The trick about being non-binary and living off on your own is that it’s much harder to display some of the more obvious gender traits that don’t match your biological sex.

Put more simply: until I moved here, I carried a clutch a lot of the time. I liked the capacity, the convenience, and the look.

There have been a few people in my life who are very encouraging about all matters of gender expression. The trick for me is that none of them are within three timezones. The school where I now work has an emergency system they encourage everyone to use: it has places for six contacts to use in an emergency.

If someone in this remarkably conservative town decides to punch me in the face for having some feminine gender expression, it’s not like there’s someone I can easily call.

While that might not be the most likely scenario, I am also new here. First impressions count. Nail polish and eyeshadow and sweater dresses aren’t things I have the courage to use as first impression tools.

It brings to a whole new light the importance of those people who have blazed trails for rights and acceptance in the past. I suppose, for them, it started with the little things as well. Perhaps I just need to take the little things that much more slowly.

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