Turn the Ship, Own the Story: Choosing Authenticity When the Ground Shakes

Brené Brown, in Dare to Lead, advises us to admit to experiencing shame or admit that we’re sociopaths. Just the word shame is uncomfortable. It has more control over our lives they less we talk about it. It’s easy to let the crowd get in our head and hijack our efforts. Without clarity of values, anywhere else to look or focus, or a light above to remind us why we are here, cynics and critics can bring us to our knees. We need our values to remind us why we went in whenever we stumble and fall, especially when we are facedown, covered in sweat and dust and blood.

Even the slightness inkling that someone is questioning our worthiness is enough to set total vulnerability lockdown in motion. The math doesn’t work out to support someone being completely trustworthy when they only trust a handful of colleagues. Charles Feltman describes distrust as the decision that “what is important to me is not safe with this person in this situation.”

When we don’t own our stories, failures, and hurt, they own us. If people are not prepared for hard landings, we can’t expect them to be brave and risk failure. When leaders and coaches gather people together to teach resilience skills after a setback or failure, it’s like teaching skydivers how to land as they’re free-falling or after they’ve hit the ground.

In Lovely One, Ketanji Jackson writes that when she gave a good friend of hers all of her Uncle Thomas’s case materials, she knew her uncle was in good hands. Almost a decade later, in 2014, the White House was interested in nonviolent drug offenders whose convictions would have been far less severe had their case come before the court in 2014. Ketanji was almost out of hope when, on the last day before Barack Obama left office, she pulled up the White House’s online list for the names of inmates who had been freed under the initiative, and found her uncle’s name, with his sentence commuted to expire on November 27, 2017.

Ketanji’s endearing sisterhood with her friends was taken to heart by Black women everywhere. During her prep for her committee hearings, a White House staffer counseled her, “You can get exasperated at the tone of some of the questions, or you can be a Supreme Court Justice.” She decided to address the question of her sense of decision-making on the bench specifically in her opening remarks.

In Homegrown Magic, by Jamie Pacton and Rebeccaa Podos, Sage asked Margot if she’s ready for an adventure. Sage took no notes that day. Margot feels that it is better to miss out on a one-night affair rather than losing one of the people she holds close.

Poppy startles when Margot taps her slightly on the arm. Suprised to see Margot, she blinks like a surprised owl. Margot picks up Harvey after saying hi.

The district where barkeeps and street sweepers and coachmen live is an entire world away from the Clauneck estate. For a week or two at most, students would occasionally shower denaris on the barkeeps. Yael realizes now how frivolous they were.

Eventually, as they make their escape, all Yael has now is the papers and plans stolen from the office and a very fine suit with buttons of pure gold.

On Saturday, Februrary 7, I watched a performance of Emma at the West Valley Performing Arts Center with a friend. Based on the book, by Jane Austin, the comedy often breaks the third wall as the character implores the audience why they didn’t let on what they knew, while Harriet Smith declares that the show should be called “Harriet” and Mr. Watson tries desperately to get everyone to eat gruel. The “Jane, Jane, Jane” scene at the Bates home is hilarious, and Miss Bates further elaborates the hope inherent for women in Emma.

For sixty years, I have lived in a body that the world insisted on labeling a "problem" to be solved.

My journey didn't start with a choice; it started at age nine at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. I was subjected to specialized urological surgeries to "repair" a distended bladder and a urethra—procedures the doctors whispered weren't "typical for boys." Looking back, it’s clear the military medical establishment was hyperfixated on "fixing" my maleness to protect my future eligibility for service, treating my internal reality as a secret to be buried.

But my body always held a different truth.

By age ten, I began experiencing recurring monthly cramps. They weren't "phantom pains" or a medical malfunction; they were the quiet voice of a biological mosaic. I now understand that I carry internal Müllerian remnants—dormant endometrial tissue that remained invisible to the binary lens of the 1970s.

Gender-affirming care didn’t "change" me; it finally provided the hormonal environment—the estrogen—that these structures had been waiting for. After 18 years of HRT, these "dormant" parts of me have awakened.

Every month, shortly after my weekly shot, the waves of cramps return. And every month, they end with a fluid sensation and a rush of endorphins that feels like home. To some doctors, this is still "granulation" or a "complication" to be cauterized away. But to me, it is the most profound evidence I have.

If I’d had the chance to delay my puberty with ethical providers, I would have chosen it in a heartbeat to avoid a permanent transformation that belied who I was. But today, I refuse to see my physical reality as a "problem" anymore. I am not a case study to be corrected; I am a person whose body has finally achieved its own unique, biological alignment.

My cycles are the living proof that my body knows exactly who I am, and always has. To legislate against my care, and that of those like me, is to legislate against the very fabric of our physical existence.

When I examine my core values, the ones that resonate most with me are making a difference and authenticity. From there, everything else is supported like a a wheel and spoke system with these two at the center. In third grade, I first thought about a dream to become a millionaire. Then I thought how I wanted to do it. I dreamt of becoming an inventor and inventing humaniform robots. Later, I dreamed of becoming an astrophysicist and an astronaut.

During my college years, I found that I couldn’t afford my college, so I eventually answered an add to learn electrical engineering on-the-job. It turned out to be a number to the US Naval Reserve recruiter, and I wound up enlisting as a reservist. A few years later, as a reservist Torpedoman’s Mate, I chose to go an active duty rather that continue to work even longer hours in restaurant management, because I felt if I was going to put in that many hours, it needed to be meaningful.

I have had a fascination with artifical intelligence and the human mind for as long as I can remember, and when I returned to college to get my computer science degree, I started turning toward studies in AI, hoping that I could be on the forefront of technology. Today, several decades later, I opt for work that has the most impact.

My own journey, as a military dependent, an only child, a struggling student, a veteran, a trans woman and a civil rights advocate, I have increasingly valued authenticity. I preferred it in my friends from an early age, and I preferred people who I felt I could be authentic with. I value truth and people for who they are and the value that they bring. I believe that we all should get a chance and be who we truly are, and be allowed to make a positive difference in this world.

In The Wings Upon Her Back, by Samantha Mills, Niklaus works his way through a dog-eared history book. Niklaus and Zenya’s mother Natulia invites them over to show them what she is working. Zenya asks if it’s a new book. Natulia says that she is up to the last stand of Saint Radezhda. Saint Radhezda killed a beast mid-flight and fell to her death. With the war won and Radezhda the city-state officially born, Natalia concludes that it is their duty to protect the city.

On her first night in Pava, Zenya does not write home about her concerns about whether she would fit in. The door of her new apartment tears inward within seconds of her knocking. The first of three eager faces exclaims, “So you’re the one from Milar!”

During the unrest that occurs during her training, Zenya flails for a moment when she is awakened by an intruder three hours into much needed sleep. She asks where Zodaya is. Senkai tells her that she is working, and so is Zenya, and to report to level ten of the repair station.

In The Weavers of Alamaxa, Giorgina awakes to the sound of an explosion. Malak still slumbers beside beside her. Etedal demands, “What in the name of the Tetrad was that?”

Underneath the ramparts, Giorgina and Malek get to their feet tiredly when the men arrive. One of them gawks, “You’re Malak Mamdouh.” Giving him a mild look, Malak asks if she knows him.

Meanwhile, in the neighboring country, Nehal tries to pull water out of a jug. She fights past the pain until her eyes water and she trembles. The surface of the water only shifts ever so slightly.

After she escapes, Nehal is starving. Whether the pain is decreasing or she is simply adjusting to it, the pain is powerful enough that it is impossible to overcome. Instead of staying at the palace and playing along with Rasida, she had escaped at her first chance, not thinking what comes next.

Acquiring a mango and an apple, Nehal devours the mango far faster than she likes. The apple may be the only thing standing between her and starvation. Her second night on the street, a gang of rowdy street children startled her awake by yanking on her hair.

In Turn the Ship Around! A True Story of Turning Followers into Leaders, Louis David Marquet suggests handing out a bunch of four-by-six cards at your next leadership meeting. Specifying the the level of management, invite everyone to complete the phrase “Our company would be more effective if [level] management could make decisions about [subject].” After posting the cards on the wall, let people mill around and look at what they’ve written.

Friday, February 13, at 6:33 pm a rumbling noise preceded a few seconds shake of my home. I could literally see the house shift as I stared out the north window. The epicenter of the 3.6 magnitude quake was 2.7 miles northwest of my home, the site of the earlier 2020 quake that hit the region which I had felt in my office in Midvale. It’s an interesting experience riding out a quake. I have recessed lights, but one of my friends said that they saw their lights swinging.

The earthquake was followed a day or two later by a a day of high winds, with gusts up to 55 mph. I found myself having to recollect my recycle, trash, and glass bins at least twice that day. The arctic cold front was followed by snow the following day.

Up until then, I had joked that winter had been canceled this year, and maybe we should route a pipeline from Texas to Utah since they seem to be getting all our water. Instead, after that cold front blew in, it was as if Winter blew in saying, “Hi. Sorry I’m late. I got held up in Texas for awhile. I just wanted to make sure I dropped by on the way through.”

The week up to February 18, I had the joys of preparing for my semi-decade colonoscopy. Everything from the low-fiber diet to the fasting with clear liquids the day before and tons of laxatives. I even took the magnesium citrate as instructed and couldn’t keep it down. When I went in on Wednesday afternoon, it was to no avail. Being declared “not ready” as if I had failed, I had to relegate myself to the next available follow up, one week later.

February 22, I entered the low-fiber portion of prep again, and Tuesday it was back to the fast for an 8 am appointment on Wednesday morning. I think the issue happened because I misunderstood “plenty of liquids” to mean "stay hydrated" and not “cram as much clear fluids in your body as you can. So armed with a prescription strength laxative, another bottle of the hated magnesium citride, and lots of lemon-lime Gatorade Zero, white grape juice, and ginger ale, I planned to get my system thoroughly cleansed out, or at least have given it the old college try.

Trying to make sure I have enough to eat, I found macaroni and cheese and condensed tomato soup in the pantry. I began with my sausage, egg, and cheese croisssant Sunday morning. For my next meal, I made the macaroni and cheese in my instant pot, and added paprika to give it a bit of flavor. Unfortunately, I felt a bit of nausea afterward.

My next meal was the tomato soup. I mixed in the extra can of water, and heated it in the microwave. I wish I could say I enjoyed it, but it seemed bland to me, and I still feel stuffy without my spices. Finally I ordered some Ritz crackers and a couple of microwave meals from the grocery store. I splurged to have it delivered because of my ongoing stuffiness. At least then, I should have plenty to eat on the low fiber plan through Monday. I also had chicken broth and bijou gravy mix I could tap into if needed, and thought I would definitely be tapping into on Tuesday.

I managed to book the Squatters Brew Pub in West Valley City for our Oh No They Didn’t legislative review on Sunday, March 15 at 3 pm. We will have the whole back area for our event. Because they don’t have a bar license yet, we will have the whole back part of the restaurant, but attendees must demonstrate an intent to dine to be served alcoholic beverages. We are looking forward to the event. Since the day before is Pi Day, I’m going to push to make this year’s theme Pi and Queer Day, to ultimately celebrate our queer pioneers, especially the brainiac ones. After I got back, I wound up heating up the four-cheese fettucini bowl. That definitely had a better taste to it.

Utah House Bill 193 failed to pass out of the Senate Business and Labor Committee on February 19. The bill sought to ban public employee insurance from covering gender affirming care.

House Bill 174 also made it to the Second Reading Calendar of the Utah Senate on February 19. Titled “Sex Characteristic Change Treatment Amendments,” it will convert Utah’s temporary moratorium on gender affirming care for minors into a permanent ban. It also classifies the provision of that care to minors as “unprofessional conduct,” which threatens the licenses of medical providers.

House Bill 95, which is scheduled for a public hearing in front of the House Government Operations committee, is a “license to harass.” It would prohibit public employers—including schools—from disciplining employees who intentionally misgender others. The danger in this bill is that it allows individuals to disregard another’s identity under a guise of “moral beliefs.” This opens the door to creating a hostile environment for both students and workers.

House Bill 114 was introduced in the Utah Senate and has been referred to the Senate Judiciary, Law Enforcement and Criminal Justice Committee. This bill broadly targets “adult-oriented” performances. This is a direct attack on drag performers and Pride celebrations.

I was getting ready to send out an email alert to the Utah Stonewall Dems, when I was blocked by the application. At over 280 people in our email list, we are over our allowed limit of 250 recipients. The board has approved the expenditure with one nay vote. The next steps would be working with the treasurer to figure out how we are going to pay the subscription.

A hearing for the Republican Legislature’s last-ditch effort to prevent a court-imposed congressional map was declined by the Utah Supreme Court on Friday, February 20. The justices stated that they don’t have the jurisdiction to consider the appeal because it wasn’t done within 30 days of either of Justice Gibson’s rulings. The initiative under Proposition 4 created an independent redistricting commission nearly four years ago, and has faced litigation by the legislature from the moment it passed.

In The Spellshop, by Sarah Beth Durst, Kiela resolves to look forward as the sun rises over the sea. Kiela had been totally absorbed in her work and hadn’t left the library in years. Having no family in the city, having lost track of her classmates, and having fresh meals delivered at any hour, she had considered it the perfect system.

As the sun stains the horizon orange, she sails her boat toward a little cove on the Island of Caltrey. As she aims between the rocks, Caz observes that she’s going to crash. Kiela affirms that she is going to dock instead of crash.

When Kiela lights the cook stove in her family’s abandoned cottage and checks on the flames, she gets a faceful of smoke. She races between the sink and the stove to get jar after jar of water to throw on the flames.

The recipe for jam that she finds in the home calls for berries and sugar. A few pale raspberries are growing amidst a tangled forest of brambles in her backyard. Seeing no ripe ones, she and Caz contemplate using more magic. Once the first jar of jam cools, Kiela covers it with a square of cloth cut from of her father’s old shirts, securing it with a string. Caz asks if she thinks the baker would go for it. Kiela thinks that she’ll recognized that a raspberry tart would be amazing.

The cottage doesn’t look very much like a shop. Despite washing and scrubbing the place, it just doesn’t look like a shop. She wants her shop to welcome people in, and make them comfortable browsing. even if all she sold was a single flavor of jam.

In the forward to The Staff Engineer’s Path, by Tanya Reilly, Camille Fournier shared how her 2016 management book had the goals of sharing lessons from experience, showing aspiring managers what the role entails, and pushing the tech industry to expect more from managers that need to balance skills across people, process, product, and technical domains. The alternative career path for individual contributors lacked a comparable guidebook. Tanya’s book addesses this gap. The book provides a framework built on the three pillars of big picture thinking, execution, and leveling up others. Tuesday, February 23, I entered the last day of my prep for my second attempt at a colonoscopy. I pushed a clear diet all day long drinking only black tea, coffee, water, lemon-lime gatorade, white grape juice, and ginger ale, cycling between 6 beverages, in an effort to flush my system out. This time I added only lemon juice to the tea, and didn’t drink any coffee brewed with mocha flavored coffee grounds.

At 6 pm I had my simethicone tablets and made my way through a liter of the PEG-ES solution. Even though everything was having the desired effect, at 10 pm, I began sipping the 10 oz bottle of magnesium citrate per the doctor’s orders. I had to wait for each sip get get past my abdomen before I had the next. It took roughly an hour to finish the bottle.

At 2 am, I woke up to finish the PEG-ES solution. As forced the last cup down at 3 am, it didn’t stay down. My body rejected almost a liter of the solution, I went back to bed to get up early for the actual colonoscopy at 8:45 am.

Everything went fine this time. My system was cleared and I was one point shy of a perfect prep. The doctor found and excised three polyps, and noticed some diverticuli. The prep is rough for this procedure, but what I risk by not going through it is enormous.

On Thursday morning, I found out that I am getting a significant promotion at my company. The promotion is conditional, and it had to go to the board for approval. That being said, until the company merger is complete neither I nor the individual I currently report to know what the position or role will be. It is also supposed to come with a significant salary bump, so I am looking forward to that as well.

At the West Valley City Veteran’s Committee, we elected our chair and vice chair for the committee, and discussed upcoming events through the year. We want to honor the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Indpendence, and we are moving forward with inviting students from fifth to twefth grade to write an essay on what America means to them. We are also having events to promote suicide awareness among our veteran community. I volunteered to represent the committee at the upcoming Out of Darkness event.

Friday, I met with a junior high school principal to do a walk through of our neighborhood caucus night location. We discussed seating, the sound system, where we’ll display our maps and put our checkin table. We even discussed teaching responsible AI and how to build healthy social networks.

Yesterday, the Utah Stonewall Dems met as a board, and discussed our plans for Oh No They Didn’t, our annual legislative review. We discussed inviting candidates and elected officials to provide silent auction baskets. Our intern was present for the first time, and volunteered to contact the candidates and legislators. Since I want to start a Pi and Queer Day tradition, I floated the idea with the board of making that our theme, and everyone was on board. We also had a potential board member join the call, as well as one that is waiting for someone to put their name forward.

Shame only wins when it stays unspoken, when we forget our values, when we decide that what is important to us is not safe in our own hands. But I have seen, in books and in boardrooms, in courtrooms and cottages, in earthquakes and operating rooms, that resilience is built the same way jam is made and ships are turned—deliberately, imperfectly, and with courage. My life has not followed a straight line, but it has followed a compass: authenticity and making a difference. That compass has carried me through military service, transition, advocacy, promotions, setbacks, and second attempts. It can carry you, too. So name the shame. Own your story. Choose the harder, braver path aligned with your values. Show up for your body, your community, and your work. Turn the ship. Light the stove again. Dock instead of crash. And when the ground shakes—because it will—stand anyway, and build the world you know is possible.