If you've ever watched the old Warner Brothers cartoons, you'll recognize this image: every other episode or so, Road Runner would trick Wile E. Coyote into running off a cliff. And because of cartoon physics, gravity wouldn't kick in until a split second after he noticed he was no longer running on solid ground.
It's kind of an awful moment, and one we've all had in our own lives (metaphorically, of course - I don't expect anyone reading this will have fallen off a cliff). Every one of us has had a time when we've suddenly realized that we've done something with serious repercussions and that it's only a matter of time - seconds, hours, days, maybe years - until gravity kicks in and we finally fall to our doom.
That's how the past six months have felt for me. I knew I was running off a cliff but I did it anyway. Now I'm frantically pumping my legs, hoping to get to the other side before Mother Nature decides she's got it in for me after all and I plummet to the bottom of the canyon. I've been extraordinarily lucky so far, with an understanding workplace, accepting friends, and a supportive family. The air is still feeling mighty solid under my feet.
And yet there are a million ways it could go wrong. I could lose my job. I could get sick or get in an accident. My car could break down. Pretty much anything that keeps me from getting to the surgery I'm planning for the end of the year - surgery that will mark the end of the most dangerous segment of my transition - could derail my life and send me into a spiral of poverty and discrimination that I might never emerge from. For that matter, the surgery itself could be botched, though I shudder to even consider what that would mean.
All it would take would be for one thing to go wrong and gravity would kick in, full force.
I'm one of the lucky ones.