When I was in my twenties and thirties I had two mentors. One was a generation older than me, the other was two generations older. A third, fifteen years my senior, is still living. With all three, I thought of myself as someone who might eventually achieve what these three had achieved, and maybe more. Life was nothing but possibility. (White male entitlement goes a long way.)

One of the harder things of this age is realizing when people who are smarter, better educated, and more accomplished than you are also younger than you.  I was at an event with Brian McLaren last weekend. He is prolific, brilliant, and humble. We have been on the platform together a number of times over the past few months, and one time this summer, when we were on a panel together and he couldn’t retrieve a word, I said to the audience, “I just want you to know I’m having no trouble retrieving words, and I’m five years older than Brian.” Yep, I’m five years older than Brian.

This morning I was listening to an amazing conversation between Iain McGilchrist, the British psychiatrist, philosopher, and neuroscientist, and John Vervaeke, director of the Cognitive Science program at the University of Toronto. McGilchrist is now retired, and two years younger than me. And Vervaeke, yep, younger than me. The moderator was Daniel Schmachtenberger, clearly very smart and probably younger than my children. (Am I the only one whose Wikipedia page lists my age?)

My three favorite preachers are between 47 and 55. All three could be my children. Actually, one is my child.

When did I get so old? I was talking to an American Airlines pilot today who flies 777s internationally. She has six more years to fly before she has to retire, which means I am fourteen years older than she is. If I had been an airline pilot, I would have had to retire eight years ago. I was telling her that the first commercial plane I ever flew on was a BAC1-11, followed by a YS-11 and a Convair 440. She said, “Wow,” as if to say, “I didn’t know anybody was still alive who flew on those planes.” She was five when the last Convair 440 was built. Microsoft Word doesn’t even think Convair is a word. Go ahead, type it and see.

I get calls, not texts or emails, but calls from people at my Medicare provider asking if I would like to have a nurse come to the house and do a wellness check, free of charge. They call because apparently I’m so old I cannot figure out how to use email or texts. I told the one who called last week that I had just finished an 8 mile run on a trail with 1,600 feet of elevation gain, so no, I did not need anyone to come to the house to take my blood pressure.

I meet other 73 year-olds. They look ancient. I’m not sure how you can even look that old at this age. Have these people never heard of sunscreen? Some of them look like the only place they have eaten in 25 years is Golden Corral. I’m thinking they probably do need a nurse to come because they can’t climb more than three steps at a time. Is that what other 73-year-olds think when they look at me?

It’s the really smart people whose books I read and videos I watch that bother me the most. Most of them were not alive when Truman was president. Come to think of it, most were not alive when Eisenhower was president, or Nixon. People are turning fifty this fall who were born after Nixon resigned. Geez, I’m old.

And yet these “young people” have amassed all of this information I need to know. When did they learn all this stuff? While I was vacationing at Disney World? Or when I was running around the world? (If I’ve done the calculations correctly, I’ve run around 35,000 miles in my life.)

When did I slack off? I know I did not get the best education available to man. Chalk that up to being born into a strong Evangelical family. But I have read voraciously for decades. I had mentors who had not one, but two doctorates. Yet here I am, the old person telling the audience that Brian McLaren is five years younger than me.

I thought I was doing pretty good that I have had nine books published, two as Paula, seven as Paul (plus two more if ebooks count. Do they count?)  Brian has published almost 50. What was I doing all that time he was researching and writing? Probably running at Disney World.

My doctors are all younger than I am, and I probably would not trust any of them if they were older than me. When I got my doctorate I thought, “Nobody minds if their therapist is old, as long as they don’t fall asleep during your session.” So far no one has cared about my age, nor have I fallen asleep during a session. So, at least there’s that.

I stopped telling people how old I was at corporate speaking gigs. I figured if they knew, they’d say, “Why are we paying that old person so much?”

I still have time. I could write that Pulitzer Prize winning book, or do another TED Talk that has millions of views. I’ll think about that later, I need to go running now. Yesterday I ran my last mile of a three mile run at a 9:36 pace. There was a day I ran the last mile of a three mile run at a 5:56 pace. Sigh.

And so it goes.

Throughout the 20th century seventy percent of all Americans belonged to a local religious body. Between 1999 and 2021 that number dropped to forty-seven percent, a decline of twenty-three points in just twenty-two years. Some say organized religion is dying, and the four horsemen of atheism (Daniel Dennett, Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, and Christopher Hitchens) certainly thought that was true. But proclamations about the demise of organized religion are premature, to say the least.

Charles Darwin said all natural selection evolved at the individual level and at the group level. Groups with more virtuous members survived and replaced those with more selfish members. There has never been a culture that did not have thriving religions, because religion has, on the whole, been good for the species.

E. O. Wilson, the late sociobiologist from Harvard won a Pulitzer Prize identifying that the key social unit for the human species was not the nuclear family, but the tribe. We did not take off as a species until we moved to a tribal, community level. That is when we started creating civilizations and moving rapidly forward.

What caused us to create tribes? Many assume it was the desire for safety in numbers. Evidence points elsewhere. What brought us together was man’s search for meaning. Think Stonehenge, or the carved bodies of Rapa Nui, or burial mounds of native Americans. One of the pillars of religion is addressing man’s search for meaning.

Jonathan Haidt, in his book The Righteous Mind, said humans are 90 percent chimpanzees and 10 percent bees. Humans have a selfish gene, like all other species, but we also are one of only nine species that also has a “hive” gene. (Wilson called these eusocial species.) We will sacrifice ourselves for the sake of the hive.

Haidt says humans have a hive switch that can be turned on. It is the space of the sacred, where self disappears and group interests dominate. It is a space of collective joy, love, mourning, even survival. It can be found by participating in team sports, singing in choirs, playing in marching bands, rooting for a sports team in a stadium, hallucinogens as group ritual, or joining together after a natural disaster, anything that turns on the hive switch.

Turning on the hive switch can even come via awe, a universal human experience, most often arriving when we see the expansive universe in all of its beauty. Think the first images from the JWST telescope or standing over the Grand Canyon. Anything that places us in perspective in nature moves us toward oneness with other humans.

Through history the hive switch has very commonly been turned on via religious community and its rituals. The religions that survive make groups more cohesive and cooperative. They unite members into a moral community. Such is the appeal of Jesus’s simple but not easily practiced command to love God, neighbor, and self.

We even come into the world wired for moral community. Morality in children is innate, meaning organized in advance of experience. It is self-constructed by children on the basis of their own experience with harm. At six to ten months of age, babies will choose a puppet who helps others as opposed to a puppet that hurts others. Morality also comes from childhood learning, which often takes place in religious community. Virtually all religions have rituals for children as they grow into adulthood. The loss of those rituals has hurt adolescents in the western world.

Religions also promote cooperation and trust within a group. Utopian communities in the 19th century all eventually failed, but those that were religious were seven times more likely to survive for much longer periods of time than those that were not religious.

Four out of five studies of religion (79 percent) have found that religion and well-being have a positive correlation on mental and physical health and longevity. Religious Americans are better neighbors than secular citizens. They also give seven percent of their income to all charities (not just religious ones) while secular people give only one and a half percent. It is not keeping rules and regulations that causes this kind of altruism. It is being in community with others of like mind.

There are broad benefits to organized religion. As mentioned, it is the place in which we search for meaning together. In spite of rugged American individualism, our species has always thrived when we work in community to search for meaning.

Jonathan Haidt says humans do change our minds, but not unless information comes to us in a non-threatening way. Religious communities provide a safe place in which to hear new and challenging ideas. They can create a secure environment in which we will be open to change, if encouraged to do so. Unfortunately, they can also be a place that creates hardening of the categories when a “protect the gates” mentality emerges.

In a polarized environment, the best way in which to truly see and hear those unlike you is via proximity and narrative. I speak at educational institutions all over the world, and am paid handsomely to do so. I go to Christian universities pro bono, because I know if I can get in close proximity to those students, and they can hear my story, their tendency to classify me as “other” is greatly diminished. They realize I’m normal, or at least as normal or abnormal as they are.

Religious communities are where we learn to be human together. They are messy, and they are supposed to be messy, because it is where we learn to work through conflict, our shared humanity, and our search for meaning through the various boundary conditions of life.

Religious communities also historically have done amazing amounts of social good in the world. They provide more than one half of food programs and one quarter of housing programs in the United States. Fifty-seven percent of faith based organizations participate in health programs. Working together in religious community, the total is greater than the sum of the parts.

It is also good to remember that fifty-two percent of Christians are supportive of marriage equality. We hear from the vocal minority that is not supportive, but ignore the majority that is supportive.

Religious communities have always been with us, and always will be with us. They change forms, with those surviving having more virtuous members and those dying having more selfish members, but religious communities are baked into the DNA of the species. And that is a good thing.

——

And for those I saw at the pre-session to Theology Beer Camp today, here are the words we used at Left Hand Church:

We strive to love the God who burst on the scene 14 billion years ago in all of God’s complexity, mystery, and ever expansiveness, rooted in relationship and grounded in love. We strive to love our neighbors, particularly those who do not look like us.  And we strive to love ourselves, because if you can’t do that, you cannot do the first two.

In the first sentence we are defining God as the Big Bang and more. Quantum physics teaches us that the ultimate building blocks of the universe are not made of matter, but of a pattern of relationships between nonmaterial entities. If the ultimate building blocks of the universe are relationships, then is it much of a stretch to say the most powerful force in the universe is love? Therefore, “the God who burst on the scene 14 billion years ago in all of God’s complexity, mystery, and ever expansiveness, rooted in relationship and grounded in love.”

And so it goes.

Everyone kept asking if I’d seen Will and Harper. I mean, geez, it came out five minutes ago. Besides, I’m tired of television shows, movies, and books focused on the first year in the life of a person who has transitioned. Where you are at year one is so different from year 10, but nobody wants to put the spotlight on that. It’s not dramatic enough.

Nevertheless, when the recommendations turned into a cacophony of voices including one of my closest friends, I figured it was time to watch it. And sure enough, it does have all the elements of that “early transition” period. They also do not devote enough time to Harper’s family or even acknowledge Harper’s ex-wife, but I’ll write about that some other time. On the whole, the movie is wonderful and it affected me greatly. I had to pause it eight or nine times to cry. It’s been a while since anything about transitioning has made me cry.

The way in which Harper’s SNL co-workers responded was exceptionally moving. They were all so supportive and accepting, and  Will Ferrell was amazing. No, he wasn’t perfect and did stuff wrong, but that’s part of the point. At least he tried. Every time an SNL actor was in the documentary, I wept. I’m not sure why, but the brief section with Will Forte made me cry so hard I could not catch my breath.

I know I have never really dealt with how awful it was to lose most of my friends and all of my coworkers when I transitioned. I have not talked with the vast majority of them since the day I came out, over ten years ago. They were well-known leaders, Christian leaders. Yet to them, I may as well be dead. The contrast between the loving reaction of comedians and the devastating reaction of pastors was jarring, troubling, and just plain sad.

What it would have meant if a couple of my friends, and they know who they are, had chosen to stand up publicly for me, and go on a road trip with me, and support me in my transition? It could have changed so much. They had a chance to shift the narrative about what it means to be trans, and they rejected that chance. Instead, they chose to never speak to me again. And thereby they showed me, and every person I know, the fruit of evangelical Christianity. Not compassionate love, but strident judgment.

I always give my former friends and co-workers the benefit of the doubt. A handful have remained in touch with me, and are privately supportive, if not publicly. But Will and Harper showed me, viscerally, what real love looks like, and I wept.

I received that kind of love from Cathy, Jonathan, Jubi, Jael, Kijana, Jana, my grandchildren, and my closest friend, David. But outside of those people and one or two others, crickets. It was devastating to be completely rejected by all of my friends and colleagues. The contrast for Harper with her co-workers at SNL could not have been more striking.

Another thing that struck me about the movie was how fortunate I am that the world receives me as a woman. In the language used by most transgender people, I pass, meaning I pass in public as a woman. In today’s world in which there is so much misinformation about what it means to be transgender, those who do not pass in their new gender are subject to incredibly mean-spirited comments and behavior. I have experienced that exactly once in ten years. That one time was devastating. The person was very mentally ill, and I was not safe.

Being trans has not affected my success in life. In fact I have had more outlets and opportunities to use my gifts as Paula than I had as Paul. I’ve done three TED Talks that have had millions of views, published a best-selling memoir, spoken all over the world on issues related to gender equity, and been elected to public office. When I speak with those considering transition (which is rare – I receive far more requests than I can accommodate) I tell them their experience is not likely to be as positive as mine. I have been fortunate and I am acutely aware of that good fortune.

There is a downside to passing in your new gender. Those who knew Paul cannot find Paul in Paula. They say I look nothing like Paul, and they tend to see me as a completely different person than the one they knew. There is continuity with Harper between the way she looked before and her appearance now.

Harper’s pre-transition experience was very similar to my own experience. As a long time head writer for SNL, she had become very successful. Because of that success, she was terrified of being found out. I know that terror. It is awful.

Also similar, try as she might, she could not understand the genesis of her gender dysphoria. It was just there from childhood, that’s all. Is it brain chemistry, genetics, prenatal abnormalities, environmental? No one knows, and who knows if we will ever know. The political environment does not encourage studies that might shed light on the causes of gender dysphoria.

What was most strikingly similar was the abject despair into which Harper descended before she finally transitioned. I sometimes forget just how bad it got, and how hopeless I felt.

I have one other specific comment that is important. Harper talks about her “dead name.” A lot of trans people talk about their dead name. Paul is not my dead name. It was my name. When you are referring to my life during those years, it is fine to refer to me as Paul and he. I refer to myself as Paul and he. For me, the notion of a dead name does absolutely nothing to create continuity in my life. It is already difficult enough to maintain any kind of continuity without exacerbating the problem by talking about a dead name. But as I have said many times, when you have talked to one transgender person, you’ve talked to one transgender person. My feelings about dead naming are different from most of the trans people I know.

Do I recommend Will and Harper? Yes, unequivocally! While her experience post-transition is quite different from mine, the movie is a very positive expression of the transgender experience, and more importantly, of enduring long-term friendship. This is a movie about the abiding nature of love, and it is a wonderful celebration of life.

I have fished once in my adult life. It was the late 80s and we were on vacation in the boundary waters of the Thousand Islands, downstream from Kingston, Ontario. We were fishing the St. Lawrence River for northern pike, a feisty fish that fights like the devil when you try to get it above the surface. Once caught, it’s not a particularly good fish to eat because getting the bones out is nigh on impossible.

I think about that trip often because of how much that experience reflects my life. What exists beneath the surface wants to stay beneath the surface. It’ll fight like the devil to stay there, and if you finally reel it in, what you’ve caught is hard to swallow.

It is always interesting to me when people quit therapy before they really begin. I usually can tell it is coming. They have hooked a fish in the depths, and they have no interest in reeling it in. Sometimes they do not have the energy. They know dealing with the past is going to be hard work, and they cannot bring themselves to do it. Occasionally, they just aren’t ready to deal with it. Whatever the case, I am always disappointed. With a qualified guide, you can reel the fish in, no matter how hard it fights.

What we refuse to deal with eventually deals with us. My mother broke her ankle and refused to rehabilitate. It was exasperating to her doctor and physical therapist. Ankle breaks are often hard to heal, but it was an ordinary break, not one that required surgery. Still, she refused physical therapy. She said it was too hard and painful. She did not walk, and rarely got out of bed, for the last ten years of her life. It probably shortened my mother’s life and definitely negatively affected her quality of life, but for reasons I will never know, because they remained beneath the surface, it was easier for her to be non-ambulatory than it was to rise up and walk.

It reminds me of John 5:6 in the gospels when Jesus asked the man at the pool at Bethesda if he wanted to get well. For some people, it is just too hard to get well. It is tragic, but you have to respect their freedom to choose.

Generational trauma results from the accumulated layers of trauma that have not been brought to the surface, confronted, and healed. When I first started therapy in 1993, my therapist said, “You are breaking patterns that have been there for decades, if not centuries.” I thought she was being dramatic. She was not. I fought with a lot of northern pike beneath the boundary waters. Occasionally I still go back to therapy because I need to go fishing again.

What have I gained from all of that fishing? Wisdom, compassion, empathy, knowledge, understanding – those for sure. Given those positive lessons, you’d think I’d be free of the effects of trauma by now.  I can point you to people who would say I am as messed up as I ever was. They might be right. I can still be self-serving, blind to injustice, and inclined to speak too quickly when it would be better to keep my mouth shut. There is always work to do.

Here are a few gems I have gained from my fishing expeditions:

1. “I can’t do that!” are usually words spoken when we are navigating from a childhood map, back when we actually could not do a lot of things because the powers that be stopped us from doing them. It is more accurate to say, “I won’t do that.” That forces us to acknowledge the empowered decision we have made to not do something. To say “I won’t” instead of “I can’t” is empowering. It is owning your decision. No one else made it for you. It was yours.
2. When someone says, “I’m just joking” they are never just joking. Just as the blush betrays the secret wish, the quick jab that necessitates a deflective, “I’m just joking,” has been just beneath the surface for a long time, ready to strike when one’s guard is down.
3. Some fears will always be with you. No one likes being humiliated or shamed. For me, it will always take me back to a very early wound that has never quite scarred over. I wrote about it in my book. No need to repeat it here.
4. Sometimes all you get is a decision between two evils, and you must choose the lesser of the two. I never wanted to transition. Transitioning was better than dying. My wife and my best friend thought I was headed in that direction. They might be right. Gender dysphoria is a difficult diagnosis. I would not wish it on my worst enemy. And in today’s America, it is harder to navigate than it was even ten years ago. It turns out that the general public having no information about what it means to be transgender is better than having the wrong information.
5. Your problem is usually not the thing you fear. It is that which gave birth to the thing you fear. Beowulf’s problem was not so much Grendel as it was the mother of Grendel. For almost all of us, that which gave birth to the thing we fear is a conviction there is something inherent about us that makes us unworthy of deep human connection. We began life with a 360 degree perspective. Those who raised us quickly let us know that 345 degrees of that were not acceptable. We learned to live within the 15 degrees that was acceptable, but from that day forward we were pretty sure our desire for the other 345 made us unworthy of unconditional love.
6. If you were raised as an evangelical Christian, the majority of #5 was centered around your gender and sexuality. Most of what you were told is wrong. This keeps therapists in business.
7. You are more capable than you believe you are. One single negative comment can undo the good of fifty positive comments. To understand the reason for that, see #5 above. Find a person who truly sees you, sees what you are capable of, and relentlessly encourages you in that direction.

I’ve learned a lot of other lessons in my seven decades on the planet. I’ll share some others another time.

And so it goes.