Oz

We kept Oz on the old sewing machine in the bedroom. Oz had no plugged hole on the bottom, and the slot on the top was too narrow to work bills out, even if you used a knife, so once you'd put money into Oz, it stayed there. We tested it to make sure. We couldn't count the money, but because Oz was translucent, we could see our cash accumulating inside when we held him up to the light.

-- Jeanette Walls

 My Capital One debt is finally over. I sent the last payment two days ago. It took forever to pay it down, and it loomed over my head. I even inherited it as part of the divorce agreement. But finally it's gone. Meanwhile, my Discover and card is pretty close to full, so it's time to start paying it down; not as quickly as I'd like since I'm also making new car payments now--but the money I am saving on gas, since it's a hybrid will definitely help.

In addition to my daughter's flute payments, I am now also sending money for her private lessons. She's been first chair, and she has a dream. If her lessons will help her achieve that dream, I'll do what I can while I can.

My dream of dancing is about to hit the new year. I'm now taking three lessons a week. On Mondays, I'm about 20 seconds into a new choreography that I plan to solo as soon as I master it. I can only hope that I look half as awesome as my teacher as she does it. If I can get it done in time, I'm hoping to unveil it at the Divine Love show on February 11th. I'm also hoping to get Myst in the show as well.

Myst is a new troupe that grew out of a temporary troupe that was put to together for Night at the Casbah last year. It was done to spotlight the students of my intermediate dance class. New Beginnings got great reviews that night. Three of us went on to perform at the Halloween show. I did my solo and two of the others did a mini-troupe routine. Now three of us, who joined Azalea together, formed Myst so we can dance again at Dancing in the Snow on Saturday. We just had an awesome rehearsal on Saturday, and I picked up some hair pieces that go with my new costume so my hair doesn't get in my eyes. Deborah also volunteered to be our stage manager; I am excited about how this is coming together. You are going to have your socks knocked off when you see what we came up with.

Hugs and Blessings,
- Sofia Featherwind

Shifting Tides

Now that Lori could see, she was the navigator. She got a city map from a gas station and plotted out our routes in advance. We pedaled past the Westward Ho Hotel, down Central Avenue where square-faced Indian women sold beaded necklaces and moccasins on rainbow-colored serapes they'd spread on the sidewalk. We pedaled to Woolworth's, which was bigger than all the stores in Battle Mountain put together, and played tag in the aisles until the manager chased us out. We got Grandma Smith's old wooden tennis rackets and pedaled off to Phoenix University, where we tried to play tennis with the dead balls other people had left behind.

• Jeanette Walls, The Glass Castle

I have management books. I do. People give them to me all the time saying: “You should read this one. It changed my life!” These books are all about 150 pages.

• Robert C. Martin

The object of this address, is to convince the public, that a reform, with respect to female education, is necessary; that it cannot be effected by individual exertion, but that it requires the aid of the legislature; and further, by shewing the justice, the policy, and the magnamity of such an undertaking, to persuade the body to endow a seminary for females, as the commencement of such reformation.

• Emma Willard, “An Address to the Public, Proposing a Plan for Improving Female Education (1819)”

Barriers are falling, and it's about time. With the Federal Court ruling against discrimination of a transsexual woman with regards to employment,  we are seeing the culmination of tide that has definitely shifted in the last 20 years. We are seeing a level of understanding that

Also, it has been a month since I appeared before a panel at SelectHealth to further my appeal to their denial to provide coverage for sexual reassignment surgery. They said then that they would give me a decision in writing in 5 business days. When those 5 days were up, they realized that they needed more time to investigate the information I had provided. Every day, I brace myself for the letter as I check my mailbox, and yet, still nothing. I can only imagine that they are deadlocked and unable to come to a decision. At least, I was not rejected outright. Meanwhile, my estrogen tests came back covered. It's a waiting game.

At work, I am having to overcome a leadership double-standard. As a woman, I am expected to be even-tempered at all times and to be able to influence people tactfully, versus the emotional expressivity usually expected of men. My team lead looked at my performance objectives and said I am "making progress" on my influence skills. I almost laughed. Obviously, he doesn't read QSaltLake or Salt Lake City Weekly. It's interesting to be recognized by people on the street because of those articles, yet the people I work with seem to be completely incognizant of the situation. It's nice.

So part of the strategy to "improve my communication" is to facilitate a reading group that includes leads and developers. The first book on the list? The Leader's Guide to Radical Management. Quite appropriate. I wasn't even on the email distribution list, and now I'm leading the group. We start the discussions in January. Oh the hoops we must jump through.

This weekend, I attended a wonderful 2 hour workshop on improvisational dance by The Lady Fred. She is such a wonderfully sweet person, and absolutely amazing and improvisational expression. She inspired me to return to allocate time for improvisational dance again, which I aim to fully use in piece that Myst is doing for Dancing in the Snow next month. Most of the dancers that attended the workshop are coming from the opposite direction from me: afraid of looking bad doing improvisational dance, they first focused on safety in troupes and choreographies. I, on the other hand, was much more afraid I didn't have it in me to learn a choreography or develop the associated technique; so I took refuge in dancing solo, improvisationally, knowing no one would know if I messed up. I found out earlier this year that, while it does take a lot of work, I can learn a choreography. Unfortunately, I became so bound in trying to overcome my weakness, that I eventually stopped taking enough moments to tap into pure improv. I'm glad I took the class. It will certainly help.

Hugs and God Bless,
Sofia

Transgender Day of Remembrance

It was Transgender Day of Remembrance 3 years ago, 2008. I attended a candlelight vigil that night at a Metropolitan Community Church in Fort Worth, Texas—and it was the first time I attended a church service as Sophie. There were several of my transgender friends attending and I thought it would be a welcoming place to go.

I also had a friend at work who suggested that I try out the Unitarian Universalist church because of my spiritual experiences that did not line up completely with the spiritual doctrine I had grown up under. I had already outed myself to her and she was fast becoming a good friend. So, in early December, I checked out the local Unitarian Universalist Church, Westside. I went as male and confided to the person who greeted me that I was transgender. She told me about how they had a program for the kids to help them understand lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender issues. I decided that I would alternate between the two churches. I wasn't brave enough to show Sophie in public to people I hadn't met yet. I decided I would go female to the MCC and male to the UU.

A few weeks later, I dressed up as Sophie to attend the MCC and was on my way, when I felt an incredible spiritual pull to go to Westside Unitarian instead. I thought to myself, Oh great. I'm not ready. I followed the compulsion anyway and was greeted with warmth by the ladies of the church. You know, I never made it back to the MCC church, and I never told them about my former male experience. The Unitarian Church embraced me, kissed me on the cheek and gave me room and encouraged me to grow into the person I was meant to be.

Since Sunday was Transgender Day of Remembrance, I wrote a poem a couple of days previous to share with my congregation the feelings it engenders in me. It's called, “I Cried” and I also posted on the green project board I put together in the foyer before moving it  the reception area.

I Cried

I cried.

When I read

How you died.

How your body was mutilated

Beyond recognition.

I cried

Because you died

For who you were

You had the courage

To Be

Free.

I cried

Because I lied

Because your fate

Might Be mine.

They identify your body

And I cry.

I don't feel safe

When I read

Almost daily

The same

Sad tale.

Because you might have been me,

I cry.

They can't find

Who took your life,

Or when they do,

Blame you

For being true

To yourself.

Tonight

I light a candle

To honor the spirit

The courage

The hope in the darkness

So I don't have to cry

Anymore

Sofia Jean Featherwind, November 18, 2011, For Transgender Day of Remembrance

Today, when I got home, I received a pleasant shock. In an envelope in my mailbox was a letter from my health insurance essentially approving coverage of the hormone therapy that was prior to my surgery in May and tagged as a complication. It's been more than a couple of weeks since I appeared before a grievance committee to present my argument of why they should cover my surgery. I'm taking this as a positive sign.

You need to make sure you carve out time for yourself. And if you're going to work crazy hours at something, make sure it's something you can feel compassionate about.

I'm done leap frogging jobs, because I found that I didn't have the passion to sustain the loyalty I kept throwing into companies just to have it betrayed when they needed money.

I leave between 4 and 5 pm every day and live my life outside of the office where I find my true meaning. Yeah, from 8:30 to roughly 4:30, I guide the team and run it when the lead is absent, handling all the tech issues, etc. But when I walk out that door, I breathe because I have dreams and aspirations to work on.

I have been performing. I lost count of the number of solos I did, and I did one with an ad hoc troupe. Three of us may be forming up to create a more permanent troupe named Desert Mist. I am so excited. Almost every day sees me practicing, unless I am taking a couple of days off for muscle recovery. I just got done with two back to back solos on the last two weekends. I did one choreography and a couple of drum improvisational dances for the church carnival and three choreographed pieces and another improv at an art gallery as part of the live entertainment for an after conference party.

I am signed up to perform at the January Winter Festival with Desert Mist, a couple of solos in February and in March, my performing class Azalea starts doing performances until September. So, I've been keeping myself busy.

The one thing I have learned is that things almost always go wrong. The best thing you can do is smile and keep on going, remembering that you are doing it for fun.

I've had a couple of articles posted in biweekly periodicals. One was about my battle with my insurance company and the other was a piece about me and my book.

My kids will be with me tomorrow through Sunday morning for Thanksgiving break. I'm planning on taking them shopping, to the movies and to Thanksgiving dinner at Golden Corral.

Wishing you a Happy Thanksgiving,
Sophie

Creativity out of Chaos

The Censor is part of our leftover survival brain. It was the part in charge of deciding whether it was safe for us to leave the forest and go out into the meadow. Our Censor scans our creative meadow for any dangerous beasties. Any original thought can look pretty dangerous to our Censor.

The only sentences/paintings/sculptures/photographs it likes are the ones that it has seen many times before. Safe sentences. Safe paintings. Not exploratory blurts, squiggles, or jottings. Listen to your Censor and it will tell you that everything original is wrong/dangerous/rotten.

Who wouldn't be blocked if every time you tiptoed into the open somebody (your Censor) made fun of you? The morning pages will teach you to stop listening to that ridicule. They will allow you to detach from your negative Censor.

-- Julia Cameron, The Artist's Way

I totally miffed it last night. When the world goes to chaos, it's time to just go with the creative energy. "Indian Outlaw" didn't go as planned. I could barely hear the music and it was well on its way before I could get in position on the floor.  The audience was fairly empty because everyone was in line to get food, and I started missing all my musical cues. Everything that could go wrong seemed to do so. All of my isolated mistakes from previous practice sessions seemed to all hit at once. I got confused at The Huntress and couldn't keep my balance in The Bow. I had to make up filler content on the spot to get back in sync. I just smiled and kept on going until I got backstage and beat myself up in my frustration.

But no one seemed to know about my mistakes. I was told, "I like your costume" and "That was a pretty dance." If I had done it right, I should have been feeding the energy to the audience and hearing "That was awesome."

I waited what seemed like forever for the clown I was to follow with my Shakira number. There were a lot of lulls between acts. The sound that seemed to be working was that coming from the live singers. Even the guitarist could barely be heard. And as much as I scanned the crowd, I could find no clown.

I danced by the silent auction table to the singers on stage, reminding myself very sternly that I do this for fun. It served as the warmup I needed, the one I missed just trying to get to the church in time to do  an equipment check before the auction began.

Then the drumming circle took the floor, but only right after I was asked if I wanted to go ahead and perform my next piece. I knew their improvisational rhythms were great--so I asked if I could dance with them. They indicated the space Deborah had cleared out earlier for my dance in front of the drums and I stood just outside the last drum on stage left until I could mimic the first beats with my body. I made my body a visual drum, trying to anticipate the next beat, shimmying, bumping and turning to the audience, dancing to them. I picked out groups of faces in the well lit audience and smiled my ecstatic pleasure at them as I let the energy course through my muscles.  

When I had started, the audience was half-packed. When the song was over, it was standing room only. Women in the back were dancing along, someone was clapping out the beat, ululations were very clear, and after a very long grueling of channeling the creative energy, the last beat was struck.

I figured I just barely had time to rest before my next routine if I bowed out immediately. I also thought that I had borrowed enough of the spotlight from the drumming troupe. As I stepped away from the floor into the audience, someone yelled, "Encore!," and it was clear the audience would not allow me to stray without another round. Not sure if I could repeat, I released myself to the gathering beat.

My improvisational ecstatic dance was light-years ahead of my choreographed routine. The frenzy was awesome, but I was starting to feel the sweat, loss of breath, and aching muscles threatening to overwhelm me. It was clear I was done for the evening.

Belly dancing takes a tremendous amount of energy. This was the first time I had ever performed more than one routine in public, and I did three! Not the two I expected, but still...This time I was approached by so many more people and started hearing my favorite phrases: "That was awesome!," "I know how difficult that is," and "How long have you been doing this?"

And there's the rub, the reason I shouldn't be beating myself up. It's been only four months since I started taking serious lessons. In that time, I've lost track of the number of performances I've done, as well as being admitted to a dancing troupe, and encouraged to keep performing! What has seemed like forever to me has in reality been a very short time. I just had major surgery almost 6 months ago!

Of course, I think I've hit my maximum amateur audience size. I can't think of any events I could appear at that would host more that 200 people, except maybe the pride festival next June. Joni has already reserved the space and is expecting me to dance. I will definitely want to dance with a live band playing.

Next weekend, I am performing at the Gender Conference After Party. I've got my workout practice cut out for me. I can't wait to share all this with my private instructor tomorrow. Wait until I tell her someone videotaped my performance and is emailing me a copy.

Hugs and God Bless,
Sofia Featherwind

Fama

Fama, that much-coveted goddess, has many faces, and fame comes in many sorts and sizes—from the one-week notoriety of the cover story to the splendor of an everlasting name.

Walter Benjamin

I have been contemplating when my story would finally come out--when someone in the press would take note of some aspect of my life and decide to do a piece on me, exposing me in such a way that I would be thrust into the advocate spotlight, sacrificing some of the stealth I enjoy.

I admit that I don't always pass as well as I like, but for the most part, people are wonderful and let me enjoy the fantasy of doing so. They are my friends and I love them all.

I thought the exposure would come through my dance. In fact, I took the stage in front of 178 people to do my solo last night, very aware that it has only been 9 months since I started taking lessons.

I practiced my heart out for the last couple of weeks, trying to figure out what I was going to do with Indian Outlaw by Tim McGraw. It was a song I wanted to do because I normally see Halloween as a time to honor my Tsalagi (Cherokee) roots.

I was making good progress. I quickly figured out the chorus routine in a matter of minutes and then I threw in The Huntress and The Bow from my private instructor. I finally filled the intervening space for the refrain with The Grapewine--a modified Grapevine. Then for the close, I did a spin and drop with undulating death throes, before returning to life to blow a kiss.

I spent an hour each day I could going over it. Then I got my flu shot last Friday. I wound up too nauseous to do anything on Tuesday except watch myself fall behind in my performance class and I had lost my balance until Thursday. Friday was a very light practice day, so I was a bit nervous by the time Saturday rolled around.

I needn't have worried. When I finally got up to perform, I just had to smile while they looked for my music, throwing a couple of shimmies with my back to the audience. I thought my routine was going to be so boring compared to what everyone else had done so far. Gorgeous Wendy had loaned me her foot-long feather earrings that tickled my chest, and suddenly the music started.

I was feeling it--the deep spiritual connection I get when I share a piece of performance art. Everything felt great and I was surprised at how wonderful the audience was, clapping the beat, whistling and hooting through the two advanced moves I had thrown in, the deathly pawl as I struggled against death, and the cheers when I rose from the dead and blew kisses to the audience, all in tune to the beat.

It was wonderful seeing kisses blown back.

During intermission, as I sought out my friends and teachers I got wonderful compliments on my performance. I was approached by someone else who had Cherokee roots and loved the song as well as my interpretation.

I was really surprised at the support. Looking back at the photos I am really astounded by the amount of energy that I brought to what I thought was going to be an over-simplified routine.

There were a number of great dancers last night. I am proud that so many of them are now my friends. Thia's annual Halloween Show is wonderful and I am so happy that she let a newbie like myself solo. She is so sweet that she invented "Best Indian" as well as other prizes to make everyone feel like a winner. I'm fortunate to have her as a teacher.

My next performance is going to be at the South Valley Carnival and Auction on November 5. I'll be doing at least two routines. I don't know if the audience will be larger that 178, but if it is, I'm ready for it. I am going to try to learn one more routine by then, so I'll have three to perform that Saturday.

Today, I had a Welcome to Womanhood moment--a urinary tract infection. Trust me, they suck. I treated myself with cranberry juice and rest.

Tomorrow, it's back to work at my day job and my private lesson afterward. Then I'm meeting a photographer for a Weekly publication. It seems that my struggle with the insurance company over my appeal left me in such a state last week that it attracted media attention.

Friday, I met with a reporter for my interview at a Thai restaurant and he is anxious to write something up and publish it. He also suggested a photographer come over to get my photo for the piece when I suggested just providing a photo. And so I shall be thrust into the limelight for simply standing up for what I know is right--for myself, and for others.

I have tried so hard to live stealth and not draw undue attention to my status, but somehow I am drawn to speak for--to advocate--my story so that others may be similarly understood.

Is it bravery or courage? No. It's simple expediency. It's need. If my appeal for surgical coverage would have been handled independently of my other medical routines instead of as an excuse to deny me coverage, I wouldn't need this exposure.

But when people do things that depress me, I only can find two actions available to my mind: I can either mire myself in the mud of despair (and trust me, it's very tempting) or I can fight back. I have no choice.

I knew this time was coming; I just didn't expect it would be here so soon.

Hugs and God Bless,
Sophie

New Beginnings

Something touched my shoulder. I whirled and saw the Lord of Beasts looking at me from the gap ten feet away.

 Ilona Andrews, Magic Bites

When I joined Mecha's class six weeks ago, I had no idea I would soon be experiencing my first troupe performance, let alone hearing words like awesome, cute, precise and pizzazz in reference to it. I had joined her class as a way to get back to belly dancing while waiting to officially join Azalea, the beginner Egyptian performance class taught at the same school by Thia, the school's owner. Azalea didn't kick off until this last Tuesday.

When I showed up for the "advanced beginner" class six weeks ago, I was simply trying to mimic the moves of the very adept teacher as she wended her way through routines. Three weeks ago she announced that she had permission to debut her class as a troupe to Shakira's "Ojos Asi." Since I was about to leave the class the following week, I asked her to copy me the FaceBook link to the event so I could come watch. Her response? An incredulous, "You're just going to watch?!"

"You want me to dance with you?"

"Just let me know how you feel about it on Thursday." I realized I had two weeks to memorize a choreography that I hadn't expected to perform. So my two-a-week sessions, including my private lessons with Kelsey in tribal fusion, suddenly expanded to three when it was time for me to start with Azalea. Mecha happened to be subbing for the class, so I got extra time with her to pick up another segment of the choreography.

Each night I put in about an hour trying to get through the moves, to the neglect of much of my other training. Azalea started in full swing on Tuesday, launching immediately into drills of my first choreography there. I was consistently called out on various issues, mostly due to the tribal style I had picked up and need to tweak for Egyptian dance. It also comes as no surprise as most of the girls have at least a year or more of belly dancing in Thia's schools. They say it's a test and a compliment to be picked on or singled out in her class. She wants to see how you respond to criticism and she only does it with dancers in whom she sees potential. But let me tell you it's rough, and I want to improve so she doesn't keep stopping the class for my personal instruction.

Saturday, I and the other girls in New Beginnings--Tammy, Heather, Rebecca, Kathey and one other girl I feel guilty about not remembering her name--arrived at Sugar Space at 7 pm, one hour before performance to block out our performance. I was so nervous and running late that I hadn't realized until I took off my heels to practice that I was wearing a mismatched pair of shoes. We were third in the lineup and I was hoping I was going to do a lot better than our last practice, trying to clear my mind.

It wasn't long until we took the stage following a drum solo, a incredibly fluid dancer and a very long announcement introducing our first performance. I couldn't see the audience clearly due to the lighting and once we were about 16 beats in, the room was full of beat clapping guiding us through. I lit up my smile and flirted as best I could with the audience to the fast paced music, and before we knew it, the routine was ended. I blew a couple of kisses at the audience as we exited to the applause.

Once we returned to our seats, I kept hearing how they loved my costume and how awesome the performance was. Thia also told me, "You were awesome." I sought out my private instructor who had come to see me so I could thank her for coming and she said the same thing, complimenting me on a cute smile as well. I confessed that I made a few mistakes, and she insisted that there weren't any and she was watching for them. She didn't see them. I had successfully covered over them. But this being a community and we being beginners I certainly wasn't go to let the few words go to my head until I saw what the announcer Yasmina, herself a long time veteran and organizer of Night at the Casbah, posted on Mecha's wall:

Your solo had so much passion and left the audience wanting more Mecha! AND finally--what can I say about your babies-"New Beginnings?" They stole the show last night--the audience went wild--AND if that was their first performance--we are going to have to hold onto our seats for their second show! NEVER have seen a first-time group perform with such precision and pizazz!

I am flying higher than a kite. I see my private instructor tomorrow and back to Azalea class the day after. I am also back to only those two lessons and an occasional drop in on Mecha's class--that is, unless there is  a second performance.

Hugs and Blessings,
Sofia Featherwind

Finding Meaning in Life

Suzanne's move toward divorce was the turning point-it gave them "the gift of desperation." For the first time, Michael seemed willing to explore just how painful his life had become. During one session, when they were discussing a heavy snowstorm in the Denver area, Michael mentioned that his 64-year-old father had just missed his first day of work in 20 years. I asked Michael what that meant to him. His eyes welling up with tears, Michael said he wished his father had enjoyed his life more. I wondered aloud if Michael had ever wished the same thing for himself. "I'm scared," he replied. "I'm scared of what would happen if I stopped working all the time. I'm even scared to stop worrying about the business-scared that I might be overlooking something important that would make my whole business crumble before my eyes."

Christopher K. Germer PhD. The Mindful Path to Self-Compassion: Freeing Yourself from Destructive Thoughts and Emotions (Kindle Locations 312-316). Kindle Edition.

I program for a living and get paid well for it because it's something that I turned out to be good at. As a child, it certainly never was one of the things on my list of careers. It wasn't dancing, singing or riding the range. I have a Master's Degree and wrote a thesis in data mining while trying to prepare for a compensatory career.

That career paid my loyalty back three times with layoffs and the resultant tears of feeling betrayed. No, I don't find meaning in my job; but that doesn't mean I give it my all when I'm there or not continue my education in my spare time. However, my spare time is mine and it's dedicated to expression.

I'm sitting on my couch--in partial costume, because I don't have class until 8 pm tonight and last week I was the only one to show up at the belly dance session not in costume. Therefore, with a little encouragement, I'm dressing for the occasion. This is my next to last lesson with the Baby Bellies class before my first day in the troupe class. I've already practiced my private lessons for the week today, zils and a couple of combo moves. The first combo is a traveling outer hip circle I am going to use when I perform to "Lantern" by Beats Antique and the other is a sequence of neck circle, chest circle and outer hip circle. It's fun, but the neck circle is hard.

Last night I took on the duties of the Welcoming Chair for my church, and wrote the schedule for the next two months today, sending it to all the greeters. I also have the added responsibility of facilitating the Newcomer's  Welcome every third Sunday as well as greeting people on the first Sunday of each month and stocking pamphlets. My free time is rapidly being depleted again. As a result I almost didn't make it to the free showing of The Virgin Suicides last night. I have dance class tonight, my support group meeting tomorrow and need to take the cat to get her next round of shots on Saturday. Did I mention that I lost a toenail this morning?

Meanwhile, my insurance claim for surgery is formally moving into the appeals process with the signed appeal request that my broker mailed to SelectHealth. They had the gall to deny payment to my Ob/Gyn, claiming that it was a complication due to a procedure they don't cover. We're trying to get the doctor to send in a letter stating otherwise. I bet SelectHealth is just hoping I'll go away.

That's about all the news for now, with the exception of a domestic dispute last night of a neighbor friend that I had to call the police for.

Hugs and God Bless,
Sophie Jean