Yesterday I dressed in a more “regular” manner (jeans and nothing kinky) and drove the 70 miles down to my old hometown of Colorado Springs for the Transgender Day of Remembrance service held at the local Unitarian Church; I probably haven’t been in that building in over twelve years. The service was quite touching and troubling, of course, hearing the names of trans people around the world who have been murdered in the last year. One speaker wondered if any of them had perhaps attended similar services in years past and now have their own names read aloud and remembered. I’ve only gone to one other service since they began worldwide several years ago but I should make an effort to go every year, as they are very sobering. And going to the service in a town as conservative as Colorado Springs seemed especially fitting.
I also had that sense, though, regarding that very scenic city, that life has moved on in many ways since I used to live there. I do like my hometown but it can give me the willies. Just the 70 mile drive up the road to Denver is a big change from the environment in “The Springs,” as the locals call it (and hey, Denver’s not all that progressive either). All in all, it was a sad event but also an enjoyable and a reflective time, and being dressed and walking around in Colorado Springs again was interesting (some of us went to dinner afterwards). I felt especially nervous though walking alone to my car later that evening, going by the local bus station and up an empty elevator in the parking garage. Getting in the car and hitting the road, it felt like it really was time to go.
