I was watching a plane take off last evening. What an amazing thing, a bit of metal and a bunch of people taking to the sky. I'm not a big fan of flying (I think airplanes smell nasty, honestly) but it occurred to me that I'm not really afraid of it at the moment. That got me thinking about how much I've been afraid of in the last several years--our sketchy neighbors, answering the telephone, getting sick, the window-washer... None of those things seem worrisome at the moment. (I mean, of course I don't want to get sick, but I'm not full of fear about it, either.)
I was scared all along of being a lesbian, and a masculine one. That was all. But I couldn’t acknowledge that fear and so I repressed it, too, and it bubbled up in all sorts of other inappropriate places. Like a dammed river flooding the low-lying areas nearby. But now flying and the telephone and whatever else can sit about the water level again and dry out and be just what they are, nothing more or less, not saturated in a fear that dared not speak its name.
(Shopping update: some success. See the comments to the post below for the details and Sinclair’s take on the trials and tribulations of even the most experienced of butch fashion mavens. More suggestions/commiseration welcome!)