to be one of the guys

I briefly saw an advertisement for one of those ultimate fighting matches on TV today.  Just a flash of naked male torsos, heavy muscles and swagger.  I was left with an after taste of envy.  There is a part of me that wants to swagger like that, to carry those muscles with that confidence, to walk into a ring and go mano-a-mano to show what you’re made of.

I was envious of what I imagined was a solid confidence about their place in the world.  Possibly a very sexist, cis-centric view of the world, without the complexities of gender identity and activism and concern about oppression and privilege.

And yeah, I envied that, too.

I don’t know who I’d be if I’d been born with the male sex package.  It’s hard to imagine being a full-on swaggering cis-male without a care in the world for the unearned privilege I had.  Maybe I wouldn’t be that way, maybe I’d be as complex a person as I am now, just in a different kind of body.

So, for a few moments, I envied the kind of unconscious power those guys on the screen wield.  The confidence in hard earned muscle and technique.  The knowledge that they can navigate the world without worrying that someone will call them out for using the wrong restroom, or pretending to be a man or wearing the wrong clothes.

Of course, I’m over simplifying, but that’s what looks attractive when my life seems overly complex.

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