Last fall I sat down to read my 2003 memoir, She's Not There, in preparation for a new, 10th-anniversary edition. I returned to that book in the same room in which it had first been written: the study of a summer house, in the heart of winter. From outside came the sound of snow against the window glass, the warp of the water below the ice in Long Pond. I remembered hearing those sounds 10 years before as I sat in that place and looked out the window at the Maine winter, searching for the words to describe my "life in two genders." This exercise in time travel put me in mind of an old Amish expression: "Ve are too soon olt und too late schmart."
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