Tumble

On Identity, Orientation, and the Illusion of Certainty

Maybe the true complexity of our lived experience lies within the confines of a shifting magnetic pull of ethical compass—like trying to balance on a tilting plane, where one principled act sends us in one direction, and only a perceptually opposing gesture can steady us again. Does this then mean that a sense of balance only comes from a dichotomous back-and-forth style of living?

I think many would suggest as such; however, being transgender, I feel I am by very definition a lack thereof—inasmuch as there is no plane, but rather a sense of tumbling, where up and down are defined as randomly as the existence of Schrödinger's cat. What I mean by this is that my sense of being often is a measure of an observation made in the moment, rather than a uniform belief in something’s validity.

Most cisgender individuals believe they are because an intrinsic¹ and holistic view of the self first told to them by parents, and later reinforced by society²: I am male because I was born a male and I believe myself to be male as a reflection of my whole being; as such, I act as such. A more archaic³ version would be that of mere observation: she looks female, thus she is. She lacks brow bones, and has breasts, her face is rounder, and her hips are wider. Her skin is softer, and her voice is pleasantly feminine⁴. She wears a dress. Thus, she is a woman.

This is the dichotomous view: one of either, or—no between.

Perhaps this is why I struggle so greatly with the dichotomous nature of utilitarianism and categorical imperatives, and their link to the transgender experience.

And it perplexes me to think that others somehow avoid this conundrum—that somehow they are able to see only one or the other, and never the opposite of self. By this I mean:

Imagine for a moment that Schrödinger was with a close friend when he proposed the thought experiment involving the famed cat. But in this thought experiment, consider that they were able to place a camera on top of the box. This camera would be used to take an instant snap-shot of the state of being of the ill-fated cat. The image is taken, and both individuals look at the photograph. It depicts the cat, laying with its head down, curled up in a ball.

Schrödinger cries: see, the cat is dead.

And his friend cries: but what if it is merely sleeping?

Schrödinger responds: This is what I see. This is what I observe. It is science and it exists in this very moment as observed.

The friend shakes his head: but what of the cat’s perception in this moment? Could we not see the feline as dead, but it merely be deep in dreams of fields and mice?

If I’m drifting a bit into the lyrical here, forgive me—it’s not always my intention, but it’s often where the thought leads. What I mean to say is this: observation is not only imperfect, it’s compromised. It carries the same bias as the social systems we live inside—the ones that train us to see what we expect to see, and to name it as if naming makes it real.

I look at you and say, “You are this,” and perhaps you resist that. But within the confines of my perception, this is what you become. And isn’t that the trap? That what I observe—and how I’m conditioned to observe—can masquerade as something true.

The fallacy is obvious, of course. I see it. And yet so many cling to the notion that perception equals truth. That the act of seeing somehow justifies the authority to define.

For me, I feel without compass—without true north. I am surrounded by a society that shifts its perceptions and acceptances—all of which come with their own consequences. I hold back from shouting out to my step-daughter at a public park.
Because in that moment—in that very instant of observation—my voice becomes data. It becomes a definable variable uncontrolled by me⁵. And when other visitors of the park turn to see, the debate begins.

Is she a woman?

I can’t talk about this image just yet. But it’s me.

To me, in many instances, it is much better⁶ to simply remain quiet, unobserved. I am what I perceive myself to be; there is no greater truth nor debatable point worth pondering. Inconsequential is the observer outside the self.

If this is true—and I believe it to be—then why do I stay quiet?

You already know the answer.

1. Self-defined.

2. In my case, this refers to the Christian “influence” on American society.

3. And arguably more genetically coded.

4. Pitch, tone, timbre, resonance, breath.

5. Vocal feminization is something I am considering; I have been trained, however my own dysphoria prevents me from effectively using it.

6. Safer.