I went to a wake today.
Yeah, another one.
This one was for a friend, D.E., a work buddy, and a guy that also died too young. As I sat listening to his family eulogize him, and do a damn fine job of it, really illustrating the complexity of his character, respecting his struggles and highlighting his triumphs, I was reminded again of the limited amount of time we have on this little rock circling the sun.
I am sure I want to start hormone therapy. I don’t want to wait around for a level of security that can never be obtained. I am aware of, but not really concerned about, the health risks. I believe them to be minimal. Assuming my blood work does not illustrate a high probability of death (which it won’t; that’s not the kind of news you get from that type of blood work), I see no reason other than fear to not transition hormonally.
And let’s bottom line it here: we all die of something, don’t we? And I would rather die from an authentic life than live another hundred years pretending to be someone I am not.
If there is an afterlife, I don’t want to tip-toe up to those gates in pristine condition and whisper a plea for entrance.
I want to careen in sideways, hubcaps flying, with a busted headlight, kick open the door and say, “Wow, what a ride!”
I respect this body enough to give it what it needs to manifest itself fully. I respect this life, this one chance at it, enough to try the scary stuff. D.E. might not have lived long, but he sure, as one eulogizer put it, “crammed a lot into his life.”
I wanna pack mine full. So let’s try this “being the dude I was born to be” thing.
Fuck it. I only live once, right?
Be nice to yourselves,
Your Pal Eli
So long, D.E. We’ll kick it up at IML this year in your honor.