Cailyn Hansen

Name Announcement

Originally written August of 2018

I am both excited and nervous. The early morning sun graces the horizon. I sit in the Minneapolis Airport, waiting for my flight. I'm visiting a friend in New York. Fairly confident, I check nonetheless. "Transgender protections in nyc" I type into Google. I scan the links and find one from the official website of New York City. I open it and read the page. I smile to myself as it confirms my hope. I feel slightly more confident and ever less fearful.

I'm leaving Minnesota after surprising my family for a short visit. For the first time in a long time, I am saddened to leave, wishing I could spend more time there. I am looking forward to being back. For years I have felt a discomfort when visiting - a part of me so inauthentic I hope I can leave as soon as possible. This time is different, though.
---
This summer despite, and rather through, a difficult work environment at times, I have felt empowered. Underscored by the immense support of friends, I challenged myself to a form of self-acceptance which permeated my interactions. Every incorrect pronoun attempts to steal away this confidence. I articulate this pain in an attempt to reclaim the power. It is a constant battle, which I generally lose. However, with each loss, I remind myself that I am an activist for not only others but also myself. I won't resign in defeat. Instead, I channel this into a renewed passion and reassert my existence and validity. I funnel it into defiance and cement this summer’s decision.

I sit in the passenger seat, watching the small towns of Oregon roll by through the window. I pull out my phone and begin scrolling through a list. I read it aloud. After every item, I pause. I wait for my driving companion to weigh in. This continues for several miles. The list feels never ending. It's matched by the endless expanse of the road ahead. The hum of the car distracts me from the list. I look out and think about my personal journey forward. I compare it to how far I've traveled: progress I can only be happy and proud about. I've grown substantially over these past three months and am certain of little of my future. A few things now, though, I am certain. Returning to the list, I skip over several entries, not reading off every one. We've identified a few contenders but nothing definitive. My companion no longer responds to every bullet point I read off, saving a response only for the exceptional ones. The list is nearing its end. I look at the next item. I briefly pause, unable to hold back a smile. I read it off. My companion, driving along this Oregon highway as the moon peers down on us, quickly and assuredly, "Ooh, I like that. I really like that. It fits you so well." I'm pretty sure this is it. I continue to finish the list, this time with less dedication - I've already found what I was looking for.
---
We are taxiing on the runway now, lining up for takeoff. I inattentively listen to the two friends chatting next to me. They talk excitedly about cooking for friends at Thanksgiving and a deceptively young-looking twenty year-old cat. I sit by with so much confidence and certainty. Reflecting on my decision, I think to myself, 'This is me; this is right.'
---
I message a few friends over the next week. I've decided. After the chatter of catching up, I let them know. I'm met with so much love and support. My heart swells with appreciation and gratitude. "I'm so happy for you." "Congratulations." "Awe that is so cute." "This is so amazing." "I love you."

I land in Minnesota. I'm nervous. I feel my heart in my chest. I exit the security gate to see my surprised and excited mom waiting for me. We embrace in a long needed hug. She whispers she loves me, and I respond in turn. We head down to baggage claim and wait for my luggage. I'm still concerned. I run it through my head, thinking about how to tell her. I see my bag and walk over to grab it. We head outside to the car. I tell my mom about the travel cancellations and free hotel night. My three hour flight becoming a twenty-six hour travel escapade. We climb into the car. She tells me how excited and happy she is that I'm here. I'm still not entirely sure. "Mom, I've decided to go by..." She says okay. She asks for patience with this. I acknowledge the necessity, regrettably and saddened nonetheless.

We arrive at my grandma's house. My mom walks in first; I trail behind, making my entrance even more of a surprise. I step through the door. I hear my grandma begin to ask my mom who is behind her. I look up to catch my grandma's eyes. She screams in complete surprise and joy. She's so happy to see me and so am I, for the moment. My brother, grandpa, grandma, mother, and I sit around the living room, catching up. I slowly sink with every "he" or "him" that pierces the air. They know; I've told them this already. I chime up, reminding them. Three months they've had, but it seems like no progress has been made. A half-apology, a full excuse they offer. I text a friend, "Maybe coming to Minnesota was a mistake."
---
I scan the cabin; my ears still plugged. I see a person sleeping across the aisle from me, their partner's hand grasped tightly and securely. Ahead of me is a loving mother with her young child. She entertains, making them both smile radiantly. I stand up and begin to saunter to the bathroom. As I walk back, I see siblings watching a movie together, each with one head phone in the ear. We make eye contact and warmly acknowledge each other as I go by.
---
I begin crying. The tears roll down my tired face. Not excuses but explanations my grandma says. They only ever feel like excuses, though - a dismissal of the pain they cause. I hang up. My eyes close and my face falls to my hands for comfort. In the kitchen, my mom overhears my muffled sobs. My discomfort is that which I both hide and hope desperately for her to see. She walks over. She sits next to me and asks, “What’s wrong?” In a moment of strength, I confess my feelings. A vulnerability I’ve always wanted to express washes over me. I’m comforted by the warm embrace of a mother; it fills the void that’s opened between us. In this moment, it closes. Everything feels as if a chaotic peace - a sense of right surrounded by the whirlwind of wrong. Love: it brilliantly shines on us. Rather, it exudes from her in unadulterated beauty. Love, from a mother to her child.

I've told my entire family now. As the days go by, I've sense something has changed. For the first time, I feel supported. My family is by my side, providing me support I could only dream of from them. The "he"s have quickly melted to "they"s - seldom a slip up. The "[redacted]"s nearly evaporated. Their stated support finally actualized - I feel it, the immense warmth and caring.

I feel connected, connected to my family. Since before I remember, this is the first time I've used this word to mean more than those who I happen to share some genetic material with. I mean it in the way of a group of people who are always by your side, unwaveringly there to support you, make exceptional sacrifices to see that you are happy, and for which you all share this unabating mutual love.
---
We're landing now. The plane bounces a little bit as the wheels touch down. The taxi to the gate takes a while but I'm at peace and in no rush. The pair of friends next to me seem to be first-year roommates. Their excitement about starting college is heartwarming. They speak passionately about classes and clubs. The whole world ahead of them. One enchants me with their talk about working for a nonprofit after school. "I want to make a change," they say. "It's always been my dream." People begin standing up, reaching overhead for their luggage. I soon follow suit. As we disembark the plane, I, to myself, wish the pair who sat next to me an amazing first year and and even more the opportunity to make the change they are so capable of. Before strolling to baggage claim, I stop by an airport cafe. I order my usual drink, a medium Americano with room for cream. The barista asks for my name. I smile and respond, "Cailyn."