I have given up trying to vectorize my transition. I am moving — sometimes slowly and sometimes with alacrity — but not in any particular direction. I have localized goals — i would like this surgery, or that outfit; these pronouns, that orthography for my name — but no destination. I am moving the way a bird moves, on the lazy currents of the air. I am moving as a small boat in a shallow lagoon, carefully, curiously, ever turning this way and that. The destination is the journey. The direction is towards myself. The goal is to live a life.