By Romana 09/29/2015

I can play back old memories, but some parts of my life seem outrageous.  Perhaps, I was afflicted with Buddhist crazy wisdom early on.  Crazy wisdom is a path of spiritual discovery, where one does a fresh take on reality, without standardized conceptions and dualities.  It is my intention to discuss my view of the gender mess in a series of humorous anecdotes.

When I was born, I did not seem to get a proper gender identity, so I’ve spent my most of my life trying to figure gender out.  When I started school in 1948, I thought boys and girls were basically separated by clothing.  I was not curious about hidden anatomy, so I was certainly not going to turn girls upside-down to look.  Not long after, I developed a desire to dress like the girls, but I never wanted to be a genetic girl.  A genetic girl is a female, who likes the corresponding gender identity to her sex.

I wondered how girls could go all day long wearing skirts.  I did not dare try this out; there would have been so much fuss and fury.

While my male friends were all busy getting girlfriends, even by the fifth grade, I was mystified by the whole process.  However, shortly after graduating from high school, I decided I wanted a girlfriend too.  Even though I did not know I had Asperger’s syndrome, it was in full effect, so I was totally clueless how to actually get a girlfriend.  I had a first date at age 21, dinner on the University of Washington campus, followed by a free concert in the old Meany hall.  Ravi Shankar was the featured performer.  That would be my last date for many years, until age 30, in fact.  I blindly pursued my impossible dream of getting a woman.  Why did it look so easy for the other guys?

I went to college and got a degree in physics.  No one was aware that I was not mature enough do this.  I always seemed to be just competent enough, I guess.  Still, there was a war raging in Viet Nam, and I was not able to talk my way out of military service.  I got a draft notice for the army in 1965; I managed to enlist in the Air Force, instead.  This was not really much of a step up, more like moving from the fire to the frying pan.  In retrospect, the Air Force had actually been good for me.  At least, it got me out of my parents’ house, which is where many Asperger males end up getting stuck.  This is my view in hindsight; actually, military service seemed excruciating.  It was another example of inconvenience leading to enlightenment, which I have recently grown to appreciate,

My first civilian job was in Lompoc California, working at Vandenberg AFB.  There was an extreme shortage of women in the area for dating.  I felt very incompetent meeting women, but it never occurred to me, or anyone else, that I might be autistic.  After seven years, I decided to leave and go to work for Boeing in Seattle, because Seattle was rumored to have a lot more available women.  I had a couple of first dates that had no follow up.  The concept of rejection had not yet set in my mind.

I went on the radio program called the Loveline, a KVI radio program, three times.  This was my typically non-standard way of seeking a woman.  On the third try, I met Carolyn, and the rest became history.  This was my first experience with risk-taking.  Meeting Carolyn was risky, since she had children, and I had been alone all my life.  Taking risks, while desiring a woman in my life, would lead to unanticipated changes.

Carolyn was a Mormon.  This meant she grew up in an environment where women tended to pick men based on character, rather than dating fantasies.  I did not simply have character, I was a character.  Initially I was expected to be a dominant husband, much like most patriarchal Mormon husbands, but I was no good at this kind of simulation.  I was also supposed to be social and talk about everything.  I froze.  I could not act like a typical male and be social too.  For me, this illogically violated my whole concept of my male image, which I took very seriously.  I thought about my lifelong yearning to crossdress.  I decided to explore this as a solution to my dilemma, since it would certainly disrupt my social habits.  Desperation had led to a new kind of risk-taking.

I have a creative mind; I don’t do things like anyone else.  I realized that if I was going to crossdress, I had to do it in public.  I’m not a person to sneak around in the shadows.  I picked Halloween 1989, at my Boeing workplace, as my coming out venue.  This was actually a shocking way to explore crossdressing.  I planned for the event by buying women’s clothing on my own, mail-ordering a wig, and trying to figure out cosmetics.  I absolutely would not let my wife help.  This was, after all, an engineering problem.

I showed up at work looking quite ghastly, but I did manage to lose my fear of embarrassment for all time.  Though I was confused, I wasn’t going to give this up, but I did not really have a goal in mind.  At this point, living as a woman was not even a fantasy; how could I ever manage that?

It took me a long time to get the hang of dressing like a woman. Carolyn was very concerned; neither of us had any idea what was going on.  I was like a teenage girl, including the overdone makeup. In December 1997, I shocked Carolyn by getting a therapist, whom I see to this very day.  Later, he would diagnose that I had Asperger’s syndrome.  It was not an easy call, since I could seem so neurologically typical, at times.

In May of 1998, I took Carolyn to our first transgender conference in Port Angeles. This was the first year of a new focus on wives’ issues.  When Carolyn talked to other wives, she realized that I was not a crossdresser after all.  I was actually transgender, but the term in this context had not been invented at this time.  When we got back, I took Carolyn to J.C. Penney, where she picked out a new skirt suit for me.  I still have this outfit.  It’s a weird suit, since it is brown in daylight, but often dark green in indoor lighting.

Carolyn would not go out in public with me dressed, except to transgender events.  She said hell would freeze before she would accompany me to non-transgender public events.  In 1999, Carolyn flew to Arizona, with her mother, to visit relatives.  I was on my own as Romana at the Halloween concert at Benaroya Hall.  For the first time, I used the women’s restroom, and got away with it.  When she came back, I managed to convince her to go to a few concerts, ballets, and operas with me as Romana.  Scandalously, hell had experienced an episode of frost.

Other wives of transgenders did not let their husbands do this; we were exploring new territory.  In a sense, this was outrageous in principle, but not in action.  I behaved myself very convincingly, acting every bit like a woman out with her girlfriend.  As time passed, my body language began to telegraph woman more than man.  I attributed this to a lack of fear, which I had pretty much exhibited from the start.

When we moved into our new Auburn house in 2000, Romana became part of the household.  My women’s clothes were no longer exiled to the basement, especially since our new house did not have a basement.  It helped immensely when I let Carolyn give me useful advice on how to dress like a woman. Soon, I began to crossdress increasingly more often.  This was the topic for many sessions with out therapist.  I was being unpredictable, while Carolyn seemed to forget what we had already agreed on.  I did not realize that the process was being sabotaged by a third-party in our lives.

By 2002, I had reached more than 50% of the time.  I also got laid-off from Boeing and had to retire.

We joined Tri-Ess, a crossdressing club, and had meetings at our house.  These meetings were for wives and their crossdressing or transgender husbands.  I had a lot of discussion with the wives about my public presentation.  I liked to mix my feminine identity with my masculine socialization, but they said they were not free to act like me.  They told me of endless behavioral restrictions placed on women.  I thought all those non-written rules were arbitrary and sexist.  After all, this was a modern world, where women were supposed to be gaining more equality, but it was more like one step forward, then two back. I think many women still follow such rules, due to upbringing, peer pressure, and social conditioning and expectations.

I don’t like arbitrary cultural rules.  I feel fine mixing and matching attributes associated with both male and female roles. I almost always wear skirts, even when hiking or mowing the grass.  I feel empowered dressing this way.  Carolyn often remarked how my manners and deportment changed when I became Romana.  As Dennis, I dressed somewhat like a bum, but I was always classily attired as Romana.  My therapist said I was very much like a New England woman, than a pacific coast woman.  It was brazen behavior, on my part.  However, I never really liked men’s clothing in the first place.  I had always hated tight collars, which made me sweat profusely.

Carolyn taught me how to dress like a Mormon woman, which meant age-appropriate and modest clothing.  I did not start out this way; in fact, this was not the way I wanted to dress.  I had mixed emotions about crossdressing, and I did little self-examination.  I wanted to dress too young, and I refused to wear some of the latest women’s styles. 

Maybe I was clinging to my masculinity, as if in fear that femininity would overwhelm me.  I wanted to protect my male psyche.  It all seems so silly now.  I was never in danger of losing myself; in fact, I was learning who I actually wanted to be.

I have always liked to walk fast.  Recently, I was not sure how fast I should walk as Romana.  Some of my genetic women friends walk fast too, so they advised me not to use excessively long strides.  Since I am usually wearing skirts, I let the skirts restrict my stride, while still walking fast.  I suppose this is outrageous.

Carolyn did not like me being Romana in all our outings; she occasionally wanted me to dress in Dennis mode.  Then she would ask for various items that I only carried in my large hand bag.  I would politely remind her, “Dear, I only have my hand bag when I am Romana.  As Dennis, I only have a wallet in my pant’s pocket.”  In retrospect, this was absurd, but it was part of our learning experience.

I used to think Carolyn’s endless questions about my gender-bending were annoying.  I learned in counseling that wives frequently pose questions about the relationship to husbands, since men don’t always share feelings very well.  My wife wanted reassurance that I still loved her, that she was important in my life, and that I would take her concerns seriously.  When I complied, tensions in our marriage went way down.

Carolyn’s health issues had already forced her to retire; gradually, she grew weaker and became increasingly handicapped.  In June 2005, I came home from church one Sunday and decided not to change back to Dennis.  Carolyn noticed my failure to change immediately.  I started living full-time as a woman.  In July, 2006, I learned I had Asperger’s syndrome.  Interesting, everyone in my life had missed this up to this time.  Carolyn became super supportive, as if she sensed I was on a path away from autism.

We continued to go where few couples dare.  As an astonishing expression of love, Carolyn actually allowed me to be Romana on our anniversary and on Valentine’s Day.

Carolyn’s deteriorating condition required a lot of attention.  Living as Romana made it easier for me to care for her; however, this aggravated background problems that I had no inkling of.  I will not repeat the tragic chain of events.  She went downhill fast, almost as if she had been swept up by a landside.   She died in November, 2010.

I decided to go back to my Buddhist meditation practice in April 2011.  I was really a pain in the rear, constantly complaining how unfair life had been to me.  As my practice developed, and I attended helpful classes, I examined my subconscious and saw that I was the source of all my suffering.  Thus began years of learning to see the big picture, beyond my own petty problems.  I realized that would suffer a lot less if I gave up my attachment to as much of my pain as possible.

On some days, insight literally poured into my mind.  However, dating was still a problem.  I felt I should be desirable, since I was developing excellent social skills.  I had no fear of being Romana in public, I had lost all my nervousness, and I could easily pass as a woman.   I always passed close scrutiny, since I do not have a protruding Adam’s apple.  Years of laser treatments and electrolysis had mostly eliminated most of my whiskers.  In 2014, I legally became Romana, and got a new drivers’ license, social security card, and passport…all stamped with the letter “F.”  I had transitioned without any surgeries.  To me, these changes were reasonable safeguards that made it safe for me and anyone who was with me.  However, I knew that I had to look like a man in bed, if I was ever to get a new woman in my life.  Yet, now that Carolyn is gone, none of my life adjustments seem to make me the least bit attractive, not even to bisexual and lesbian women.  I was experiencing a Catch-22, where I already had to be in a relationship, in order for a woman to see me as a person, not a freak of nature.

Part of my focus with Carolyn had been never to allow my gender identity to deny her any benefits of our relationship.  I did not want to wander around having fun and adventures, while she stayed at home.  Carolyn really appreciated that I was treating her as a true equal.  I became more involved in Carolyn’s life, including making friends with countless Mormon relatives and friends.

I chased a woman, whom I’ll call Ms. Shelton, for over two years.  Later, I realized she was unsuitable for me.  We did have one non-sexual pajama sleepover at my house.  This was the way our great-grandparents met each other, sleeping in the same bed without sex.  I am told that I am fairly handsome as Dennis, but seeing me in man-mode did not make me any more attractive to Ms. Shelton; in fact, she still became somewhat hysterical over me dressed as Romana.  This was an innovative idea that did not work.

In the mean time, testosterone was driving me crazy; I just had to have a woman.  So, I balanced my hormones with a light testosterone blocker and estradiol.  While I hoped this would dull my libido, my desire to have a woman went up, instead.  However the urgency to have a woman at all costs went down. I could now actually be friends with women.

For a while, I even thought I could hit on women while dressed as one.  This did not work.  Trying harder did not work either.  I wanted to understand what was going on.  I had lived my life up to now by pushing forward, while working around my fears and inhibitions.  None of my male energy had any effect when I presented as a woman.

I did not grow up as a standard male, so I never learned dating scripts.  Meeting Carolyn had been serendipity.  I have met a few women as Romana, but I was oblivious to their confusion, at first.  They did things like getting very nervous, getting sick, or taking up smoking again.  They would be encouraging at first; then they would totally reject me.  I had to figure out what was going on, so I meditated on it.

I have reached a conclusion.  Standard people do not usually meet each other based on relationship skills, but on physical attraction.  As a Buddhist, I would say that karma is working deep in everyone’s subconscious.  The prime directive is to reproduce to create new bodies for future rebirths.   Men are driven by testosterone to seek women for sex.  Women have to judge men to figure out who will make the best fathers and partners.  This process is millions of years old.

Our modern world has been trying to liberate women from sexist roles for some time.  I think these new ideas can come into direct conflict with instinct.  Many women may now want to be treated as equals, so there has been much emphasis on this subject.  There hasn’t been much focus on eliminating sexism for men, but cultural male roles take their toll, too.  Some sociologists have concluded that there is also a natural tendency to view women as an assemblage of parts, but men as a whole.  When I dress as Romana, I lose a lot of the visual prestige I could get as Dennis, but I have not lost any of my male socialization.

The past versus present seems to create a dilemma.  As we age, men and women both change, but men may still pursue women for sex, even if they can no longer function sexually, and women may still pick men based upon cultural image.  I have noticed that it could be difficult to tell senior women from senior men, if everyone were to get short haircuts, use no makeup, and dress very drably, in loose clothing.  It would be scandalous if people wandered around with this kind of minimalist appearance.  I would like to see this gender confusion happen for real, but would it teach anyone a true lesson?  This is the world I see, but am not much part of.   At times, I evaluate with broad strokes, so friends and allies have to correct my excesses.

There are even salons that advertise that they can make up anyone, male or female, as beautiful women.   Youtube is full of crossdressing men showing off how they can be made up to resemble beautiful women.  For me, and some other males, passing as a woman is ridiculously easy as an engineering exercise.  Clearly, art and illusion play a key role in physical attraction.

I don’t see a place for a transgender woman like me our cultural social scheme.  My alternative lifestyle does not sell.  I can’t be attractive enough based on social skills.  There’s also no humor here.  Women might want to be equal, but some have become skeptical whether they can figure any man out before living with him.  I can’t play this game; I can only be me. 

I thought Buddhist women would be more liberal, but the idea of what a male partner is supposed to look like seems to be deeply-rooted.  In order to change what an envisioned man should be like, a woman would have to meditate on the concept for some time. 

I seem out-of-luck, but I keep trying.  I have been working on my mindless attachment to just get a woman, so rejections no longer bother me.  All this gender mess is quite enlightening.  I can’t generalize about the population as a whole, since my experience is primarily with online dating sites.  For senior people, dating by this method doesn’t work well.  Several news sources have reported, probably based on a similar analysis, that there is a growing epidemic of singleness among older Americans.  There is really no substitute for the risk-taking and tension that can accompany traditional dating.

Without contemplation and self-reflection practice, some people tend to get stuck on their problems.  My problems have not gone away; I have learned how to live with all the frustration and inconvenience.

If I were to get a new partner, I suppose my crazy behavior could hit new heights.  I could excel at using my feminine side, while still having full access to my masculine side.  I could offer a woman undreamed of adventures. I could flirt right out in public.  I could take her dancing at gay or lesbian clubs, though we would have to decide who is going to lead, and who follows.  We could show each other off while not outing ourselves.  Scarcely anyone would notice or care.  I have written about the Romana Principle before: I can be myself without fear or embarrassment, so long as I act that I know what I am doing, and I strive to own the stage of life that I am on.

My Romana-identity has matured greatly.  Presenting as a woman had once been forced and artificial, but I am now confidant and nonchalant. I once felt my woman wardrobe was too flashy and just attracted stares, but I am no longer the least bit self-conscious.  I can even attend Mormon Sunday services without skipping a heartbeat.

My alternate gender identity has been life-saving for me.  I take care of myself better than most males.  I use alpha-hydroxyl cream on my face, upper body, and arms. I have the skin of a fifty-year-old.  When I tried getting tattooed eyebrows, my esthetician did not like the scaly skin on my face, so she sent me down the hall to a dermatologist.  Over the intervening years, the tattooing failed, but I got treated for one wart, one strange skin blemish, and over sixty pre-cancerous skin lesions.

I regularly see all my doctors for ongoing medical problems.  I might become the first male in my family to reach age one hundred.  The prospect of living alone for such a length of time is not appealing to me at all.

I think I understand why I have chosen the lifestyle I now live.  It came to me in meditation that everyone has both a male-identity and a female-identity.  As a Buddhist, I think this comes from karma as the basis for our existence as our subconscious mind.  I don’t think karma has the attributes of either sex or gender, but karma does carry experiences associated with all kinds of sex and gender.  When we are born, most of us will choose a cultural gender that matches our physical sex.

I started out as a boy with poorly defined gender.  My therapist suggested that, while I was being socialized as a boy, I could clearly see the girl gender in my mind.  This meant I would be fascinated by emulating the appearance of girls.  Later, I decided I wanted to date girls, too.

For decades, it was even illegal for men to crossdress as women.  As more men explored this idea, many got hooked on crossdressing.  This was long viewed as a perversion.  What was actually happening was that men were being introduced to their suppressed feminine side.  Some could become obsessed with the exploration.  Similarly to genetic women, these men would want to establish a feminine identity that matched cultural stereotypes in appearance, dress, and behavior.

This happened to me, and it turned out that my feminine side worked much better than my masculine side.  I found a new ability to express a wider range of emotions without fear of humiliation or embarrassment.  If I acted this way as an Asperger man, I would attract a lot of stares, but genetic women are allowed to express themselves this way.  As a transgender woman, I’ve learned to be nearly indistinguishable from genetic women.

I realize that this is quite brazen.  My obsession has led to a better life.  Still, I have learned to control my obsessive impulses.  I have stopped short of getting any gender-altering surgeries.  I feel I am okay the way I am, and I don’t believe surgeries will make me any happier; besides, for a Buddhist, cosmetic surgery is a very materialist endeavor.