I recently had the pleasure of meeting a brilliant young person. She was several years ahead at school, and operated on an intellectual level (at least in scientific disciplines) that left me feeling like an ignoramus. This was coupled with a friendliness and an openness to everything – even my faith – which was both winsome and compelling.
This brilliant young person is biologically female, but identified herself as a ‘gay man’. She has, as with many trans people, adopted a male name to go with her new gender identity (and I appreciate that even by using female pronouns as I am doing here, I would be offending her and many others).
To be honest, I’m deeply grateful not to understand what it’s like for this young person. I was a typically awkward and gawky teenager (I look back at old photographs and it looks like my body doesn’t quite fit yet), but I simply don’t have the insight into what it’s like to feel so fundamentally uncomfortable about my birth gender. I don’t know the struggle of feeling so out of place or ill-at home with one’s own body.
But along with a swirl of other thoughts, the whole encounter left me pondering questions of identity and freedom – because for this young person, her identity is wrapped up in the phrase, ‘a gay man’.
