I’m not much of a writer and I don’t really journal, but these last few months I have found myself to be super reflective and then remembered I had a blog. While this isn’t usually something I would dialogue about I just had some insight. These last few days I have myself moved by the passing of Whitney Houston. As I was up late and watching a special about her I began thinking. Why was I so affected by her death? I hadn’t listened to her music in years with the exception of hearing a recent recording in the club from time to time. I found myself obsessed with listening to her old hits on you tube and then it me. Her music had the ability to instantly transport me back into a time of my childhood and moments I had with my family and friends. I remember getting my first tape recorder with a mic attached and busting out The Greatest Love of All for a family performance. It’s when I began to fall in love with music and singing, and the start of a dream to be a singer, which was also thwarted in my teen years when I realized I didn’t have much of a voice, but none the less a love affair. It was amazing seeing all those old videos and recalling where I was when I watched her perform at the superbowl. What I thought of the world, the family that was still together, and the time I felt safe and that my parents could always protect me. I miss those days, and as I get older I realize when times of old are gone as in this case, where I’ll never see her in a film or hear her at an award show, a little piece of my childhood goes with it, and I mourn for it. The accessible marker of a song or performance that validates my life era, where I am now, and where it originated. Maybe this is what usually ties up in our feelings of loss and mourning. With all the changes this year I feel like this sentiment is pervasive and strong. I have been in mourning to some degree as I have embarked on this new life with this new body, and sometimes I miss the simplicity and comfort of my old one. A community that I new was solid and that embraced me, all of me. The time where I wasn’t othered or forced to live half in one community and half in the other. Where my full identity resonated. Where my masculinity wasn’t challenged, seen as less, or just was known.…. Food for thought I guess.