The Total Femme

“I miss the way things used to be,” a friend told me last time we spoke.

Sweet my fragrant femme blossoms, don’t we know just exactly what she means? So much has changed. So much is cattywampus and fractured and sinister and downright shitty just about now. Old coping skills have gone up in smoke and new coping skills are uncomfortable and unwieldy. I miss so many things from pre-pandemic times, so many things that are over, Rover. You know, you know, you know what I’m talking about, don’t you?

Last night, my 23-year old hied him off and out of town. After several years of trying, he is finally launched on his travel adventure: Thailand for ten days, and then to Japan to spend a year learning Japanese.

Before he left, we went to see my 90-year old mom together. She kept dozing off, but when she was awake, she was pretty front and center. “That’s quite strenuous!” she said, as he told her about his plans. “That’s amazing!”

Then he and I had lunch and went over details together (really, he was all set, but he generously shared with me because he knew how much I’ve been enjoying seeing him get ready for his adventure). I bought him some snacks for the airplane and hugged him tight, tight, tight, saying, “Aishiteru! Aishiteru!” which is I love you in Japanese. He was flying Qatar airlines, so was modestly dressed in slightly-too-small slacks and button-down shirt. I will miss being in the presence of those knobbly wrists and ankles!

But it wouldn’t be good if he stayed here. He has to go do his thing. Even if the world is so incredibly changed since I hied me off on my travel adventures when I was his age. I just got a text from him that he landed in Doha. My parents were lucky if they heard from me a week after I’d left – I think I was supposed to call when I landed, but sometimes I forgot. I don’t think the difference is one way or another, good or bad. It just is. Ok, I’m lying. I do miss the old days. But there’s missing and there’s pining away into misery.

Darlings, I know you miss so many things. From the before, from the coulda-been, from the wish-it-was. Circumstances press down on us. We feel unmoored, to say the least. But change, you know. It’s like breath. It’s life. Sweetness and loss. Love and grief. Oh, all of it!

All that you touch, you change.

All that you change, changes you.

The only lasting truth is change.

God is change.

Octavia Butler’s words hang above my desk on a postcard from Southerners On New Ground. Whatever God is for you, sister queer femmes, there is comfort in Octavia’s wisdom. Around and around, on and on, we move through this beautiful day, with the wind and the sun and the blue jays yelling at the squirrels.

Rest in change. It sounds impossible! But I think we do it every day. Next, my darlings.

Next.

Every Monday, I offer a Meditation for Queer Femmes, in the spirit of my maternal grandmother, Mimi, who was fabulous, and from whom I inherited her Meditations for Women. Would you like to offer up a Meditation of your own? I would love that! Send it along to me at thetotatalfemme@gmail.com.

At the Total Femme, my intention is to post three or four times a week: Meditations for Queer Femmes on Monday, Pingy-Dingy Wednesday on Wednesday, Femme Friday on Friday, and (new for spring 22!) the occasional Sometimes On A. Rather than play catch-up in a stressful fashion on those weeks when life prevents posting, I have decided to just move gaily forward: if I miss a Monday, the next post will be on Wednesday, and so on. Thank you, little bottle of antibiotics for inspiring me in this! (“…if it’s almost time for the next dose, skip the missed dose and continue your regular dosing schedule. Don’t take a double dose to make up for a missed one.”) And…as I go through life life life, I will post as I am able, Mabel.