I do not have much interaction with those who lean to the political right.  The majority want nothing to do with me.  While that makes my life easier, it also makes it difficult to serve as any kind of change agent.  And our nation desperately needs change agents.

I have had a few opportunities to cross the divide.  Four years ago I spoke for a university affiliated with my former denomination.  My time with students and faculty went well, but when the professors wanted to bring me back, they ended up having to retract their invitation.  I receive five-figure paychecks for keynote addresses at state universities.  I spoke at the Christian university pro bono.  I even paid my own way.  But I guess having me back, even at my own expense, was a problem.

I was tentatively scheduled to speak at another Christian university when they surprised me with the news that I would not be allowed to speak alone on stage.  I would be followed by a second speaker who “does not believe being transgender is a thing.”  I told the folks that under those circumstances, I would not be willing to come.  They asked why and I said, “You are following me with a speaker who is denying the legitimacy of my basic identity.”  They didn’t see it that way.

Since that time, I have looked at the conservative world from a distance.  Last week I followed a social media thread of an evangelical friend who shared an article by a Christian who said he was going to vote for Joe Biden.  My social media feed includes few evangelicals, so it was a rare opportunity to look at how evangelicals responded.  While many were supportive, an equal number were not happy.  A lot of those folks were former acquaintances, mostly men, and white.  An inordinate number were focused on one thing – abortion.

Bob Woodward’s new book is yet another clear-eyed account of the narcissist who lives in the White House.  But here’s the thing, not many of those who were commenting on my friend’s shared post said anything about Donald Trump as a man.  No one defended his character.  They already know Trump’s flaws.  They will still vote for Donald Trump.  One said he was willing to vote for Trump based solely on the issue of abortion.

I know this is my own subjective reaction, but a lot of these folks seem frightened.  Their vision of America is fading, and they are not happy about it.  No amount of revelations about Donald Trump’s self-serving narcissism is going to change their minds.  They will vote for Donald Trump because their vision of a conservative (and white) America is fading.

But of course, all of that is my opinion, which might well cause them to point and say, “See, exactly!  Just one more liberal who thinks they know more about my life than I do.”  My opinion is not going to change anything, nor is their judgment of my opinion.  So, what actually will bring about change?

I am convinced two words have the ability to bring us together – narrative and proximity.  If we are physically close enough to be able to hear one another’s stories, we can begin to bridge the divide.  That is why I have been willing to speak at Christian universities pro bono. It is why I continue to refuse to lash out at those whose vitriol arrives in my inbox every week.  As we have seen graphically throughout the west, fanning flames does not put out fires; it spreads them.

I will be voting for Joe Biden in November.  I am proudly serving on his LGBTQ Believers Advisory Group.  But even if he is elected, it will not solve this great divide.  Until we come together and hear one another’s stories, the polarization will only increase.  A decent man in the White House is a good start, but it will not fix this divide.  An increase in knowledge about systemic racism is essential, but it will not fix this divide.  Only compassionate listening will heal our great divide.  And listening is not easy.

It is especially hard for me to listen when people tell me I am a freak, an abomination to God, and fuel for their nightmares.  In fact, the truth is that I cannot listen to those accusations.  It is damaging to my soul.  But I can listen to those same people tell me about their families, and the fact that they are working three jobs and still not earning enough to stay afloat.  I can listen as they tell me how their religion gives them hope in the midst of despair.  I can listen as they tell me how frightened they are of things they do not understand.  Listening can speak volumes.

I am reminded of the truth Jonathan Haidt talks about in The Righteous Mind.  Humans will change our minds, but only if new information comes to us in a non-threatening way.  As every parent knows when they tell a bedtime story, stories have the power to calm our souls.  They remind us that every last one of us is searching for love and hope and meaning.

I would love to hear stories from those willing to hear my story.  I have no problem finding takers whose stories are similar to mine.  While that it is nice, it does not heal our great divide.  Until our story-telling crosses the political divide, we will not restore decency to the conversation.  And if we do not restore decency to the conversation, I am afraid this great experiment in democracy will be over.  I want to be a part of the solution.  I want to listen.

Okay, I’ve finally figured it out.  There is a secret ingredient in estrogen that goes straight to your prefrontal cortex and tells you time and again, morning to night, that you are not good enough.  It’s sort of a birthright of being a female.

When I was a man, I cannot tell you how rare it was for me to question myself.  Kindergarten and second grade were rough. Junior high was tough because, well, it was junior high.  And I was transgender.  But the rest of my life was a breeze.  In high school and college, I was singled out as a student of promise and got all the attention that came with it.  Once I graduated from college, life was even better.  I got the jobs I wanted at the places I wanted.  I knew my weaknesses, but they didn’t seem to hinder me much.  I rarely questioned my abilities.  Then I transitioned.

In January I spoke at a company in Washington, D.C.  I told their Chief People Officer that I didn’t think I had done very well.  In March I spoke at a university and told Tori from my speaker’s agency, that I didn’t think I’d been at my best.  I turned in the second draft of my memoir Monday and told a bunch of friends I thought it was okay, just okay.

I met yesterday with the leaders of a conference for which I am speaking and when I got off the call I thought, “They’re probably wondering why they even booked me for this event.”  A small thing happened at church last week that left all three female co-pastors questioning themselves for, like, three days.  Then we had to talk about it, and talk.  It had to leave John, our other co-pastor, thinking, “What’d I miss?”

When I was a man, I never understood why women were so so often so insecure.  Now that I am a woman, I understand only too well.  Women are insecure because the world has made women insecure.  After six decades of unbridled confidence, just six years as a woman have left me with half the confidence I used to have.  It is not because I am transgender.  The only people who treat me prejudicially because I am transgender are evangelicals and right wing bigots and there are not many of those in my life.  Most people treat me like I am a woman and always have been, and therein lies the problem.

There are a lot of ways in which men treat women that cause women to feel less than.  Being treated as if you do not know what you are talking about, being interrupted when you speak and subjected to constant mansplaining are not exactly confidence builders.  Since my first TEDxMileHigh talk, I’ve heard from women all over the world thanking me for validating their experience.  We live in a patriarchal and misogynistic world.  But that is only half of the problem.  There is another reason women are insecure.  Women do not empower each other. They see each other as competition.

Women have been taught since childhood that they have to be perfect to compete with men, and they not only expect perfection of themselves, they expect it of each other.  Because there are fewer leadership opportunities for women, they are more territorial than men, and more inclined to see another woman as a threat, not an accomplice.  That has been an unwelcome reality of being a female.  It is a competitive female world out there.  But like many great truths, it is paradoxical.  Women are competitive, but they are also collaborative.

The female heads of state of Norway, Finland, Iceland, Germany, Taiwan, and New Zealand have all successfully battled the Coronavirus.  They are empathetic, so their fellow-citizens are more likely to listen to them.  They are collaborative, seeing scientists as equals, not subordinates.  They compromise easily, make quick course corrections when they realize they are wrong, and have humility and confidence.  On the whole, I’m convinced women make the best CEOs and government leaders.  They are collaborative but make no mistake about it.  They are also competitive.

I’ve doubted myself more in six years than I did in the previous 60.  I’m serious.  If most women feel this way, and most of the ones I’ve talked with feel this way, then I don’t know how they’ve survived this long.

Or maybe I am completely wrong and have no idea what I am talking about.  Maybe the patriarchal world has had nothing to do with making us this way.  Maybe I was right in the beginning.  Maybe there is a secret ingredient in estrogen that goes straight to your prefrontal cortex and tells you time and again, morning to night, that you are not good enough.  All I know is that this doubting myself is just one more thing about being a woman that is nowhere near what I expected it to be.