Transformative Row

You row slowly over the sparkling crystal blue lake. Every muscle straining to pull further away from the shore. A cool breeze tussles your brown, curly hair. You grin at the ticklish touch. The row boat gradually comes to a halt, suspended by a light current of the waters below. You stare into the sky. Admiring how the boat is drifting towards no particular destination. Silence encases you. Lost time. You furrow your eyebrows. There is something on your mind. Words that want to escape through your lips.

“How many times have I come here? Arrived at this point?” Only you know the answer to those questions. You have asked them each time you traveled in this boat. Every morning. Every evening. You continue to wait to find the answer. Hoping it would float to the surface of the lake where you could reach it. Release you from the dark clothes you wear to appease the eyes that surrounded you. Instead, disappointment anchors your heart.

Your hand stretches out to touch the spring chill of the waters. You smirk. The thought of a refreshing renewal of the seasons tickles your hope. Especially following the brutality of winter. A winter you refuse to experience again. The iciness of words striking you night after night. The frigid climate following you daily, desperate to claim your life. The warmth of your masculine clothing proving to be harsh to your soul, as winter is. You cemented your fate in the block of ice from the winter, ready to cast it into the depths of the spring lake. You reflect on your journey to this point.

Summer

You had enjoyed most of your careless and carefree days. Embracing your naivety. Summer allowed you to frolic within your innocence.

“I love your shirt!” Your peers offered every time you went out with them.

“Thank you! You know how much I love color. Pink, purple. All the vibrant pastels.” You shared a euphoric smile pasted on your face.

You hopped onto your bike, eager to race to the local Ice Cream shop for a refreshing treat. As the wind swaddled your head, your foot slipped. The bike threw you to the ground. Your knee grated on the asphalt. Searing pain shot through your body, coercing tears to pour. Your friends surround you.

“It’s ok. You’ll be fine,” your friends comforted.

“It’s ok to cry.”

“Crying helps.”

Encouraging words. No judgement.

“I know,” you replied in between sobs, “but it hurts.”

To be loved and accepted by so many people. Three glorious months of summer sun, beaming down upon you and your friends with joy. No responsibilities to embrace. No rules to follow. Ignorant to the subtle fall winds whispering warnings of summer’s demise. Three glorious months of summer sun, beaming down upon you and your friends with joy.

Autumn

The friends you spent the summer knowing, each followed a new path. You were alone. Traveling your own path. You found a new group of people and wanted to rekindle the love you felt in the summer.

“Hello,” you offered.

“Hey,” they replied. “What are you wearing?”

The question confused you. People never questioned what you wore during the summer. Why does it matter now? “What do you mean?”

“No one wears pink around here. It’s not what we accept. If you’re going to stay, you will need to change your clothes.”

You quickly study the fashion of the group. Four colors strongly stood in representation of each person: black, brown, blue, and gray. A dash of color would streak down from their neck, contrasting the virile strength each person displayed. It was then you knew you needed to change your appearance.

Fashion was not the only revelation autumn uncovered. You quickly learned your mannerism required a direct approach. Less emotional, more analytical.

“That was a great film,” you shouted after an evening at the movies.

“Yeah, but why did you cry when the main character died? What’s wrong with you?” One of your friends spat.

“It was sad.”

“Dude, we don’t cry at films.” You felt the disapproving stares of your new group. A silent rule you were not aware of. The chill in the air struck you with each of their degrading words.

Your personality and self-image changed colors and shed leaves. You became the bare bark of a human. Firmly rooted in the ground of testosterone. Gradually becoming resilient to the harshness of autumn, even as it transforms into the icy winter season.

Winter

You opened your closet to the bleak and dreary patterns of black, brown, gray, or blue. The icy winter delivered the death of color. A scowl replaced your smile. The days of summer are distant, along with who you were. Assimilation to a role you rejected two seasons prior, complete. You reconnected with a summer friend during a work conference. They donned their summer smile and vibrant colors you once had. Their violet colored hair, with blue streaks and playful fashion choice, struck a chord of envy within you. They call you over for a quick chat.

“OMG, you look so different. I almost didn’t recognize you.” Their words were a yule log, warming a piece of you buried under your new identity.

“Times have changed, and this is who I am now.”

“What changed?”

“Life, I suppose.” You stated. “I have learned to adapt to my surrounding. You know, become…”

“Something you’re not. This isn’t you. At least, not you, I remember. We may have been young, but you seemed much happier. Less, what’s the word I’m looking for, rigid?”

“Well, we all have to grow up someday.”

“True. But growing up also means finding what makes you happy.” They studied your stoic expression. The expression you maintained throughout the encounter. “Are you happy?”

The question was an echoing piano chord, the bone-chilling frost to an epiphany. Are you happy? You continued to question long after the encounter, through the rest of the dark, frigid winter nights and days. The answer became clear with the approaching seasonal end. No. You are not happy. You never were since the end of summer. That was when you started rowing to the middle of the lake. A required break from the identity you wore daily.

Spring

Now you sit still in the boat. Staring down at the waters below. The images of the summer you were dancing within each ripple resonating from your fingers. The distorted image of your sadden face appears occasionally through the calm waters. The fake smile no longer masquerading your feelings. Decision time. You stand, balancing yourself in the rocking boat for a moment, then spring head first into the crystal clear liquid below. The coolness hugs you. Releasing the air of depression from your lungs. Eyes firmly shut, you wait for the constructed identity of two seasons to wash away. A smile forms as your last gulp of breath exits you.

I emerge from the cold waters. My true form, shadowed by you. My arms clutch the side of the boat and I pull myself back into it. Color returns to my clothes. My pastels. My pinks and purples. My hair is full of joy and life. My heart is aware of my return. My identity. The person who I was during that summer, so many years ago. I am reborn into the person I am meant to be. Free from the unspoken rules anchoring me to a desolate identity. I row back to shore. Standing on the sands, waiting for my return, my summer friend from the conference. They are beaming at my softness. As I exit the boat, they run towards me. We embrace each other. Feeling the warmth of of our foundational summer sun. Tears roll down our cheeks. I am back. I am my authentic self again.

“Are you happy?” They ask. The question that haunted me since winter.

A smile emerges where a stoic frown once rested. “Yes. I am finally happy.”