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A Moment of Red Wolf
Oct. 24th, 2012 01:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
faolchu_ruaI hesitated posting this here, largely because it was stream-of-consciousness this morning and doesn't necessarily aim to make any real argument or point. If it doesn't really suit the goals of the group, please do let me know.
---
I am sitting in a small classroom at the run-through for national conference presentations. Men surround me, older, physically larger than I.
Is there ever a moment when I am completely unaware of how out-numbered I am in this place? Thinking, and yet not -thinking-, of survival strategies in any new territory?
I scope out safety: the new, female capoeira scholar to my front-right, a young female professor behind me to the left, the trans-identified man directly in front of me. In their own way, in their queerness and in their gender, I know they will protect me if this goes sour. I have established a pack of four in an inherently volatile space.
The presentations progress; my potential dissertation advisor -- huge, arrogant, intimidating to everyone, including the younger professors in the room -- gives a bumbling presentation in which technology fails and a shallow argument is made. No one questions him; even amongst humans hierarchy is recognized. One other professor, male, makes a largely complimentary comment.
Annoyed by the silence the presenter turns on me, eyes angry though his voice is mockingly amused.
"You know this material, Kaitlyn. Say something."
Blood rushes to my face as my heart pounds thick against my chest. I do not count the beats, but take some comfort in the awareness that my body is doing as it should in the face of a potential threat. A tail I do not have tucks, though my every physical muscle is taut, ready to fight or flee if the words coming out of my mouth -- submissive, agreeing with the statement given moments before, expanding on them just enough to get the aggressor to leave me alone -- are not enough of a display to prove that I am nothing. Nothing to pursue. Nothing to hurt.
He backs away, and I realize that I have been staring at my desk since he confronted me. A quick glance to those named earlier reassures, and I exhale. I take in air once again through my mouth, allow the tension in my back to release. The tiny hairs behind my neck fall as though they had risen as ruff, protective in display and in function. I played the game successfully, but even such a brief encounter is enough to leave me yearning to move on and away. I allow my mind to wander through the bulk of the remaining presentations; the freedom of imagined movement through a familiar Maryland forest soothes. I do not see the body in which I run, for I am behind the gaze, wholly myself.
This is red wolf to me of late. Instantaneously, fluidly here; albeit most often in moments of duress or physical pain. There is little conflict between something human and something not; I am what I need to be in any given moment and thus inherently, permanently both. I have created myth around her in order to have a way of putting the identity into words that others would understand, I have pondered psychological definitions as well, given the recognition of how that aspect of self comes to the fore when I need protection or strength.
But red wolf, in and of itself, is not something so readily written in words, just lived. Accurately conveying that way of being continues to elude me.
---
I am sitting in a small classroom at the run-through for national conference presentations. Men surround me, older, physically larger than I.
Is there ever a moment when I am completely unaware of how out-numbered I am in this place? Thinking, and yet not -thinking-, of survival strategies in any new territory?
I scope out safety: the new, female capoeira scholar to my front-right, a young female professor behind me to the left, the trans-identified man directly in front of me. In their own way, in their queerness and in their gender, I know they will protect me if this goes sour. I have established a pack of four in an inherently volatile space.
The presentations progress; my potential dissertation advisor -- huge, arrogant, intimidating to everyone, including the younger professors in the room -- gives a bumbling presentation in which technology fails and a shallow argument is made. No one questions him; even amongst humans hierarchy is recognized. One other professor, male, makes a largely complimentary comment.
Annoyed by the silence the presenter turns on me, eyes angry though his voice is mockingly amused.
"You know this material, Kaitlyn. Say something."
Blood rushes to my face as my heart pounds thick against my chest. I do not count the beats, but take some comfort in the awareness that my body is doing as it should in the face of a potential threat. A tail I do not have tucks, though my every physical muscle is taut, ready to fight or flee if the words coming out of my mouth -- submissive, agreeing with the statement given moments before, expanding on them just enough to get the aggressor to leave me alone -- are not enough of a display to prove that I am nothing. Nothing to pursue. Nothing to hurt.
He backs away, and I realize that I have been staring at my desk since he confronted me. A quick glance to those named earlier reassures, and I exhale. I take in air once again through my mouth, allow the tension in my back to release. The tiny hairs behind my neck fall as though they had risen as ruff, protective in display and in function. I played the game successfully, but even such a brief encounter is enough to leave me yearning to move on and away. I allow my mind to wander through the bulk of the remaining presentations; the freedom of imagined movement through a familiar Maryland forest soothes. I do not see the body in which I run, for I am behind the gaze, wholly myself.
This is red wolf to me of late. Instantaneously, fluidly here; albeit most often in moments of duress or physical pain. There is little conflict between something human and something not; I am what I need to be in any given moment and thus inherently, permanently both. I have created myth around her in order to have a way of putting the identity into words that others would understand, I have pondered psychological definitions as well, given the recognition of how that aspect of self comes to the fore when I need protection or strength.
But red wolf, in and of itself, is not something so readily written in words, just lived. Accurately conveying that way of being continues to elude me.
