Seen by Summer

While reflecting on my year, I decided to reread my journal. The following is an entry I wrote exactly one year ago that still resonates with me today. I decided to share this entry because I feel that oftentimes I ignore the side of me that is primal in nature. I feel, like many, that I try to dilute myself in modernity and forget we are all animals at our core.

Jan. 25, 2024

I would say for most of my life, I have chosen money over myself. After receiving my first paycheck from Whataburger all those years ago, I don’t think I’ve considered myself as anything but potential to make a dollar. Eventually, this mindset led me to overwork myself, no matter the cost or the stress it placed on my body or mind. It very well might be tied to people-pleasing, an internal capitalist mindset, and so on.

Similarly, now I am ready to work myself as the mule I see. Internally, to some extent at least, I do relate to viewing myself as a mule—an animal, something less than, something that exists solely to be the ultimate helper. The perfect blend of the devout, majestic, strong horse and the perseverance and determination of the donkey. Without the faults of either.

As we know, the mule is sterile, unfound in nature, and produced by the hand of man. My sterile nature is most apparent in my tendency to avoid doing things for the purpose of creation. I am unable to create for creation’s sake or for the love of the craft. I have an inability to “birth” anything that I truly love unconditionally.

It’s almost like I can sense there are two versions of who I am. As if my reflection were animated. I know her; she is me, and I am her. We move together but, by nature, are opposites. I move my left hand; she moves her right. I may spin, but I have no way of truly knowing if she does too. It feels like, although we are mere inches away, I can never truly grasp her, force her, or persuade her. Permanently separated by the invisible wall in my mind. When I speak, I know she hears. Whether or not she listens isn’t my choice to make.

Now that I can see myself and am realizing I’m transitioning, it is difficult to know what to do.

My innate reaction lures me down the path I know well. I yearn to put the yoke on the mule and drag her against her better judgment. My secondary reaction screams that it will be too much.

I turn the dial down on her speaker and put headphones on. Yet, I still stop and wonder if that is me or the synth making that noise. I tune her out because I am becoming aware that I also seem to—and tend to—hold myself back.