Mentors and Muses

The girl was walking along a narrow lane. It was by its nature a secret lane, yet you may have walked it yourself.

The girl was young, and she knew very little about the world. She didn’t know why the way that she had chosen to take seemed so exciting. Neither did she know quite where it would lead. But part of her understood that however much time she spent elsewhere, she was destined always to return to this particular path. She wasn’t sure that she had chosen it; sometimes it seemed as though it had chosen her.

There was no map that she could follow to chart her way; she had no clear destination in mind; she looked for fellow travellers but she saw none. She was alone, and yet there was never a time when she felt lonely. It felt entirely right to her that she should be going this way. Sometimes she found herself travelling through dense woods, hoping to pass unseen. Those who noted the unintended traces that she left behind may have guessed where she was headed. If so, they chose neither to pass comment nor to criticise. Perhaps they believed that the girl’s teenage hormones would eventually settle and cease to disrupt her wayward compass. Perhaps they believed that she would return to her original track once more. They watched as she continued along her way.

As the years passed the girl sometimes strayed from the narrow lane, yet she always returned to it. Byways were explored, but without any clear purpose. Little by little, as she moved on, the lane widened until it became a road. At times, the way ahead seemed a little clearer. She began to hear rumours of others travelling in the same direction, but she continued to travel alone.

Occasionally the girl encountered roadside vendors plying their wares, but she was shy; a cautious look at their stalls, a quiet request for an item, a mumbled excuse for the purchase, a rapid retreat. All too often she discarded the items that she had bought and left them at the wayside, sometimes because they proved to be unsuitable and sometimes because she worried that they might too obviously flag the direction in which she knew she was headed.

Although she never lost the belief that this was the right road for her to travel, the girl began to feel a growing need to seek guidance along the way. She explored roadside shops, even chancing upon a lingerie store whose owner was willing to provide advice on styles, sizing and fitting to suit her desires. Her appearances there were always met with a warm welcome and instructive chats. She found her visits to cosmetics counters for makeovers less beneficial; although she was enthralled by each experience, they somehow failed to educate. Despite this, each of the people that she met became, in their own way, her guides and mentors.

Over time the girl noticed that the road was broadening still further. Although she had still to physically meet anyone on the same path she nevertheless found ways of learning about their experiences. Some, she saw, had written about their journeys; others had recorded pictures and even videos of themselves. She read; she watched; she absorbed it all.

And then, one day, it happened.

As the girl walked on, her nose buried in her research, she happened to glance up. Ahead of her was a signpost. It said, simply, “Cross Dresser Highway”. Intrigued, she looked in the direction in which it was pointing.

It was a revelation. Until now the girl had walked the road alone, but here she found a great throng of people. While some were striding forward purposefully, others were noticeably more hesitant; while some seemed joyful, others appeared worried about where they might be going. She saw them stopping to ask passers by for directions. Here and there, small groups were pausing in their journey to share the highs and lows of their experiences. It was clear though that no matter what they were doing everyone was moving in the same direction. And, here on the Cross Dresser Highway, the girl found what she had been missing throughout her long, solitary journey. All around there was a tremendous outpouring of understanding, support, experience, encouragement, challenge, perception, thoughtfulness, wit and humour. To her ears, it was like music.

She encountered travellers whose exposure to this place, no matter what the duration, had given them insights that they were eager to share. These people were her new mentors. There were those who shared their thoughts and advice with her directly, and those who she was able to learn from by eavesdropping on their conversations.

And here, too, the girl discovered she had found her muses. These were the travellers whose very presence and achievements gave her inspiration and insight, and whose actions she could perhaps hope to emulate.

Could it be that her own communications with fellow travellers had provided encouragement to them, as their accounts had to her? At the very least,  she hoped that they had found joy in hearing about some of the more bizarre encounters that her own journey had involved.

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And now, what started out as a narrow lane and an uncertain way ahead has brought the girl to this particular place, and this particular time.

As she reflects on how far she has come, she would like to take the opportunity to shout out a huge THANK YOU to all of her fellow travellers and friends. She has gained much through her interactions with them. But she knows that those first hesitant steps along the lane which led to giant strides on the Cross Dresser Highway were ultimately her own steps, her own giant strides and her own achievements. She is proud of them – she exults in them.

The girl gazes ahead along the ever-widening road, and sees that even now there is still a long way to travel. Having already come this far, she is excited by the prospect. It holds no fear; it’s simply the next stage in her adventure.

And with that thought, she turns to her fellow travellers and says; ‘Well, what are we waiting for? It’s time to move on. Why not see what’s round the next bend in the road?’

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Acknowledgement: I would like to thank @ellyd22 who refined the words to help the story flow graciously from the page to the mind of the reader; without her help this article may never have been published.