as sexual harassment issues. We encourage you to check out the following groups for more information:

• Triangles Everywhere
• Fight Like A Girl
• Safe Guard
• Women Who Fight
• Guard Whats Yours