Zoe Dolan

@zoedolan

What I Would Have Missed in May 2017

February 21st 2018

“So, basically, this could change absolutely everything.”

What’s going on here and where’s the Intro/Table of Contents?

On Monday, May 22, 2017, I would have missed synergy in a conversation about society’s future with a Gorgeous Russian Woman during which both of us spontaneously volunteered we had goosebumps just after I remarked that governments cannot stamp out crypto because it is too late; making out with a Gangly Indian Guy in a hallway at the Consensus blockchain tech conference (after he complimented me during the closing presentation of the day and we skipped out of a room filled with thousands of people); and floating around the Russian and Turkish Baths in the East Village topless (because I forgot my bikini), feeling very at home in the world (without anything to hide or feel ashamed of) afterward.

On Tuesday, May 23, 2017, I would have missed the expression on that Crazy Boyish Guy’s face when I said Hello to him on the second day of Consensus. See, yesterday he had come up to me and asked some bullshit legal question that he already knew the answer to, friended me on Facebook, and started messaging me to dish on the respective panels we were attending. After correctly guessing which one I’d selected, he said the only exciting thing about his choice was that they had a “tranny” — to which I responded FYI and hyperlinked to the New York Times article where I publicly came out as transgender.

On Wednesday, May 24, 2017, I would have missed a lawyer I have known for about eight years come up to me in the well of the courtroom and kiss me on the cheek. I would also have missed realizing, the second time I went straight to voicemail, that Jimmy must have blocked my phone number. Jimmy The Carpenter is the reason I am keeping this daily journal, because as you know, it recently occurred to me that I was still in love with him and therefore must break all contact because my feelings were unrequited and I needed to find a way to stay alive. I spent the weekend with my thoughts spinning into themselves and turning into tears and wanting to die in the absence of any true romance or purpose on this earth.

On Thursday, May 25, 2017, I would have missed meeting up at the Baths with an “urban pirate” British Dandy Grifter from the Ethereal Influencers Dinner last week and ending up at a members-only club on the Lower East Side with him, where we hung out with a South African Businesswoman and tried to figure out what the open sores on his ankles were. I would also have missed learning that the exuberance he’s been exhibiting for the last week I’ve known him apparently derives from modafinil — some sort of narcolepsy drug that people are now taking recreationally as a cognition enhancer — and marveling as we walked a few blocks in the mist while my umbrella achieved nothing because water was swirling sideways through the air.

On Friday, May 26, 2017, I would have missed the thousand words in this picture:

On Saturday, May 27, 2017, I would have missed riding to the airport with a driver who informed me that Saturday was becoming a busy travel day, which prompted me to think that everyone else has learned the same trick and people always do and it is inevitable that the world will grow and change and we are all in this thing together. I also would have missed being upgraded to Main Cabin Select by a very lovely young lady, and a conversation with a nice young gentleman flight attendant that began with me complimenting his black nail polish as really quite suitable for him and culminated in us agreeing that Virgin America’s policy of allowing men to wear it only on their thumbs — when women can wear it on all fingers — is wrong. I would also have missed what I think might have been a couple good buys of bitcoin and ether, and looking out my back window as dusk fell over the park across the street and the San Gabriel Mountains beyond.

On Sunday, May 28, 2017, I would have missed starting Snow Crash on a new hammock in the backyard as I felt the cool breeze on my arms and legs, and dozing off after such a busy week, and waking up and looking around at the ripe lemons under which Jimmy kissed me months ago, green apples just beginning to turn red and some tiny avocados dangling among the rustling leaves overhead. I also would have missed visiting Mom, talking about crypocurrencies with her, and smiling at the expression on her face as she said, So, basically, this could change absolutely everything.

On Monday, May 29, 2017, I would have missed the first morning of the season at Thousand Steps Beach, which I went to after my usual run (while visiting Mom) through Crystal Cove State Park. Thousand Steps is a hidden cove surrounded by cliffs that I only learned about from David at the Russian and Turkish Baths. David is among the best-looking men I have ever encountered on this earth and reminds me of the very first boy I slept with 23 years ago. I would have missed the sensation that walking on the beach is like life insofar as the ground looks solid but gives way, ever so much, making each step more laborious than it should be, straining the calves and even the muscles flanking the shin, whatever they’re called, while simultaneously delivering that ineffable granular grandeur of sand between the toes — and watching young people play volleyball — and heading in for a dip in the ocean despite the warning that a shark had been sighted some time before. I would also have missed Mom asking more questions about cryptocurrency and calling me when I got home to tell me that my remark earlier in the day that I hope she does not die anytime soon was among the nicest things she has ever heard — right up there with when her first granddaughter said, Grandma, I love you, for the very first time.

On Tuesday, May 30, 2017, I would have missed my morning run through the hills in the park across the street; appearing in federal court in LA and the feeling that that one prosecutor gives me when we were are standing close and I look up at him; visiting a client in jail; swinging by the office to get some work done but not really because instead I engaged in a Facebook discussion with several friends about crypto in a thread where I posted that I just used my Shift card to pay for food directly from a bitcoin wallet for the first time; and attending an Ethereum meetup in Venice where a conversation with two prominent project founders who remembered me from Consensus gave me goosebumps several times — at which point one of them volunteered that he also had goosebumps (it keeps happening!). I ended up in a rather electric dialogue with a Gem employee who wore his hair shaved on the sides of his head and long on top. He taught me the vocabulary for discounted cash flow (in which present value of future cash flow is discounted for risk, which I see I’ve been using to model my own law practice and business interests without knowing it). And it all felt so sexy I could hardly stand it. Ether is way up but I remain concerned about scalability and preservation of the philosophical values that drew me to Ethereum in the first place. I would have missed falling asleep with the premonition that a sea change may come as early as this summer in a tsunami — and it could be the most dramatic social change event that humanity has seen since the printing press — with a subsequent technological iteration on par with the discovery of fire.

On Wednesday, May 31, 2017, I would have missed a day that began on the trails in the park at dawn, proceeded to federal jail in downtown Los Angeles, and ended over yosenabe following a schvitz at the Baths back in New York. I struggle to understand why life can seem so empty and desultory when I am fortunate enough to inhabit a dream. I do not understand the ache for something more — some meaning — some validation — some anything — or its origin. Goddamnit, I just knew I should have bought more bitcoin yesterday, and now it’s up a couple hundred dollars again. Ripple is doing well, too. I am of mixed feelings about ripples because the single-issuer thing runs contrary to decentralization, and the fucking stuff is for banks and whatever anyway. But I suppose we need some institutions in society after all, so I suppose it’s a palatable hedge and worthwhile to keep. I would very much miss the feeling of being up in the air, on the move, going somewhere — anywhere but here, wherever here may be.

On Thursday, June 1, 2017, I would have missed making it out to buttfuck New Jersey and meandering through the hallways of a state jail among various inmates to get to an attorney-client conference room in the bowels of the facility, and the ride back to the PATH afterward through a wasteland that reeked of sewage from the treatment plant nearby. What an adventure. I also would have missed being retained in bitcoin for the first time and running into a legal colleague on East 9th Street between 5th and 6th — one of my very favorite blocks in New York even after 23 years — who was all like, Cryptocurrency, what’s that? My physical attraction to him has subsided over the past eight or nine years — I hugged him and sensed his love handles — and I am once again relieved and glad that I remain free as a bird. The President of the United States withdrew from the Paris Accord yesterday, and so I decided that I will withdraw from the USD as thoroughly and swiftly as possible. I want into the future!

On Friday, June 2, 2017, I would have missed a federal judge saying to a new client of mine — on the record — that he was in good hands, and then I would have missed walking home over the Brooklyn Bridge:

I also would have missed a follow-up conversation with the woman behind the counter at the Baths about the crazy lady who yesterday broke into my locker and, we think, stole my underwear. Then I would have missed a conversation in the Russian Room with a Serbian banking consultant about the disruptions that cryptocurrency will have on his industry, and the world. Getting into discussions with men while I’m topless has become a source of fascination for me. Maybe there’s an equalizing factor in my nipples as well as theirs being exposed. It seems easier to enter a dialogue just to begin with, and likewise to vault onto more existential or economic planes that require some thinking. I would miss exploring this phenomenon; the dynamics feel like energy itself.

On Saturday, June 3, 2017, I would have missed activating my “reciprocal membership privileges” at the New York Athletic Club, making my way through the “athletic attire entrance,” ascending the “athletic attire elevator,” and looking out at Central Park from the terrace of the solarium on the 24th floor:

I would also have missed peeking in on a wedding inside one of the ballrooms downstairs and seeing all the beautiful women in gowns and sensing my heart sink because I am just not made to participate in that pageantry or experience what it might be like for a man to want to marry me. I felt like I imagined Scrooge must have when the Second Spirit whisked him off to the Cratchit house and he watched the warmth of humanity as Tiny Tim’s father said to his mother that Tim had told him, “coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to remember upon Christmas Day, who made lame beggars walk, and blind men see.” — for of course I have always, no matter how atrocious and self-indulgent and inappropriate the metaphor, conceived of myself as crippled of a sort because I am transgender. For many years now I have told myself, “Zoe, you must understand that in love you are just paralyzed and shall not walk again, you may watch the others and let yourself hope and dream as much as you wish, but you will never dance among them.” I would have missed dinner with my theater buddy and good friend of a decade who is recovering from chemotherapy — the thin hair on his head reminded me that each day could be our last — and then we said Goodbye and I checked my phone and saw that London had experienced another terror attack while we were eating. I would also have missed the bitcoin roller coaster ride over the following hour where I correctly sensed the trough of that particular episode but didn’t transition into more because I’m currently at my comfort limit even though I wonder whether there is still a part of me resisting the future and fearing success.

On Sunday, June 4, 2017, I would have missed the burst that wells up each fucking time I cycle down onto River Road under the GW Bridge, and — as a trail of Harleys roared past — being enveloped by trees overhead. After riding ten miles up through Manhattan, that spot is where I have often felt most alive. I also would have missed texting the 6’2” Blond Canadian Pilot after all these years and hanging out with him in the bike shop up in Nyack and thinking that we have both grown older and there is no constant but the passage of time and when he hugged me farewell I sensed the same phenomenon as on that last date with Jimmy in Hollywood when I knew that the arms around me were more like a brother’s than a lover’s — and always would be. It is a lovely torment that I must represent to men how far they remain from where they may want to believe they are: as much as they might want to transcend their own repugnance for a transsexual they otherwise adore, I always remind them they never will. I would have missed riding back to the GW through the rain for 20 miles wearing a garbage bag, with newspaper underneath to keep me warm.

On Monday, June 5, 2017, I would have missed winning bail for a client from a magistrate judge and then losing bail once the prosecutor appealed to the district judge because — in the end — federal courts baby the government. No I would not have missed that. I hate that. It’s so disgusting how “justice” has broken down. But, to be sure, I certainly would have missed a conversation with my adversary in the courtroom about cryptocurrencies and digital identity and the wonderment that overcomes me upon considering how others may not be as consumed with what is happening as I am. And, of course, I would have missed an evening later on the Baths — where the 6’4” Mattress Salesman who once suspended me in the air with partner yoga on the roof asked me some (more) questions about bitcoin. And, similarly, I would have missed the hour or two afterward when bitcoin blasted full steam ahead past $2900 and then ether started up with it too and my finance friends on Facebook told me to pull out because I am an amateur swimming with sharks: the traders and quants dominate everything now so I should just cut and run — and I just started to cry, almost, because I did not want to trade and do not want to and all I want is to transition into this new medium of exchange as a believer in decentralization and progress for humanity and yeah so this trader friend of mine said it was very laudable but, basically, get real, and I went to sleep without selling a thing because I believe what I believe.

On Tuesday, June 6, 2017, I would have missed waking up to a crypto market cap over $103 billion, and the sensation that followed riding out the subsequent storm in bitcoin and ether. There were two 5% drops during the day and the cap was still up 4% over 24 hours. I find this alternate reality quite suitable to my tastes, which have always geared toward excitement, the unknown, and — I suppose — self-destruction. I also would have missed running into a famous friend at the Baths who had just gotten back from Europe where one of his projects won some awards and he’d hung out with other famous people. As he was telling me all about his adventures, I thought of famous friends who have passed through the Baths over the years and how two acquaintances from there have both ended up at ConsenSys and it is just a delight to see people achieving such great heights and I might like to be one of them and maybe I even was for a New York minute but now that’s over because whatever goes up must come down, and sometimes hard. I also would have missed the depression lifting ever so much as I walked in the door of my cocoon of an apartment — my safe place in all the universe — thinking, It is so much better when I don’t worry as much, and if this approach blows up then oh well because the plan remains to just commit suicide at that point and it will all be over.

On Wednesday, June 7, 2017, I would have missed holing up at home all day fretting over the early afternoon rollercoaster in the crypto markets. I also would have missed seeing those two ConsenSys friends at the Baths last night — one of whom just got back from visiting Richard Branson’s island for something or other. I also would have missed seeing them excited about their success so far but also somehow realistic. I wonder whether the entire house of cards is presently built on a cloud. And yet they still seem to believe in their work. I would have missed sitting in the Russian Room with them after the lights went out, enveloping us in the belly of a whale.

On Thursday, June 8, 2017, I would have missed waking up rested. The nights that sleep has restored me ever since I went down the crypto rabbit hole have been few and far between — I just cannot shake the worry that I am missing something while asleep — but that problem appears to be resolving. I am starting to dream again — both in conscious life and subconsciously, I think. It has become increasingly difficult to tell a difference. Nor do I really wish to anymore; I would prefer an existence that melds the two. I also would have missed talking about crypto’s relationship to illicit markets and broader adoption with a short and geeky and very cute guy from LA, whose body smelled so good, in the Russian Room. He claimed that he works in “history” in “the Amazon.” I wanted to lick him. Afterward I would have missed looking through the trees in the park to see clouds lit up by a full moon as if it were day:

On Friday, June 9, 2017, I would have missed working on a letter to a United States District Judge for the Central District of California as part of my project to stop judicial interference with the defense function and help restore the Constitution and reform the federal indigent defense system across the country. I then would have missed selling a bunch of ether at a market high because the advice I have received from friends in finance sank in, I guess, and I realized that I need to be cognizant of current buy and sell limits back into fiat — especially when the market is as frothy as it is right now and could correct — or even crash — at any moment. It was at that moment I whispered to myself that maybe I am a trader — and it felt quite natural in the moment. I so want to be where I can operate entirely in crypto, but the reality is that the transition process will take time. After that twist of bittersweetness, I would have missed treating myself to an afternoon trip to Central Park that began with a stop for a few moments in this church:

I would have missed walking up from 59th or so to the Met, through a verdancy that revived my appreciation for the East Coast:

In the evening I would have missed a conversation with a Brand Designer at the Baths about bitcoin that prompted a passerby to inject, “Ether!,” at which point we propelled into a conversation about the cypto market and he admitted that he had no idea what he was buying — which reinstilled faith in my earlier decision to retreat with my initial capital for the moment. Several minutes later I would have missed a massage from a Dentist in the sauna, while the Brand Designer also put his hands on certain parts of my body and told me he loved me, and another friend, the Healer, placed vibrating tongs at various pressure points — all of which culminated in the sensation that I was in place in the world and so grateful to be touched by other human beings and very much in need of intimacy and sex that will hopefully come. Before he left, the Brand Designer engaged me in an exercise to conceive a man I might like to date, and the next thing I knew we were talking about a 5’11” Italian academic- or engineer-type who appreciates me for who I am — which, the Brand Designer noted, encompasses a dedication to the underprivileged. It’s okay if I don’t get that whole interlude. I fell asleep marveling at how open and remarkable interactions with men at the Baths continue to be now that I go topless every time — but not before I headed up to the roof, sat on one of the tabletops agape at the beauty of a night where the temperature was such that I could not tell where I ended and the rest of the world began:

On Saturday, June 10, 2017, I would have missed paying a credit card by deducting money straight from a bitcoin wallet for the first time — with what could, I guess, be called bitcoin profits? I also would have missed joining my new blockchain buddy and her famous artist/writer friend at an anarchist noise protest against the so-called March Against Sharia in front of the state and federal courthouses in downtown Manhattan. I would have missed lunch with them after and whatever happens next. Meanwhile I would have missed transitioning into a state where I, and my “money,” are just passing through. Why would I hold onto something for value in the future if it has a greater value for me to spend it now? Wherever I leave off becomes the new starting point and I just move forward from there as zero instead of some arbitrary point in the past. In the afternoon, I would have missed being retained for the first time with ether, and then leaping back into some new ether holdings on an upswing (that has been bouncing around since then) as I stepped into the perception that, if I am willing to be ETH-retained and someone is willing to ETH-retain me, then the ecosystem retains relevance and potential. Basically, I was like, Well, shit, if I’m up for it then that’s good enough for the moment. In the evening I would have missed a “date” with a Strange Bearded Man from the Baths — a self-identified “Israelite” — who keeps talking about holding a new Constitutional Convention whenever I see him. I would not have missed missing the point where I told him I was a boy before and I could see the fire of attraction in his eyes turn to ice in an instant — but I very much would have missed responding, when he asked how I felt, that I regretted losing my time and I felt pity. “For me?” he asked, somewhat shocked. Upon which I nodded, and smiled inside. At night, I would have missed dreaming about the crypto market cap bouncing in between $107B and $111B and having sex with the Canadian Pilot on the floor of a hotel room that I assumed was mine even though I had not paid for it.

On Sunday, June 11, 2017, I would have missed joy overwhelming me in bubbles at 5Rhythms dance class during one of the chaos waves, being hugged by the Beautifully-Soft-Lipped Latin Teacher afterward, and asking him for the name of the song that is mesmerizing me on repeat as I type this. I would have missed walking home on a summer day. I would have missed an afternoon nap in the sun coming in the window and learning about computer memory and hacking afterward. I would have missed seeing the Once-Curly-Haired-Now-Balding Afghan Man at the Sufi khaniqah, and the spark at the base of me when he said Hello and those eyes of his — like obsidian polished by water on a river bed since the beginning of time — opened up to me that deep and mysterious world he carries inside. I also would have missed trading my last remaining bitcoin for ether right before the former dropped and the latter lurched. And I would have missed these texts from The Healer:

If she believes it, maybe so could I.

On Monday, June 12 2017, I would have missed waking up to ether skyrocketing and starting to mount a challenge on bitcoin for market dominance — just as the market cap dropped from over $117B to $103B. I would also have missed being hacked. I would have missed literally running across Manhattan during a heat wave to a mobile carrier store to reactivate my SIM card back into my own phone. And I would have missed stopping the attack right before they could have really started trying to hit my main funds. I would not have missed missing cauterization of the one trading account that my attacker did infiltrate — nor would I have missed the loss that followed. But I very much would have missed the experience of it all, what I learned, and how much more edified I feel in protecting myself against vulnerabilities. I also would have missed absorbing information over the past couple days from CS50, Harvard’s online introduction to computer science, which had prepared me with at least some understanding of what was happening to me as it was happening. I would also have missed Jimmy taking my call after so much silence and helping me process it. Oh my goodness the sound of his voice… Lastly I would have missed the inner peace at the eye of the storm that ballasted me — a passage from Ludwig von Mises that I had just come across:

Production is not something physical, material, and external; it is a spiritual and intellectual phenomenon. Its essential requisites are not human labor and external natural forces and things, but the decision of the mind to use these factors as means for the attainment of ends. What produces the product are not toil and trouble in themselves, but the fact that the toiling is guided by reason. The human mind alone has the power to remove uneasiness.

For it was those words that reminded me, throughout it all, that I have an education and a career and a mind on which I can rely no matter what happens out here in the world. No, not lastly. One more thing. Before the hack or any of these other thoughts occurred to me, I would have missed walking as I have so many times down a street lined with trees that, in my mind’s eye of things past, I could see as saplings:

On Tuesday, June 13, 2017, I would have missed spending the whole day studying the hack and how to fortify myself against another one. I would have missed the moment — at some point in the afternoon — when I saw how my attacker got to me, how long he was inside me and where, and what he did while he was there. It makes so much sense in retrospect. As with my sexual assailant years ago, I want to shoot him in the head. I want him incapacitated and preferably dead. If I were defending him — a representative at my mobile carrier said it was a guy who called in to effectuate the handiwork — I would argue that the loss was not that big at all, and at any rate mitigated. But I would know without a doubt, just as I knew when my assailant was choking me in a headlock and threatening to kill me years ago — that I would, after that moment, never be the same. More than anything yesterday, I would have missed leaving Jimmy a voicemail conveying what I learned about self-protection. Can I also say I would also have missed the warmth of catching up with my legal colleagues at an Inn of Court event, some complimentary and encouraging words from judges and others, and a hug that went on for minutes from one of my favorite prosecutors — a natural among the fairest of them all — whose wedding ring has dashed whatever hopes long lingered in my heart.

On Wednesday, June 14, 2017, I would have missed figuring out that I am legally protected against any losses from the hack and I know whom I can sue for failing to provide adequate security. I also would have missed the awkwardness of hanging out at the Baths with a new blockchain friend whom I met at Consensus. I would have missed reclining on the roof amidst a pleasant summer evening talking about crypto and choosing my words based on a learning curve the momentum of which feels as though it has pulled the skin on my face back. And I would have missed a conversation with some guy from Tinder or OKC or whatever, and the emptiness inside as he talked and talked away, reminding me with each word how Rumi said that we must break our hearts until they open… but I fear mine has shattered into too many pieces to retrieve. I would still like to have sex, though — to lie in bed with a man and exchange tenderness and body fluids and touch each other for a while before everything goes to shit. How ironic that, earlier in the day, I also would have missed reading the responses to a post I did on Facebook for Pride Month:

That moment when you haven’t talked about being transgender for a long time and out-of-the-blue someone seeks advice and you say, “I would not recommend it unless there is truly no other option and you are prepared to be considered by most people as a second-class human being for the rest of your life” — and suddenly you are right back on the bathroom floor in Cairo, Egypt, weeping because you cannot touch your own body in the shower anymore and you scream, “I don’t care if it means I’m alone forever” — and so you go ahead with something irreversible and never look back. We talk a lot about the positive stuff and all the cheerleading and everything else, but the truth of the matter lies here: Would you ever see a transgender person as a potential mate? And, if you would not, can you see how far we still have to go?

On Thursday, June 15, 2017, I would have missed the excitement of heading back to Los Angeles and my first exposure to machine learning and the Python programming language on the airplane. I also would have missed running into a colleague at the Los Angeles Athletic Club, which made me feel quite at home in the world — especially since it was 4:30 pm and so I could appreciate how lucky in life I have been and am. And I would have missed sitting with my aunt on the ledge next to the sewage ejection pit, gazing out over the backyard and the houses in my neighborhood and the park hills and the mountains in the distance, talking about the past year and how awful it was and how in all ways except romance (ever since Jimmy) everything is finally getting better — interwoven with memories of the summer I spent with her in Guatemala 22 years ago, when she taught me how to go out into the world, the guerilla-fighter infested mountains, the lakeside pueblos, the vast unknown — without any fear, simply by knowing that other human beings will be there. I would have missed ether rebounding back up to where I last bought more, after it lost 40% of its peak value in the most recent price swing drama this week.

On Friday, June 16, 2017, I would have missed awakening in Los Angeles and lifting up off the past and present on my morning run through the park, after a couple of weeks away. I would have missed exhausting myself in a conversation with my aunt about what I should do with my life, and going in circles with her until she observed that I was probably just happy to have someone new to talk about all this stuff with. But I also would have missed that moment near the conclusion of the discussion where I came to understand that it is I alone who can fully appreciate all the considerations that must go into my decisions, and I alone who am empowered to make them, and there’s no one but I who must live with the consequences — for worse, or for better. I would also have missed being energized by a meeting with a client, even after I thought I was too tired from traveling and talking ad infinitum about my issues. There is really nothing like work and productivity to restore a sense of purpose that may, in turn, fortify well-being. I also would have missed the hug my client gave me after our meeting, a few minutes’ relaxation at the Los Angeles Athletic Club afterward, and the taste of Turkish Smyrna figs as my aunt and I talked some more before bed in the evening breeze passing through the house like a parade of ghosts.

On Saturday, June 17, 2017, I would have missed the crack of a baseball bat echoing American youth and vigor throughout the valley where I live. I also would have missed my heart leaping as my aunt came up the stairs and I knew that I would not have to be alone. I would have missed her cleaning out the Keurig coffeemaker with a needle and fixing something I did not realize was broken. I would have missed talking to her all the way down the 5 to visit Mom, and our dinner together at my favorite Indian restaurant down in Orange County. I admit to myself that I also would have missed thinking about the prosecutor who hugged me because a couple of years ago, when I told him I was living out here in California, he told me that he liked OC, and so whenever I am down there I think of him and what life might be like if I were normal and desirable as a companion and relationship material and all those things I am afraid will always remain behind the walls of a castle I may never enter.

On Sunday, June 18, 2017, I would have missed playing water polo, calling Dad for Father’s Day, and dozing in the hammock after the neighbors turned off the pump that circulates water in the kiddie pool they have in the backyard under their balcony. I would have missed the beginning of summer (well, two days early).

On Monday, June 19, 2017, I would have missed posting on Facebook:

To my hacker: I will never forget the 22 minutes it took for me to run across Manhattan in a heat wave to get to where I could stop you — and cauterize harm at the threshold level designed to grab data on people just like you. Thank you for exposing the systemic vulnerabilities persisting among mobile phone and e-mail services that we must continue to fortify. By now you realize you chose the wrong lawyer who holds a United States National Security Clearance with Top Secret eligibility. Enjoy having the U.S. Intelligence Community alerted to your activities. Enjoy having the FBI after you. And, when we meet again, enjoy having your face ripped off, your heart torn out, and your carcass left for carnage on a courtroom floor. The last man who attempted to penetrate me without permission ended up in jail. He thought he was anonymous, too. We are coming for you.

…and feeling better because, well, fuck him. I also would have missed seeing a Dear Lawyer Friend I have known for a dozen years from the whole transgender thing, and having dinner with him and his friend and his friend’s partner and being surprised, once again, how little people know about cryptocurrency. I would not have missed the knot in my throat before the friend and the partner came, when my Dear Lawyer Friend asked me how I was doing and I told him I cannot face dating anymore, I cannot face another man telling me Sorry, I’m not into that, I just cannot. I would have missed saying Goodbye outside in summer clothes and sandals as the world passed by on Sunset Boulevard.

On Tuesday, June 20, 2017, I would have missed the first day of summer for reals. I would have missed that nail-biting hour in front of the computer, after a week-long emotional crash that disguised itself as exhaustion, when I tumble into the conviction that I will never be able to function properly again — and then all of a sudden I roll up my sleeves and get to work on practicing law and I feel instantly better, and, after a while, almost hopeful. I would have missed calling Senator Feinstein’s office in Washington to oppose the legislation she’s sponsoring that would require anyone passing customs to declare cryptocurrency holdings over $10,000 — and explaining to the clueless staffer that other federal agencies consider it property or a commodity — so perhaps the government should develop a uniform approach to this new asset class before they try to regulate it — and, by the way, what research has the Senator done to familiarize herself with this technology and how it works, anyway? I also would have missed showing up at our little precinct over in Boyle Heights to report my phone heist and secondary crypto exchange theft. I would have missed learning that I was the third person within 24 hours from my mobile carrier to report an infiltration — and that’s just when this (very cute) officer happened to be taking complaints. I would have missed the feeling that I probably should have sold out of ether at the moment, and, as I was walking the hallways in my office building, that perhaps I should get rid of my office for the time being, too. Because it’s 2017 now and everything is different and who needs brick and mortar.

On Wednesday, June 21, 2017, I would have missed selling almost all my ether about three hours before the tumble from $335 to $296, followed by the flash crash on GDAX that prompted various exchanges to freeze trading for a couple of hours. I watched the price hold static at $335 for so long that the stasis caused me to speculate that something was happening — and then I thought back to yesterday’s Status ICO which raised $270m in ether — for a messenger app? — and last week’s Bancor ICO for, what was it, $150m in ether — and it occurred to me that a massive selloff or crash, or a combination of both, seemed likely. I therefore would not have missed missing a couple of hours in which I would have thought a whole bunch of my ether had declined in value by 96%. Nor would I have missed the remainder of the day — up until noon today, as I write this, pretty much — when the price did not recover. But surely I would have missed a meeting with the first client who retained me in ether. Meanwhile, at one point in the day, I would very much have missed seeing a man’s arms as he clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back — oh how I love when they do that — though I could have done without the reminder that so much of the world remains off-limits to me. I would have missed watching the last online session of Harvard’s introductory computer science course with the front door open as the breeze rustled the palm tree leaves in the front yard and ambled through the house — only empty now that my aunt was gone.

Next chapter…

If this project speaks to you, please feel free to donate in crypto. Thank you for reading.

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