John Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress is one of the bestselling books of all time; there was a moment where Protestant households could be reliably counted on to have a copy of the Progress and a copy of the Bible, if nothing else. I received a copy of my very own for my eighth birthday. Near the end of the first part the man Christian and his companion Hopeful find themselves at the very gate of their destination, the Celestial City. After passing through every possible trial, they come to an unfordable river.
Now I further saw that betwixt them and the gate was a river; but there was no bridge to go over: the river was very deep. At the sight, therefore, of this river, the pilgrims were much astounded; but the men that went with them said, “You must go through, or you cannot come at the gate.”
The pilgrims then, especially Christian, began to despond in their minds and looked this way and that, but no way could be found by them by which they might escape the river. Then they asked the men if the waters were all of a depth. They said, “No”; yet they could not help them in that case, for said they, “You shall find it deeper or shallower as you believe in the King of the place.”
They then addressed themselves to the water; and entering, Christian began to sink. And crying out to his good friend Hopeful, he said, “I sink in deep waters, the billows go over my head; all his waves go over me.”
Then said the other, “Be of good cheer, my brother; I feel the bottom, and it is good.”
Then said Christian, “Ah! my friend, the sorrows of death have compassed me about; I shall not see the land that flows with milk and honey.”
And with that a great darkness and horror fell upon Christian, so that he could not see before him; also here he, in great measure, lost his senses, so that he could neither remember nor orderly talk of any of those sweet refreshments that he had met with in the way of his pilgrimage. But all the words that he spake still tended to discover that he had horror of mind, and hearty fears that he should die in that river, and never obtain entrance in at the gate; here also, as they that stood by perceived, he was much in the troublesome thoughts of the sins that he had committed, both since and before he began to be a pilgrim.
’Twas also observed that he was troubled with apparitions of hobgoblins and evil spirits; for ever and anon he would intimate so much by words. Hopeful, therefore, here had much ado to keep his brother’s head above water; yea, sometimes he would be quite gone down, and then ere awhile he would rise up again half dead. Hopeful also would endeavour to comfort him, saying, “Brother, I see the gate, and men standing by it to receive us.”
But Christian would answer, “ ’Tis you, ’tis you they wait for; you have been hopeful ever since I knew you.”
“And so have you,” said he to Christian.
“Ah, brother,” said he, “surely, if I was right, he would now arise to help me; but, for my sins, he hath brought me into the snare, and hath left me.”
Then said Hopeful, “These troubles and distresses that you go through in these waters are no sign that God hath forsaken you; but are sent to try you, whether you will call to mind that which heretofore you have received of his goodness, and live upon him in your distresses.”
Then I saw in my dream that Christian was as in a muse awhile, to whom also Hopeful added this word, “Be of good cheer, God maketh thee whole”; and with that Christian brake out with a loud voice,
“Oh, I see him again! and he tells me, ‘When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.’ ”
Then they both took courage, and the enemy was after that as still as a stone, until they were gone over. Christian therefore presently found ground to stand upon; and so it followed that the rest of the river was but shallow. Thus they got over.
You: in possession of a leonine grace and sun-warmed sexual fluidity reminiscent of every kind and unattainable straight-boy crush I had in high school, have developed a robust individual response to overfishing that still prioritizes communal action, definitely has cum gutters, could post a lot of pictures of yourself at the gym but don’t (but aren’t self-consciously opposed to the practice), presently living in total harmony with any number of online subcultures I both resent and long to participate in, only developed a (non-embarrassing) beard after achieving total facial masculinization, has two boyfriends (one cis, one trans, both six foot three), effortlessly made the switch from bravely disregarding female beauty standards to bravely disregarding male beauty standards at the two-month mark, ported your account from HER to Scruff the day before starting T, knows your size when ordering shirts from ASOS, has a consistent shirt size, owns and uses the correct number of skin-care products with tea tree oil in them, gendered correctly and casually by everyone but would react with disarming strength and grace if you ever happened to be misgendered over the phone—it won’t happen, but you would if it did—somehow developed more hair at the crown of your head, uterus acting normal, qualified for peri-areolar but somehow wound up not needing top surgery after all—“I don’t know what to say, I used to be a 34D or something but they just … disappeared after a while, go figure”—socially transitioned twelve years ago but still younger than me, passes 100 percent of the time but still gets the butch head nod on the street somehow, never uses judgmental language like “passing” even as a convenient shorthand, remembered to freeze his eggs, non-embarrassing relationship to transmasculine-resonant media properties like Mulan and A Separate Peace and The Lord of the Rings live-action movies, looks good in sweaters, comfortably five foot eight, friend to every living gender, never tiresome about astrology, has never written a single personal essay, perfect M-shaped hairline, total feminist trailblazer pre-transition and produces just the right amount of laid-back and supportive male energy post-, living life to the fullest, quietly jettisoned any personal habits that people would have found intriguing in a girl but super irritating in a guy, “best thing I ever did,” never does unsolicited favors for others in order to feel overlooked and aggrieved when they don’t reciprocate even though they never asked you to do them a favor in the first place, loveth at all times and born for a time of adversity; when some evildoers come to your household you call for a basin and begin to wash their feet such that they are filled with confusion and begin to do penance; some call you John the Baptist, others say Elijah, and still others one of the prophets, but I say you are the Son of Man—this was not revealed to me by flesh and blood but by my Father in heaven, actually looks your age.
Me, on T for the exact same amount of time: regularly ma’amed by birds, simultaneously an embarrassment to feminism and transmasculinity, personally responsible for the failures of the body-positivity movement, forgot to have cheekbones, currently stuck inside an airport bathroom, forgot to develop upper-body strength or look into my reproductive options before filling my uterus with old needles, fell in a pothole, problematic hamstrings, constantly writing directionless personal essays about early transition milestones that I’ll regret in eight minutes, getting colds more frequently, both twelve and forty at the same time, reinforcing the binary but not in a cool subversive way, neck looking worse by the minute, forgot own pronouns; I baptize with water but there comes one after me whose sandals I am not fit to untie.
Me, sitting in the middle of a river and insisting on drowning despite my companion’s numerous protestations that (1) I can touch the bottom, (2) help awaits us on the other side, and (3) they have just made it through that part of the river and will happily help me to safety: Other people are legitimately trans in a mysterious and inchoate way that I am not (but don’t ask me what legitimately trans means because that would require developing a coherent worldview); I, on the other hand, merely cannot stop thinking about transitioning, which is not the same thing, merely thinking about transitioning is distinct from wanting to transition, as long as I’m the one doing the thinking; which means that I am not trans, which means that I ought not to transition, which leaves me no option besides continuing to think endlessly about transition; if only I were trans, then I could transition—
You, handsomely: Be of good cheer; God maketh thee whole.
Repeat as necessary.
Thus, eventually, we get over.