Don’t think about it

I don’t know when exactly I started adopting pervasively the method of “not thinking about it”. I’ve definitely been doing it these nearly four years in Colorado, and I probably did it also in California, at least for a while, certainly during the pandemic. 

Don’t think about it, I tell myself. 

I don’t even tell myself, really: it’s an automatic mode I go into and function by. There’s an automatic mechanism in me that shuts down, ignores, silences some needs of mine that I know — or fear, or have learned — won’t get met. Like the need for “friendship with benefits” with some male buddy, the need for some intimacy beyond the camaraderie and emotional connection. Since there haven’t been any candidates for that in my life recently, no one who’d be interested in me in that way nor to whom I’m specifically attracted, I just defaulted to not thinking about it. 

Until Chicago.

That trip opened up a deeper connection with two of my buddies in ways that are hard for me to ignore now. The details and circumstances of the deepened connection with each of them are different but the overall pattern is the same: they’re both cis-men with whom I have a deep, close, solid emotional connection; men with whom I’ve shared a lot of my feelings and struggles and fears and joys, a lot of “my story”, and who have in turn shared tons of their own with me, too; men with whom there’s a deep trust around our most vulnerable spots; but also men that I would automatically, a priori, consider “unavailable” for anything non-platonic, for anything beyond camaraderie or deep emotional connection. Men with whom, as in many other cases, I’ve made sure to keep solid boundaries in place because, while I don’t feel sexually attracted to either (I’m ace), I know that for me strong emotional connection could lead to the desire of closer intimacy.

My trip to Chicago a month ago led each one of them, separately, to take initiatives to break down some of those boundaries with me, to open some little window in our relationships that to me now feel more like the opening of Pandora’s vase. 

Because for me now it’s not just a theoretical “don’t think about it”, it’s not just about ignoring a need with some hypothetical persons that aren’t actually present in my life. Now I have to force myself to not think about my actual feelings for these two guys lest I ruin the platonic friendships we have (& which mean the world to me). 

Now I have to barricade myself in the fortress I’ve built for myself over the years and fill my days with practical things to be done, set myself athletic goals, focus on my work, so that I won’t hear what my heart is asking for and what it cannot get.

Self definition — Self defense — Self sabotage

I’m sitting on the couch laughing, soaking in all the good vibes and affection from my friends who’ve come over to celebrate my birthday. There’s about a dozen of us and, apart from my two transmasc friends and one of my buddies’ fiancé (a cis woman), it’s a bunch of straight guys. These are my closest friends: a bunch of straight men. 

Considering all of my closest friendships, I do have a few very good friends who are not cis-het men: two or three very close women friends and a small handful of queer/nonbinary/trans friends. But the vast majority of the people I’ve been surrounding myself with over the past decade, and especially since moving out here to Colorado, has been straight men. And I’ve been doing it instinctively, almost automatically, like following an inner compass.

Part of this is simply due to my preference for activities that tend to be male-dominated (STEM, sailing, motorcycle riding, climbing) so it’s statistically easier for me to meet men in the environments where I spend most of my time.

On the other hand, there’s also a part that is certainly due to my own gender identity & gender journey: connecting with cis men, being accepted and treated by them just “as one of them”, has been an important way for me to get the validations I needed as a transmasc person and a fundamental part of my self discovery, self definition, and healing from years of misgendering and gaslighting. Moreover, as I’ve been coming into myself and unfolding as an aro-ace transmasc gay guy, in a phase where non-platonic relationships were not the priority for me, connecting with straight men was (or felt) “safe” for me: I’m a guy and they’re straight men so they won’t be attracted to me; I’m aro-ace so I won’t inherently be attracted to them, either; therefore, our platonic friendships are safe, iron-clad. 

This has served me for several years. It’s what I needed. But now it might not be serving me well anymore, it might have gone too far. Now, it feels like my own heart has become iron-clad. 

I have built a fortress around myself, around my heart. 

At the end of a weekend of bonding on a climbing & camping trip, I drop off my buddy at his place and we give each other a hug goodbye. He’s a hugger, it’s not one of those perfunctory “man hugs”, it’s a solid hug full of affection. We’re like brothers and as we hug I can feel the affection he’s giving me, that intense brotherly love that he’s unable to express in words but can give me with this gesture, that intense platonic love that I so badly need. I need it so much that I cannot endure it and I break the brotherly embrace almost abruptly. 

I need and yearn for intimacy, closeness, deeper connection and brotherhood; in some cases even physical touch, snuggles, cuddles, sex. And yet I’ve done all I can to eradicate the possibility of getting any of it at the level that I would really need. I’ve done this by surrounding myself with people who cannot really give me the intimacy or availability that I need, or by pushing away what affection or closeness is offered to me. 

What started out as self-definition and self-defense has turned into self-sabotage.

What next?

A week ago, I was sick, coming down with a bad cold just a few days before my planned “grand finale” race for the year: my first longer-than-half-marathon trail run in Southern California on December 6th. 

All of last week, amidst extremely dark bouts of depression, was spent with the sole focus of getting over my cold or, at least, well enough to fly to California and show up for this race that meant so much to me. And fortunately — or miraculously — I got well enough in time to do my race on Saturday: the sixth race in ten months. 

I did it. Still not the full marathon on trail that I’m one day hoping to achieve, but 28km (~17.5 miles) with ~3,600 feet elevation gain. I finally managed to break through the “glass ceiling” of the half marathon. And yet, I still cannot fully believe that I did it. It almost feels underwhelming. The distance wasn’t a problem at all. I had already run a couple of 15-milers and a couple of 16-milers in training and the distance didn’t weight on me. The heat got me on race day. I didn’t hydrate properly and was cramping up from dehydration (& probably also because the course was very steep, much steeper than the description on the race’s webpage) by mile 11. But if it hadn’t been for the dehydration, I could have gone for longer — and if it hadn’t been steeper than planned, I would have made it within my projected time of about 2 hours & 50 minutes. 

Still, as it was, I got first place nonbinary. Yet again. Here, actually, I was announced as “the winner for the nonbinary category” because I simply was the only runner in this category. 

Six races this calendar year, between February 2nd and December 6th, 2025: six races, four first places & two second places nonbinary. But what value does it have to win first place if I’m the only one showing up or if I’m only one among half a dozen of us trans/nonbinary athletes? Does that mean my victory has less value? 

Part of me feels it does have less value, since I could just hike or jog the course, as long as I finish the race within the cut-off time, and still get my award (& sometimes even a trophy). 

But part of me stubbornly says “No, my victory has just as much value, maybe even more, than if as many nonbinary and/or trans athletes showed up as male & female runners”. After all, when women first started to be admitted to compete decades ago, there were very few of them surrounded by hundreds of men. Were their victories less valuable? Hell no! They were more valuable precisely due to the effort it had taken them to get to the start line (even before worrying about getting to the finish line)! And it’s the same for trans/nonbinary athletes now: we haven’t been allowed to compete for decades so at first there’s going to be only a few of us. And some of us showing up at these races might not necessarily be the fastest runners but we’ll be the most stubborn, e.g. the ones who write to race organizers to ask for a nonbinary category in the first place and request equal awards and advocate for fair treatment & prizes. Many of the races where I’ve won first place and brought home a prize or trophy have been precisely those where I spent time & effort advocating for myself & all trans/nonbinary runners. And then, realistically, there’s probably always going to be fewer of us in the nonbinary category, simply because a smaller percent of the population is trans or nonbinary compared to cis and also because trans athletes will have much higher barriers to access sports for decades to come. 

I need to remind myself of all this, to remind myself that when I stand on those podiums, sometimes all by myself, receiving my first-place-nonbinary-prize wearing my trans-pride shorts & all my trans-nonbinary-pride swag, I am doing something important. Important for myself because it took decades of my own life, of my own efforts and suffering, to get to that achievement, to get to that moment of joy. But also important for others because, hopefully, I am paving the way. Because I am visible. I have the courage or strength or simply the privilege to stand up visibly and openly and ostensibly trans, unapologetically nonbinary, and that visibility might encourage others: because representation matters. (In fact, it is also greatly due to a lack of representation, i.e. of “role models”, in my own life that it took me so long to “get to my own gender identity” so explicitly & openly.)

So, what next? Where do I go from here? What are my next goals, athletically but also in a broader perspective?

Because I need goals: in order to keep the sharp claws of depression from digging too deep into my skin, to keep dark thoughts from devouring my mind wholly, I need goals, to keep me going, literally to keep me alive.

“What a grieving friend might need most from you”

[Content warnings: grief; loss; death of loved one(s)]

Last night, I heard a report on NPR about supporting friends/loved ones through grief: “What a grieving friend might need most from you”.

In the summer of 2023, I experienced two devastating losses, one of which — the death of my father & the fact that he will never know the real me — will probably haunt me and periodically bring me to my knees for the rest of my life. 

As is mentioned also in this short NPR report, holidays can be a specific trigger for renewed bouts of grief — they definitely are for me — which is one of the reasons NPR published this report last night. 

I can very much relate to what is said in this short NPR report but I also believe it to be a helpful, useful “tool for our life toolkit” (as the NPR reporter says), because as long as we love, we’re bound to experience grief. And once we experience it, grief stays with us forever, sometimes dormant, and comes back in waves or layers, and it is truly exhausting. 

The end…?

It’s the last day of November, an eventful, intense month, “my month”. 

But as I sit on the couch, sipping my black English breakfast tea on this wintry morning, I feel like more than just this month is over. I feel like I’m nearing “the end”, some “end”. 

The “end” of what, though? 

The end of a year full of athletic endeavors, with half-a-dozen competitions, grass-roots activism, and a handful of “1st overall nonbinary” prizes? 

The end of the first calendar year since 2022 with no surgery for me? 

The end of the first year since 2022 of relative stability in my professional & living situations? 

The end of the bureaucratic battles (that are actually possible for me to fight) to see my chosen name & affirmed gender recognized on paperwork and documents? 

The end of a year of renewed travel and adventure that allowed me to rediscover important parts of my identity? 

The end of a year of “pruning relationships”, as old friendships ended or got redefined and new ones started?

The end of the year in which I got over the worst of my autistic burnout at last? 

And yet, that autistic burnout feels like it’s not wholly defeated, it feels like it’s clawing at me again now, at the end of this eventful month, at the end of this holiday weekend. 

And I dread what is ahead of me, for next year. Overall I think 2025, while hard, has been a “positive” year, because despite and through the hardships I have found some almost unprecedented growth and healing. I’m afraid 2026 won’t hold up to this. I’m scared of the void ahead of me with no definite athletic goals in view. I’m afraid of the professional and living uncertainty ahead of me as both my grant and my lease come to an end in a few months. I can already feel the worry not only of the Christmas holidays looming in a few weeks but also, and more concerning in a practical way, the stress of having to look for a new job and for a new living space, and probably move, once again in a few months. And of having, once again, to do it all by myself. 

I’m tired. I’m so, so tired. 

Is this why it feels like some sort of “end” to me: because I’m tired and feel like I don’t have the energy to face any more? Or because what I have to face seems to be only full of stress and devoid of any joy?


The tip of winter is here

Last night, we got the first snow of the season here in Colorado (apart from the snow up in the mountains). It’s been a whole month later that in 2022 & 2023 and four weeks later than last year. It was just a sprinkle, just enough to cover the rooftops, and it’s already almost gone in the sunshine despite the sub-freeing temperatures, but it’s snow nonetheless.

It’s probably just the starting tip of winter, like a first small vanguard, and there will still be plenty of sunny, warm and balmy days. But winter might be here — and part of me says, “At last!” 

One of the things I really like about Colorado is that it has four definite seasons. 

The lack of real seasons was one of the things I ended up really disliking about California. It felt confusing and in the end almost exhausting for my body — and thus also for my mind, especially living near the coast with the marine layer in the summer. My body didn’t really know when to “wake up” or when to “hibernate” so I couldn’t really get that cyclicality of increasing & decreasing activity that my body & soul so revel in. 

Here in Colorado I get that again, analogously to the places where I spent most of my childhood and youth. I love the summer heat, the intense light, even the pounding sunshine, the sweating: it feels so alive, so powerful and wild and liberating. Then, in the autumn, I can feel things — my body — gradually slowing down while still being active and actually getting some of the best trainings and athletic performances then. Winter follows, kindling my whole being into rest, into slowing down, recovering, hibernating almost. And getting ready for a renewed awakening, renewed coming-back-to-life in the spring. 

At this point, my body, and probably also my mind, have been feeling “ready for winter” for a week or two, but the weather hasn’t been conducive to slowing down or resting. I still have one more race this season so the good weather has been helpful to train for that and I feel I need to keep up my “will to push” for another week. But I can feel that part of me is ready for rest, for the slowing down of winter. Especially this year, maybe, that has brought so much unexpected growth and healing and change for me.

I’m feeling the need to slow down and settle for a bit, let all the “stuff” inside me settle — let these fields rest so they may give bountiful crop next spring.

Grief haircut

This afternoon, despite the cold winter weather, I went and got almost all my hair shaved off.

I’ve worn lots of different hairstyles in the past three decades, mostly short or medium-short. At any given moment, though, regardless of the hairstyle, when I feel intense pain — mostly pain from loss and/or grief — I have an almost irresistible impulse to shave my head. 

I have never actually had the courage to shave all my hair off completely but I have, very often, got it cut extremely short, almost down to the skin. 

For the past couple years, I’ve been wearing a short masculine haircut that I usually get trimmed every few weeks. I had been feeling like I was due for a haircut soon but the past couple days that feeling creeped back: running my hands through my hair, thick but no longer than a couple inches, feeling an unbearable weight, feeling that strong impulse to just get my clippers and shave it all off. 

It’s not fully shaved off now but it’s a very bare haircut with only a little bit of hair at the top of my head getting to about half an inch in length, the rest of it almost down to the skin, following the shape of my skull. 

Ah, the liberation! The liberation I felt as I saw the hair falling to the floor in the salon, the liberation I feel now, rubbing my head. 

It feels cleansing but also, in some way, it feels like the external, explicit, esthetic expression of my inner pain.

“I’ll be OK”

“

I feel the love but not from the ones who love me

I’m not alone, so why am I so lonely?

I’m too stressed to be depressed

I must confess I ain’t so blessed

It eats me up but still, I’ve got a heart that’s hungry

I’ll be okay, but I’m not okay right now

I’ll be okay, but I’m not okay right now

I’m knocked down and I’m still out

So if you see me on the ground, it’s okay

But I’m not okay right now

No, I’m not okay right now

[… ]

I’ll be okay, but I’m not okay right now

I’ll be okay, but I’m not okay right now

I’m knocked down and I’m still out

So if you see me on the ground, it’s okay

But I’m not okay right now

No, I’m not okay right now

Freak out until I lose my mind

Give up before you even try

I’ll be okay, but I’m not okay right now

I’ll be okay, but I’m not okay right now

Knocked down and I’m still out

So if you see me on the ground, it’s okay

But I’m not okay right now

No, I’m not okay right now

I’ll be okay, but I’m not okay right now

I’ll be okay, but I’m not okay right now

I’m knocked down and I’m still out

So if you see me on the ground it’s okay

But I’m not okay right now

No, I’m not okay

I’ll be okay

Same time, same place tomorrow

I’m going down in flames

I’ll be okay

Same time, same place tomorrow

Pretend it’s all okay

I’ll be okay

Same time, same place tomorrow

I’m going down in flames

I’ll be okay

Same time, same place tomorrow

Pretend it’s all okay

”

[Song “I’ll be OK”  by Michigander]

Hard week

This is a hard week. 

On the one hand, there’s the realistic, almost chemical, fact of coming down after 2-3 weeks of almost steady high, nonstop go-go-go — hence the ensuing physical tiredness and also a sense of emptiness. 

But what makes this particular “low after the high” so hard is that it’s Thanksgiving week. 

School is on break, none of my colleagues are working besides me, there’s no classes to keep me busy or provide some social interaction. But worst of all, it’s the week when many people, including many of my friends, travel to visit family or have family visiting or have plans with family. My housemate has their whole family in town and it’s proving extremely hard on me. Fortunately they’re staying at a different house, not with us, so I’m hardly interacting with any of them. But just the fact that they’re here, that my housemate, despite being trans like me, has the love and acceptance of their family of origin, is a painful reminder for me of what I don’t have. It makes my mother’s incapacity to accept me, her harsh words, my sister’s lack of understanding, and the loss of my father even harder to bear. 

And on top of this, there’s also the loss of a close friendship that I have to deal with. 

E. was one of my very first climbing buddies when I moved out here and for over two years I considered him my closest climbing buddy. When we met in the summer of 2022, we climbed together every weekend and often even once or twice after work on weekdays. Our friendship grew fast and he was one of my strongest cis-het guy allies. Even when I moved to a different town in the autumn of 2022 we kept up our weekend climbs together and for two solid years our platonic friendship grew steadily. Over the course of 2025, though, the distance between us has been growing. He’s gotten married and is trying to “start a family” with his wife and she, in turn, has wanted to go climbing with him. Which effectively means he’s been spending almost his entire time with her and hardly any with me. 

Change is natural, paths diverge, friendships grow and wane, relationships change. Sometimes this happens organically, without it requiring conversations or explicit adaptations. But with my closest climbing buddy the changes had concrete painful consequences on our friendship as his unavailability for weekend climbs together kept growing to the point where he canceled a climbing trip together at the last minute last May. After that, I tried to have a conversation with him about his and my needs in our friendship, to make it work despite our diverging paths and different availability. It was a hard conversation but it seemed to help somewhat — until this past Sunday, when he bailed on me again, at the last minute, literally half an hour before we were going to meet for our hike and after having spent a day planning things and making compromises for an activity together. He bailed on me to go climbing at the gym that evening, not because he was sick or had some kind of emergency. He broke my trust and also broke my heart (platonically). 

For me, especially because I am estranged from my family of origin, friendship is extremely important: to me, it is the foundation and the apex of relationships. My close friends know this. I don’t expect everyone to agree with this, to feel the same about this; but if you’re a close friend of mine, you know this is how I feel and this is how I behave — and expect to be treated — in friendship. Trust is key. It’s the fundamental currency of love. Having that trust broken, feeling that my company isn’t that important for this climbing buddy, would be hurtful in any moment. At this particular time, it is devastating. 

This is yet another ending, yet another loss that I’ll have to deal with and mourn, but just now, I really don’t know how to go about it and all I can feel this week is the pain on all fronts.

Born again — Dead again

[Trigger warnings: death; loss of loved one; grief.] 

This weekend I was reminded very painfully of how life and death are the two sides of the same coin. 

Two weeks ago in Chicago, on my 44th birthday, I was born again as my chosen name and affirmed gender were registered at the Italian Consulate — and the ultimate proof of this came in the mail last Friday and sits among my documents now: my new Italian passport. But this same document, this same renewal, this same rebirth, is also a reminder of death. The reminder of my father’s death. The concrete reminder of his death, the tangible proof that he will never know the real me — concrete because I now hold in my hands the ultimate document of recognition from “his” country. 

Italy recognized my chosen name and affirmed gender. My father didn’t. My father never will. My father will never even know. 

Grief tore through me and ravaged my soul & body again this weekend. The pain nearly unbearable. But it’s not only the terrible pain of this loss: it’s also the additional pain from the lack of acknowledgement or recognition from my mother. 

Not only does my mother refuse to see or acknowledge the early, ever-present signs of my gender-identity. Not only does she insult me by thinking that I was “brainwashed into being trans”. Not only does she blame me for not being present when my father was ill & dying. On top of all this, she also acts and talks like she’s the only one who’s lost a loved one, as if she were the only one experiencing grief, the only one suffering from my father’s death. In my mother’s eyes I am not only denied the reality of my gender-identity — i.e. the right to be myself: I am also denied the reality of my pain — the pain that comes from a father who was basically absent or disapproving for the last three decades of my life; the pain that comes from having lost my father over and over; the pain from the difficulties of my gender-journey; the pain from knowing that my father will never know me. 

This pain is devastating. 

And my new Italian passport, while being a wonderful achievement and something for me to cherish & celebrate in its own right, is also a terrible, tangible reminder of all this pain.