This morning, I woke up with a tight feeling across my entire body, which I usually experience when the weather is about to change. I was reluctant to leave my comfortable bed, and I knew, before ever checking the news, that it was going to be cold. I was right. 30f all morning, and as of about an hour ago, snowing. This is the first snow of the season. While I doubt it will stick to the roads or sidewalks for at least a few more weeks, I know that I am on borrowed time until I will need to replace my worn-through snow boots and dig out the bulky coats. I've always loved colder weather, although I would never say no to a warm, overcast day, especially if there is a cool breeze... I would consider myself a "selectively Autumn" kind of person.

When I was younger, I would always look forward to winter. I could put on my coat, boots, and several layers of pants, escape into the snowy woods for hours at a time, and have no worry of being attacked by wild animals or irritated by certain plants. For much of my life, I have lived in places where this habit was easily accomplished, and my mildly asocial behavior would be encouraged, as long as I remembered to come back every few hours to prove to my mother that I hadn't frozen to death yet (although, even this could be avoided if I dragged any one of my six siblings along with me in a buddy system, usually my twin sister). I have many fond memories of laying in the snow until the sky began to darken, so insulated that I barely felt the cold, or so numb already that it didn't bother me. There's nothing as beautiful as the night sky in winter from my hometown, where the light pollution is minimal, and I could truly be on my own for as long as my body could stand, just watching the sun set and the sky darken. I would pull my arms and face into my coat, and peek out, conserving warmth like some type of brightly colored polar bear. Thinking about it now, I am experiencing the kind of melancholy that is only possible when you know that you will never go back to it. I can still bundle up and lay in the snow, but I'm not a child anymore. My body is not capable of the hours of exploration and contemplation that I was once able to do. A small convenience store recently was built near my rural home, and the night sky has changed. Although it is only one store, it's harder to see the stars. The last time I was home, I could barely make out any constellations.

Snow laden midnight walks may have changed, but other things have stayed exactly the same. In my region, we make snow ice cream. I'm not sure if they do it in other places, but it is something that I was raised on. It consists of fresh powdery snow, sweetened condensed milk, and a small dash of vanilla, which is all mixed together and eaten as fast as possible. It is something that must be made fresh, and it cannot be refrozen. It was always a definitive part of the first snow experience, and I can recall a particularly dire blizzard in which my mother would send my siblings and I out to collect snow, in an attempt to keep us hydrated. To make it more interesting, we made much of it into snow ice cream. I haven't had it in years, but I suspect that the flavor is exactly like I remember it, but it is possible that my adult palate will not find it as satisfying as I once did.

In my last post, I discussed how my life has felt more worthwhile as I've gotten older. I still feel that, but I've also noticed all the little details that have stayed consistent throughout my life, even the ones that I thought I would have grown past at this point. One example that comes to mind happened just the other night as I was helping my older brother move into a new apartment. In this rare occasion, both of my parents were present, which is unusual given the diverging paths that their lives have taken. Even now, nearly a decade after their separation, they hold so much animosity for each other. It's bizarre the way that hearing them argue transported me back to my childhood. For a brief moment, I was a terrified kid again. Even thinking about the incident, I can feel the gears of my flight instinct churning to life, despite knowing very well that nothing can happen to me at this point.

I had a rather blessed childhood, and while there are certainly things that I have had to unpack from it all, I wouldn't classify my parents as fearful symbols in my life. My father, a music lover and fellow friend of Dorothy, has never been close, but due to our hearts' orientations and his respect of another part of my identity that I have not shared with you all (If I revealed it, it might certainly connect several dots, but I find it difficult to admit openly. It is much easier to simply exist on the internet without acknowledging that anything ever changed from my birth to now, but I'm sure some sleuths among you could easily decipher it), I have found myself telling him about my life in ways my mother could never hope to comprehend. Perhaps this is why seeing the two argue still makes my stomach jump into my throat; Some kind of concern for my secrets coming out into the open.

As much as it pains me to admit it, I am still very dependent on my mother, although given my age and circumstances, I doubt it's as embarrassing as I interpret it to be. If what I have been keeping from her was ever revealed, I shudder to think of the consequences. There have been narrow misses, and I'm sure it's more of an open secret at this point, but to have it lain bare makes me more terrified than anything I've ever experienced. It's strange, the dissonance between openly admitting such things on this corner of the internet and being so terrified in my daily life that I find myself trying to think of excuses to avoid those who are not aware of it already. It can be hard for some to comprehend the fear that comes from existing as I do in the place I am from. Things have become exponentially better for those in the communities I am part of, and yet my world has not become any safer. I am still terrified to speak to others in the same circumstances without a veil of mystery covering my identity. My only hope is to gently probe potential allies until I am aware of their views on things as simple as basic respect, and it can often be jarring and disturbing to discover that the people I have chosen to trust may not be as safe as they seem.

I notice a disconnect between those that may not have this experience and those that know the feeling I am describing all too well. Because of the complex nature of my identity, including the parts I am not open about here, even introducing myself to others can be dangerous. I hesitate when friends of mine introduce me to friends of theirs, often relieved when I am not asked about anything more than my name. At the same time, there are some who feel the need to make my introductions for me, shoving all of my identity into the light. I feel prone and exposed when this happens, and I find it difficult to shirk off the feeling of fear that accompanies a mistimed outing, even if I am reassured that I am among friends. I try not to hold it against those that choose to place me in the light when I much prefer the shadows. It makes me glad that they feel safe enough to proudly strut where all can see them, but I often wish that they could see the look of distress plastered on my face through the glare of the stage lights. Paradoxically, this forced exposure makes me feel even more alone.

I've always considered myself to be an introvert. Something about the world of hectic interaction has always made me antsy, and I find myself at my most charismatic and pleasant in small groups of people that I have known for a long time. Still, life necessitates change, and in the past year, I have had a radical difference in my lifestyle. My mind drifts to Halloween of last year, which I spent hunched over my computer, playing some MMO (likely one revolving around Star Trek). I remember the year previous, which I spent at a small Halloween party with one or two other long-time friends, out of costume. It feels strange, then, that this year my plans consist of gathering with a large group of people that are strangers to me, for activities I did not plan.

If I could place myself from a year ago into the place I am today, I doubt that he would know what to do with himself. My chronically online, desperately lonely, and deeply troubled self from last year would feel completely overwhelmed. He would drown. It reminds me of the story about a donkey trapped in a well, where the farmer slowly fills it with shovelfuls of sand, until the donkey is able to walk out. I feel as though the deep pit I have dwelled in for most of my life is being slowly filled in. I am not at the top yet, but I am getting closer. I can feel myself growing and changing into something different and more resilient.

For my entire life, I've felt like someone outside of the scope of human experience. I have always had the nagging sensation that my life is atypical in some way, an exception to the rule that every person is fundamentally similar. As I've gotten older, I believe that less and less. My perceived differences, which I felt made me something other than human, are not quite as strange as I originally thought. My sexuality, for instance, which I often believed as an adolescent was a symptom of this inhuman nature, is now known to me as being just another trait. I am not the only person on the planet that feels the way I do, and I am not any less human because of it. The same can be said of my body. If I were being humorous, I would say that I'm a small badger of a man, a shrunken angry wreck, barely able to contain my own rage at being too short to reach anything above six feet, but even this is not as uncommon as I once believed. My experience of awkwardly asking someone for help grabbing something at the store is not an embarrassment in my life these days, it is just my reality, and one that I share with a very solid percentage of the population. In the same vein, I am unlikely to be the only person in a room of men that is attracted to men. Neither of these things are as unusual as my insulated and shameful childhood would have led me to believe.

All around me, at any given moment of the day, are dozens of people that share one trait with me. One is all it really takes. The human mind is remarkable at creating "in-groups" with others, and something as small as ordering the same drink at a coffeeshop will endear two souls. It's strange and oddly comforting, knowing that someone around you shares one trait, even if the trait is as simple as having the same taste in music.

Small talk, I believe, is an exercise in swaying a bundle of small pieces of yourself in the water, waiting for those around you to grab onto one that catches their eye. "How about that weather?" We are experiencing the same weather. Isn't it remarkable that our location is the same, at the same time, in the same circumstance? The weather isn't the real point of the conversation, it's simply a thread of common life that you dangle, another person grasps, and you both marvel at the act of not free-floating. It's a conversational life preserver, one that says, "I'm here, you're here, and I see you. We have something in common."

"It's a shame that store closed." The store isn't important. It doesn't even matter if you know what the other person is referring to, the beauty comes in the shared simple sorrow of something no longer existing. It is a shame the store closed, and although I had never been there, I have experienced the loss of a small pleasure before. We have that in common.

Today, while I was taking photos of a leaf-footed insect for my naturalist portfolio, a young man stopped to look at it with me. He cooed and smiled at it, and enthusiastically told me about something he had seen recently. "I was talking to someone here the other day, and do you see that tree over there?" He pointed to a nearby juniper. Yes, I did see it. "A caterpillar was pulling its cocoon right up the trunk!" Ah, he's grabbed my thread. Small talk about an interesting bug has prompted a story. This is the mark of a successful interaction. We chatted about how amazing the world of insects is for a few more moments, and then we both continued on our way. For a brief moment, we were the same, a cluster of individuals with a shared experience. It didn't matter that the experience was the act of watching a leaf-footed insect slowly trundle across the sidewalk. This microcosm had bonded us, even if it was only for a second.

Last night I had a nightmare. In the dream, I am investigating a remnant prairie below an overpass, as my hobby in naturalism compels me to. As I was taking a photo of a grasshopper, a man came up to me. He was irritated, yelling about how I was invading his home. It wasn't something that I was particularly worried about. I simply apologized and moved on to a different area, still intent on getting photographs of some of the beautiful creatures that live in this world. When I went home after a long day of this, I had the impression that something was watching me, which set me on edge. Still, I brushed it off and climbed in bed.

After I had been laying there for a while in the dark, too unnerved to rest, even after my roommate had fallen asleep, I heard the door click open, the lock unshackling instantly. The man from earlier, bathed in the darkness, with flashes of light creeping through my blinds washing over his demented grin, approached my bed. He grabbed my neck and squeezed as hard as possible. I couldn't move, I couldn't speak, I could only lay there. I attempted to move, willing all of my strength towards hitting a wall and alerting my roommate, but my weak pats were soundless. I sucked in as much breath as I could manage and squeaked out, "please, help", which broke me from the spell. I awoke, breathless and shaking, heart racing, in my bed. My roommate still lay sleeping. The door was locked. I pinched myself. It wasn't real.

I've always been an insomniac, although my most common symptoms include an inability to fall asleep, and a tendency to restlessly toss around. I would not consider myself to be the type that suffers from nightmares, although I often get them when I am under intense stress. This usually applies to test season, which I am unfortunately undergoing in university, and periods of physical illness, including an especially terrifying time a few years back when I got COVID, which made me claustrophobic to a degree that I feel even to this day. I think the nightmare I had last night may have been my body trying to tell me something is wrong. Combined with the feeling of weight on my chest, a prickle in my throat, and the headache I have been nursing for several days, I would say that the message is unnecessary. I am aware something is brewing, thanks to my immune system. A psychological horror is not something I need to be aware of my physical condition at this time.

I often wake myself up from dreams by needing to flip over or adjust, but I will rarely have a nightmare that makes me call for help or yell in my sleep, which I suppose is why I have been dwelling on it all day. It took me forever to get my chest to quit pounding enough to go back to sleep, and I was so nervous that I ended up huddled under my comforter from toe to tip, completely covered, like a child. When I questioned my roommate about it in the morning, they claimed not to have heard me calling for help, although they did mention that I have a habit of whimpering occasionally in my sleep. I was not aware of this, but my family has a habit of sitting up and sleepwalking. My twin often finds herself upright at night, and when we shared a room, I would frequently awake with a feeling of being watched, only to discover her sitting and staring at me, eyes closed, fully asleep.

Today I return to my university dorm for another year of learning, not only about the world around me, but also about myself. To mark this occasion, I will be discussing some things that I have learned since I started this journey. Hopefully it is helpful, enlightening, or familiar to some of you.

1. It is normal to have no idea what you are doing. If you mess up, it can usually be fixed.

I have a rather anxious personality. Because of this, I'm constantly on my toes in new situations, concerned I will make a fatal mistake that will ruin the rest of my life in some way. Reasonably, however, this is rarely the case. For instance, there are no mistakes I could possibly make in the grocery store that will permanently alter the course of my fate. This does not stop my mind from trembling at the thought of communicating with other people in places I have not been. Going on vacation is a new ring of hell for me, as it usually involves visiting places outside of my usual haunts. Even in situations where my actions could potentially cause issues, however, I have learned that there are rarely things that you could do that will ruin everything. There is never a pit so deep you cannot leave it. I am reminded of a time a few years ago when, while working on my family cattle farm, a series of unlikely events led to an entire reservoir of feed being dumped out. This could have potentially been a several hundred, or even thousand dollar mistake. Even still, I was able to salvage the feed that was still usable and it was fed to the animals as intended. Even a mistake such as this has a solution.

2. People will rarely notice when you do something out of the ordinary. Sympathy is your most powerful tool.

In situations where I have broken a social convention through ineptitude or mistake, I have found that very few people will hold it against you, especially when you give them reason to be sympathetic. There was a time, quite recently, when I was visiting a different state than my own. Something that I had not realized, however, and that I still believe that I would have had no way of noticing, was that the public bathrooms in this state are on the opposite sides as they would be in my dear home. This led to many awkward situations, wherein I would visit the men's room, only to be greeted with some rather startled ladies. When this would happen, I would simply laugh, turn around, and say bashfully, "Oops! I'm very sorry, I could have sworn this was..." and shake my head, leaving. Visually showing embarrassment at a mistake puts others at ease, as they will typically feel sympathetic. Everyone has walked into the wrong bathroom from time to time, so they understand the awkwardness and can laugh it off. This example extends to many other parts of life, from having too little change at a checkout to dropping a loud object in a quiet place. Shrug it off, laugh, and change your behavior to compensate. Do not get caught up in punishing yourself.

3. Unpleasant people exist. Avoid them, and do not feel angry at yourself if their comments cut deep.

I always found the advice of ignoring bullies to be incredibly unhelpful. Perhaps it is because I am prone to anger that leaves me numb, shaking, and speechless, but it is difficult to think straight when something cuts at your heart. At the same time, I would often feel foolish for allowing someone to make me angry or sad, especially when I could tell it was intentional. Here is what I have realized. People will say things that make you sad and angry, whether it is intentional or not, and you should be prepared to brush it off and keep going. No one can say or do anything that will remove your worth as a person. As an addendum, you should not feel ashamed if something upsets you. As a human being, it is normal to feel things such as this. The brain will release hormones as it pleases. Even the most trained monks feel emotional. The important part is what you will do with this anger or sadness. Get away from the instigator if possible, take some deep breaths, and think of something funny or pleasant to clear your head. I find it hard to stay angry when something makes me laugh. A situation I have experienced where this came in handy was, aside from the entirety of middle through high school, clothes shopping. My body is strangely shaped, bizarrely feminine, and incredibly heavy. This makes clothing stores a toxic wasteland of body dysmorphia minefields. I can usually navigate it fairly smoothly, though, by knowing what I enjoy wearing and what looks good on me. In some cases, family members (or the occasional bold stranger!) will feel the need to comment on my choice of attire, whether it be negatively or positively. This can be frustrating, often distressing, and thoroughly unpleasant.