Sabrina Imbler

Puberty, even delayed, is the promise of more life. Instead, I found a better resource. I called my friend Siobhan, a singer early in her own transition, and she coached me through the cracks. She told me to drop the song an octave down, to switch between octaves in a single song. She told me when in doubt, I could always sing Elvis. But I wonder if I'm being unfair to that singer.

Puberty, even delayed, is the promise of more life. Instead, I found a better resource. I called my friend Siobhan, a singer early in her own transition, and she coached me through the cracks. She told me to drop the song an octave down, to switch between octaves in a single song. She told me when in doubt, I could always sing Elvis. But I wonder if I'm being unfair to that singer.

Puberty, even delayed, is the promise of more life. Instead, I found a better resource. I called my friend Siobhan, a singer early in her own transition, and she coached me through the cracks. She told me to drop the song an octave down, to switch between octaves in a single song. She told me when in doubt, I could always sing Elvis. But I wonder if I'm being unfair to that singer.

Maybe I never thought of my old voice as something I could lose because I could never sing in the first place. The further I move in my medical transition, a journey that has not been without some regret, the more it has made me rethink what loss means, and if it is always something to be mourned. Loss accompanies life in any body, trans or not.

Maybe I never thought of my old voice as something I could lose because I could never sing in the first place. The further I move in my medical transition, a journey that has not been without some regret, the more it has made me rethink what loss means, and if it is always something to be mourned. Loss accompanies life in any body, trans or not.

Maybe I never thought of my old voice as something I could lose because I could never sing in the first place. The further I move in my medical transition, a journey that has not been without some regret, the more it has made me rethink what loss means, and if it is always something to be mourned. Loss accompanies life in any body, trans or not.

Our bodies are always in a state of change, strengthening and crumbling, breaking down and repairing themselves in thousands of ways. Part of the wonder of medical transition is that you know to expect these changes, and yet each manages to astonish you in its particulars. It is a gift to wait with bated breath for your body, which seems so solid and immutable to surprise you.

Our bodies are always in a state of change, strengthening and crumbling, breaking down and repairing themselves in thousands of ways. Part of the wonder of medical transition is that you know to expect these changes, and yet each manages to astonish you in its particulars. It is a gift to wait with bated breath for your body, which seems so solid and immutable to surprise you.

Our bodies are always in a state of change, strengthening and crumbling, breaking down and repairing themselves in thousands of ways. Part of the wonder of medical transition is that you know to expect these changes, and yet each manages to astonish you in its particulars. It is a gift to wait with bated breath for your body, which seems so solid and immutable to surprise you.

To constantly become strange to yourself, re-encountering the wild, slickened animal of yourself each day. And I am even more grateful to be wholly present so that I can experience these changes in their full vibrance. My voice is still changing, still dropping, still breaking. Singing remains a work in progress, but speaking has become a pleasure.

To constantly become strange to yourself, re-encountering the wild, slickened animal of yourself each day. And I am even more grateful to be wholly present so that I can experience these changes in their full vibrance. My voice is still changing, still dropping, still breaking. Singing remains a work in progress, but speaking has become a pleasure.

To constantly become strange to yourself, re-encountering the wild, slickened animal of yourself each day. And I am even more grateful to be wholly present so that I can experience these changes in their full vibrance. My voice is still changing, still dropping, still breaking. Singing remains a work in progress, but speaking has become a pleasure.

Recently, when my partner heard my voicemail recording from several years ago, they thought they'd gotten the wrong number. I listened to the recording and felt no pang of remembrance, only shock. Surely there was a mistake. Could that really have been me? That old voice was beautiful in its own way. One time, a girl from college referred to me as that bitch with the This American Life voice.

Recently, when my partner heard my voicemail recording from several years ago, they thought they'd gotten the wrong number. I listened to the recording and felt no pang of remembrance, only shock. Surely there was a mistake. Could that really have been me? That old voice was beautiful in its own way. One time, a girl from college referred to me as that bitch with the This American Life voice.

Recently, when my partner heard my voicemail recording from several years ago, they thought they'd gotten the wrong number. I listened to the recording and felt no pang of remembrance, only shock. Surely there was a mistake. Could that really have been me? That old voice was beautiful in its own way. One time, a girl from college referred to me as that bitch with the This American Life voice.

An insult come compliment that I carried with me like a badge of honor. Proof that I had cleared some objective standard of beauty. But isn't survival more astonishing than beauty? Especially with someone else's conception of it? Hormones and vocal training may not win you any voice you want, but they'll get you much closer than doing nothing at all. Perhaps this is the real joy of karaoke.

An insult come compliment that I carried with me like a badge of honor. Proof that I had cleared some objective standard of beauty. But isn't survival more astonishing than beauty? Especially with someone else's conception of it? Hormones and vocal training may not win you any voice you want, but they'll get you much closer than doing nothing at all. Perhaps this is the real joy of karaoke.

An insult come compliment that I carried with me like a badge of honor. Proof that I had cleared some objective standard of beauty. But isn't survival more astonishing than beauty? Especially with someone else's conception of it? Hormones and vocal training may not win you any voice you want, but they'll get you much closer than doing nothing at all. Perhaps this is the real joy of karaoke.

Not hitting all the notes or nailing a vocal run, but giving yourself permission to be another person, another voice, just for the night. In these rooms, I now workshop future versions of myself. I sing low. I swagger. I'm learning how to tame a voice that is still unfamiliar, yet inconceivably my own. I've started singing pop songs an octave down.

Not hitting all the notes or nailing a vocal run, but giving yourself permission to be another person, another voice, just for the night. In these rooms, I now workshop future versions of myself. I sing low. I swagger. I'm learning how to tame a voice that is still unfamiliar, yet inconceivably my own. I've started singing pop songs an octave down.