Complex Numbers

Revisited: "Man"

Today's callback is a difficult one, and I'm not sure I have the mental energy for it this morning. The original entry was from about two years ago: "Man" 

The article I referenced there was pretty new when I wrote that, and it's still up. If you don't want to read the earlier entry (understandable, though I promise the entry, if not the article, is short), here it is   again.

My intro then: "I can admit when I just don't understand something. This is one of those times."

And I can't say I've developed a full, nuanced understanding now, two years later. The comments and later blog entry on the topic from Elisa: Snowman Stik did help me to comprehend some things, but it's just not a subject I'm attuned to.

For one thing, I thought, for the vast majority of my life, that being a man simply meant that I was in possession of a todger. Presumably, when I was born, the doctor or nurse checked me out, saw a tallywhacker, and said something like "It's a boy!" I learned of this practice at a fairly young age, and also saw it used on farm and domestic animals, so my mind went "If you see a wangdoodle, that means it's male. Therefore, 'man' is simply defined as an adult human with a pecker."

All that other superfluity, such as "boys have shorter hair" (I didn't always, and don't now) or "girls wear dresses" (they don't always, and historically, boys wore dresses too) just seemed like a decision we collectively made as a society, one which could be reversed. Now I see that this stuff is what people mean by "social construct." And it still feels optional to me.

After all, my cats don't have a gender identity. Their gender is simply their biological sex. The queens don't wear makeup or hair bows, and the toms don't deliberately grow bushy beards or smoke pipes. Even being surgically altered doesn't change what pronouns you use for the animal.

More recently, I realized that this kind of thinking gets you labeled a transphobe, and no amount of denial of that on your part can ever change that label. It's far easier to change your gender than to get people to stop calling you a transphobe. It's kind of like if you say "I'm not an alcoholic," everyone will conclude that you are, in fact, an alcoholic. Especially if you're drunk and slur the words.

Anyway, that kind of thinking is why I always considered those outward markings of "manliness" to be superficial and optional.

Then, later in life, I realized that I was wrong. I can admit that, too; I'm man enough.

So I won't bother offering any support for my assertion that I in no way fear (or hate) trans people. Think what you will of me; I don't care.

And that brings me to the actual crux of the matter, at least for me, and for now: people seem to care a great deal about what others think of them, even, in some cases, when they claim not to. In another grand cosmic coincidence (see yesterday's entry for the last time this happened), one of my favorite webcomics touched on this very subject today. {xlink:https://www.smbc-comics.com/comic/escape-2}This link should be as permanent as anything is on the internet.

In the comic, a man (you can tell from his clothes, hairstyle, and facial features) goes to visit the archetypal Hermit on the Mountain (you can tell from the mountain, his robe/dress, and his beard). His question begins: "Wise Master, how do I escape? I'm a social ape. I'm obsessed with status. All my actions, even private ones, can be perfectly explained if you assume I'm seeking the esteem of other apes."

I'll tell you what, though: once I found a way to live that does not require the approval, or escaping the disapproval, of other social apes, I found a freedom that most people can't even conceive of. Once I stopped trying to peacock or scrabble for this mysterious "status" crap, life became a whole lot easier.

In short, I'm becoming the Hermit on the Mountain, and I'm okay with that.

One other unrelated thing about my earlier entry: Yes, I used to do Merit Badge Mini-Contests. I stopped because readership dwindled (or at least the number of commenters; being not obsessed with status, I don't often check my readership statistics) and because I quit doing entries at midnight in favor of being free to drink in the evenings. The schedule is much more flexible, these days, so it's harder to do deadlines.

But I'm also inclined to be generous, so who knows? I may start that up again in some form.