Published October 1, 2021

There’s a lot going on today. It’s my 60th birthday and the fourth anniversary of my coming out as a transgender woman. Brandi Carlile drops a new album today, and a movie with James Gandolfini’s son, Michael, playing a young Tony Soprano makes its debut. Netflix is adding “Seinfeld.” I’m sure that some new law goes into effect somewhere today. It’s an Oct. 1 thing. I also have to remember to toss the recycling, too, because the bins will be empty for a brief window late this morning. Also, my rent is going up. Tonight into tomorrow, I’ll work.

That’s a lot of excitement and adulting for a 60-year-old — and especially for a 4-year-old still finding her way through the world as her authentic self, and with all of the extra pounds to prove that she’s struggled during the past 18-plus months of the pandemic.

Many months ago, I made a plan for today that involved a professional haircut, styling and coloring, brow work, lashes and a slimmer Carly, but none of that came to fruition. This year’s string of gut punches set me back in many ways, and I had to cancel the appointments I’d made in early summer preparing for a fun “This Is 60” photo shoot. Coffee with former newspaper co-worker Alisha Jucevic to plan for it was wonderful and gave me something to look forward to, but then I had to let here know that it wasn’t going to happen. As I got closer to my birthday, I decided to color my hair again and just post a selfie and be done with it.

But then I reconsidered and reached out to Alisha, whose flexibility and generosity made an improvised photo day possible. Working with her in this way — and by working, I mean dressing up and showing up — gave me more insight into why she’s such a great photographer. And it was fun!

Perhaps the biggest challenge for me was to avoid the temptation to think about what might have been: what I could have looked like if I’d taken better care of myself, if I’d decided long ago to live as the true me, if the amazingly talented Cami had worked her magic on my hair, and so on. Another was to think of what to write other than, “Hey, I’m 60 now; can you believe it? Oh, and I’m also 4.” (If you are hearing a Beatles song in your head, then you understand the inspiration for the headline.)

Four years ago today, I had a big surprise for all but a few of you, who had a couple of weeks’ head start on the news. Each year since then on my birthday, and on a few scattered other days, I’ve had more to say about my transition. I have kept a lot of it to myself for several reasons, including that I didn’t want to talk about goals that might never be realized. The past couple of years have all but sealed that harsh reality.

Still grasping for something more substantive to tell you, I can report that I have no regrets about coming out. Maybe a year from now, you’ll learn just how terrified I was as I wrote my coming-out post and then delayed publishing it. “Once it’s out there,” I heard a voice in my head say, “it’s out there. There’s no taking it back. There’s no turning back.” As it turned out, there would be no need for turning back.

My friend Samantha knows the story of the predawn hours of Oct. 1, 2017, and what the fear and stress did to me as I got cold feet. Her reaction when I told her that story made me realize that my coming-out post, thanks to Ashley Bischoff’s first wave of heavy editing, read like it was written by someone with more confidence than I’d had in the moment. Once it went live, that was that. I was relieved, happier and healthier. I highly recommend doing the big scary thing, especially when it’s telling the truth about who you are.

I had more to say a year later, and then again on the second anniversary of my first day at work openly out as trans. Last year on my birthday/Carly anniversary, I was in a bad place. Year 3, I wrote, was the worst of the bench. I was not expecting Year 4 to be even worse, but it has been. Yet, somehow I am more optimistic. The support and love from friends is a big reason, but I give myself credit, too, for reminding myself at the end of the darkest of days that the next one could be better. That’s how I moved forward with my transition: one step at a time. I will do this next scary thing, I would tell myself, and if it feels wrong, then I will reassess and discuss it with my therapist. Instead, each step felt right, overwhelmingly so, and more than four years later, here I am.

Here I am.

Photos by the lovely and amazing Alisha Jucevic