As I sit to write on this beautiful summer morning, my attention is captured by two ferries that are beginning their twelve mile sprint across the Caribbean waters that separate Cozumel and Playa Del Carmen. As I ponder the question “Why are there two of them?” a cool breeze gives a moment of welcome relief to my already hot and sweaty back. Clusters of white puffy clouds gradually change shapes as they gently drift by against the backdrop of the sunny blue sky. A short distance away, a small bird carefully and methodically scours the ground investigating every potentially tasty morsel with its long sharp bill.
How wonderful it feels to be back in the plaza, beginning another day of writing. After having been away for just a week—a week that feels like months—I am overflowing with an undeniable internal urge to resume my passion.
The wheels of my plane touched down on the hot tarmac shortly before 3:00 p.m. yesterday afternoon. My suitcase was among the first to be deposited on the inside baggage carousel, and I breezed through customs, only to discover, “No Arturo.” My friend and transportation back to my home was nowhere to be found—and I had no way to contact him.
With my plane already on the ground for over 45 minutes, I resolved to take matters into my own hands. Having ridden my bicycle past the airport a few times, I am quite familiar with the route. Doing some quick math in my head, I calculated “I could easily walk the distance in around forty minutes.” With hardly a pause, I strapped my two suitcases together and set out into the hot sun, eager for a little much-needed exercise.
The first five blocks went quite smoothly, until I realized that my suitcases were becoming increasingly more difficult to pull. A quick investigation revealed that the wheel mechanism on my larger forty-five pound suitcase was deteriorating rapidly as I drug my luggage over the hot streets and sidewalks.
Choosing to hail a cab, I was soon handing thirty pesos (about $2.40) to the driver as he unloaded my heavy bags onto the sidewalk in front of my home. After climbing the stairs and unlocking my front door, I was quite surprised by the stale, musty smell. Only minutes later, every window in my apartment was open, and my ceiling fans were cranked up on high. The musty stale air was soon a thing of the past.
As I began to unpack, my need for rest soon trumped all other desires. After being up since 2:30 a.m. Cozumel time, my bed was loudly beckoning me for a short nap. Minutes turned into hours before I finally forced my tired bones out of bed long enough to munch down a nutritious meal of three mini chocolate bars topped off with several spoonfuls of peanut butter. I washed down my satisfying ‘meal’ with two large glasses of ice water.
Miguel the Persistent
With a few weeks having passed since I have talked about local life here in Cozumel, I was about to begin today’s writing by discussing Miguel.
Minutes ago, shortly after I began writing, Miguel silently tiptoed up behind me here in the gazebo. I jumped as Miguel let out a soft snorting noise while playfully tapping me on the right shoulder.
Usually, Miguel takes a bus all the way to his work (which begins at 11:00 a.m.), but after discovering that I am often here in the plaza during the morning hours, Miguel has begun to alter his daily routine. Several times during the past few weeks, he just ‘happened’ to be strolling through the plaza around 10:30 a.m., giving him just enough time to visit for ten minutes before walking the rest of the way to his job.
Confusion would be a great starting term to describe my relationship with Miguel. Our conversations always leave me confused as to what his intentions might be. Romance and intimacy are the furthest things away on my radar scope, yet every time we talk, Miguel makes a point of telling me how much he likes me—even loves me.
My feelings continue to tell me there is a hidden purpose to my friendship with this sweet 75-year-old gentleman, but I have yet to discover what that unknown purpose might be. I continue to be unconditionally loving and friendly with him, but at the same time I am practicing the delicate art of laying down firm but loving boundaries—in a foreign language no less.
I could have a blast being friends with Miguel if I actually trusted that our friendship was his only intention. But the language and cultural barriers always keep me guessing. Yes, my Spanish is greatly improved, but I still do not understand all of the subtle cultural meanings of various words, even seemingly simple words. A case in point would be “What does it mean when you say that you ‘like’ someone?”
Miguel is constantly telling me how much he likes me. Not being sure what “like” actually means in this culture, I reply with qualifications such as “I like you as a friend,” and “I like you as a person.”
He replies something like “I like you very, very much … I like you as a person … I like you as a friend … and I like you as a Woman.”
Not knowing what he means by “I like you as a Woman,” I reply “I like you as a friend, but I do not like you as a Man.”
“But I am a Man,” he protests.
“But I don’t like you that way,” I try to respond, reinforcing with a firm “We agreed that we are just friends, right?”
While he verbally acknowledges that “Yes, we are just friends,” he keeps dropping major hints that he would like to be more. “I love you very, very much,” he often tells me. I can tell by the sweet sincere tone of his voice, and the genuine attentive look in his eyes, that he really means it, and wishes I would reciprocate.
With every such conversation, I try to emphasize that I love him too, but I love him the same as I love everyone else, not in a special ‘man-woman’ way. “Solo amigos (just friends)” is a phrase that I constantly feel obligated to repeat throughout our sometimes awkward conversations.
In the midst of these hints, Miguel repeatedly begs me to do things. Two weeks ago he asked me over and over to let him know when he could bring food to my house to cook me dinner. On other occasions, when I mentioned that I was tired, he pressured me to come over to his house to rest. “I will just go about my activities while you rest and listen to music,” he reassured me.
“No.” I repeatedly answered to each of these requests.
“Why not?” he persistently begged.
“I don’t know how to say the words.” I replied.
“Just try to say it,” he insisted.
Searching my limited vocabulary for appropriate words, I began with what I think was, “I worry that your heart will be injured … I worry that you want more from me than I can give to you, and I don’t want to hurt you … I worry that you want to be more than friends and I can only be a friend.”
“I am a grown man,” he tells me. “You cannot hurt me. I know that we are just friends.”
Still, my heart and intuition tell me otherwise. I would love to let him cook me dinner, but I just don’t trust his intentions—and I don’t want to lead him on. If I believed he was capable of being “just friends,” I would say yes in a heartbeat—but I fear that such a dinner would just feed into the confusion even more.
Frequently, we sit and converse while I constantly look things up in my trusty dictionary. Miguel helps me with my Spanish and I teach him a few phrases in English. A few days before my recent flight home, he asked me to look up the word “convivir.” As I discovered that the verb means “to live together,” he proceeded to innocently talk about how some people share the same household space. I could not quite decipher his intentions as I was left to naively fill in the blanks. “Why did he want me to learn this particular verb?” I silently pondered as I walked away. I simply pushed the thought out of my mind.
Still, amidst all of the confusion, I do enjoy our friendship. Our frequent encounters keep me anchored in the moment, wondering what will happen next, forcing me to learn how to lovingly express my inner feelings in ways I might otherwise have not explored. Even though I find myself at times avoiding Miguel, I eagerly approach each encounter to see just what will happen next.
Sharing My ‘Story’
Complete honesty is my motto—but I used to fudge in one major area. ‘Terrified’ would be an understatement regarding how I used to feel when I contemplated sharing my transgender status with anyone.
In past years I had two kinds of friends. Most of my friends were merely casual acquaintances. With these “type one” friends, I kept my walls up, being very careful to keep my past secrets safe and secure. The other type of friends included those with whom I had shared my complete heart and soul. I deeply cherished these “type two” friends because I could be my real genuine self in every way.
Fear of rejection was foremost on my mind, followed closely with fear that my new friend might feel as if they had been deceived and lied to. I kept my casual friends at arms distance, skillfully deflecting queries about my former spouse, my children, or my childhood. When questions began to get personal, I casually diverted the conversation to someone or something else. On the one hand, I longed to share more openly, but I agonized over the fear of what might occur if I were to reveal my seeming-dark secrets.
With my healing path has come incredible freedom and openness. For several years now, I have followed a new rule. While I don’t go around with a big red “T” on my forehead, I also don’t walk the streets with a sack over my head. Instead, I trust my instincts, my heart, and my internal voices. If a conversation begins to flow, even with a total stranger, I flow with it. I don’t always mention my writings, or personal topics, but I often do venture into that realm. When I talk about myself, there is a huge chance someone will inquire deeper, asking questions that, if answered, may lead to the sharing of my story.
The “rule” I made for myself is that I will never deflect an obvious direct and genuine question. While I may not always fill in all of the details, I will always answer truthfully.
The result of following this rule has been more than fabulous. My personal confidence has skyrocketed as my deep genuine friendships have gradually expanded in numbers. In fact, I cannot recall a single incident where following my heart and sharing my story resulted in any type of negative reaction. Gratitude swells in my heart as I reflect on the amazing friends that bless my life—and all I had to do was to be my loving genuine self and follow my inner promptings.
As I have begun to develop budding casual friendships with some American women here in Cozumel, I have found myself facing an old dilemma. “What will these women think of me? Will I end up sharing my story? What will their reaction be? Will they accept me … or will I be ostracized from the island?”
Up until twelve days ago, this was not an issue. I did not talk much about myself, and no one asked questions either. I simply enjoyed casual conversation over weekly breakfasts or fun silly discussions as we played games during the Friday night game nights.
For weeks now, there are a few women with whom I contemplated sharing my story. But so far, my heart had not provided the direct “knowing” that now was the time.
A few days before I flew home for my son’s wedding, I briefly held my breath when a new email brought me to the reality that I had two choices: Ignore my rule, or once again take a risk by stepping into the unknown.
I received a “Facebook friend request” from one of my new American friends here in Cozumel. For those of you not yet familiar with Facebook, it is an online social website where people connect and share information about daily life events or feelings. When I post a comment, all of my online friends can see what I have written, and may optionally respond. It is a very fun, simple, and less-time-consuming way to keep up with a large number of friends.
I seriously pondered the realization, “If I accept this woman’s friend request, I will need to share my story with her.”
This statement was quite obvious. Anyone who follows me on Facebook will soon learn about my blog, as I often mention my blog in my Facebook status updates. Another unavoidable fact is that I openly discuss my transgendered past in some blog entries. Yes, I am keenly aware that a Facebook friendship with someone implies that my past is now an open book.
For a while, I cowered in the safety of simply ignoring the new “friend request.” Two days later, after pondering the potential ramifications, I made a decision based solely on internal promptings. Sitting down at my laptop, I composed an email to my new friend in which I briefly summarized my life story. Knowing full well that rejection was a real possibility, I paused briefly while my cursor was still positioned above the “send” button.
Just seconds later, after taking a few deep breaths, a calm and peaceful feeling quietly settled into my being. As I pushed the button, I knew there was no going back, but I also knew in my heart that “all is well.”
Early the next morning I gleefully discovered that I have a new “type two” friend—the kind where I can be my real and genuine self. How I love following my internal voices.
As I write, the thought dances into my mind. “What will I say to Miguel if he begins to ask me more detailed personal questions?” I have no idea when or if this will happen—but I am at peace, knowing that I will be guided by my internal voices at the appropriate time.
An ego part of me wants to remain anonymous as I participate in my bicycle journeys of self discovery. Sharing what is now “simply a story” always has the potential to complicate things—but I cannot develop deeper relationships by remaining silent. Yes, not sharing cements me into unrewarding, superficial, and ultimately unsatisfying relationships.
Each time I get out of my heart and into my head over this issue, my meditations bring me back to the awareness that “I honestly don’t know what any of this is for.” I know that my spiritual guides know the bigger picture and I trust that my inner voices will guide me through each and every situation. How could I possibly know the outcome all by my lonesome?
When I am spiritually centered, I feel no need to stress over or control the situation or the outcome—my only function is to be tuned in to the inner frequencies that allow me to respond with love, surrender, and trust. When I am connected to my inner guides, I know that I will have the courage to do whatever they ask of me. When I am connected to my spiritual source, I have the peaceful conviction that the journey ahead will be incredibly beautiful. Not knowing “what any of this is for” simply adds to the wonder and excitement.
Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved