anza jarschke

I am sitting at the Reno DMV.

6/28/2019

I’ve been here once before. It was when I first moved to Nevada and I had to get my residential and insurance affairs in order. I was distraught about giving up my California residency, something I had as part of my identity for the entirety of my life thus far. My gut wrenched as California instituted a gender marker “X” on drivers licenses starting the month I moved. I came out as gender non-binary just months before. Yet there I was, in Nevada, getting a drivers license, circling that little “F," silently crying for my identity.

Fast forward to three months. I’ve just turned 29 and I am feeling good about the move to Nevada and the life I’m making for myself. A dear friend who still hasn’t quite gotten the hang of my pronouns (they/them/theirs) asks if I’ve heard about the non-binary option for Nevada residents on their drivers license.

I hadn’t. How had I missed this? I knew about California’s for months ahead of time, and Nevada’s had gone into effect the day before I'm hearing about it.

This moment was one I had been waiting for, yet I didn’t quite know what to do with. I had written off changing my gender marker as an option for me, so I was trepidatious about committing so quickly without thinking it through. Then I realized I wanted the Nevada DMV *flooded* with people changing their gender marker, illustrating how important this is. I needed to be part of that demonstration. I searched the internet to figure out what I needed to do. From what I could tell I just needed to go to the DMV and renew my license that was only three months old. I would simply have to choose “X” as an option and pay the renewal fee.

Driving up to the DMV two weeks later, my mouth got dry, but also somehow had too much saliva in it. I hadn’t told anyone I was doing this and suddenly I felt very alone. I walked inside and checked in. They handed me the yellow form for a license renewal, I scanned it quickly and staring at me were only two letters: “M” and “F”.

“Excuse me, I’m here to change the gender marker on my license and I only see two options.” I am informed that the computer system is ahead of the paper forms. I simply have to let my helper know that I’d like an “X.”

apprehensively waiting

For a moment I second guess myself. This morning, after I had made my DMV appointment I went to buy a plane flight for later this summer. I didn’t know what to chose for gender. There was an X option, but until I knew that was going to be on my license I wanted to wait. I questioned this choice then, too. Yes that airline had the option, but what if others didn’t? Was this going to make my life even harder? Was this going to be a choice that I would question many more times over the course of the next 8 years with this tiny piece of plastic?

My number (A1147) is called and sent to counter 3. My helper has never done this and asks me for legal documents. I do not need these, according to the articles I have read. I inform her of this and she takes my license away to go ask for help. I sit there, alone, pondering if this is more trouble than it’s worth. Wondering how others in this same situation are faring. After six minutes I hear distant laughing coming from the office I watched my helper walk into. I try not to feel like they are laughing at me. She comes out moments later.

smiling.

After sitting back down and replacing the keys into her desk drawer, she asks me some questions about my address and birthday. I am instructed to write an “X” next to the “M” and “F” and to circle it. I do this. I give her my credit card for the $9.25 fee. Papers are handed to me and I walk over to the photo station where I sign my name and get a “VOID” shaped hole punch in my previous license. I am asked to take off my glasses and to tuck my wild curls behind my ears (for face recognition software). The photographer says “you can smile if you want to.”

And I do smile, because I do want to, because this hassle is worth it. Because in 7-10 business days my main form of identification with align with how I identify. Yes, moving forward it’s going to be more cumbersome than if it was a tiny “F” on that card, but at least it will be accurate.

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"Home Means Nevada"

1/18/2019

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I was born and raised in the Bay Area of California. Until this week, that remained my residence.

Through the years, it’s been no mystery that living in the Bay Area of California was a gift. The progressive politics, the things I took for commonplace, the mild weather, the delicious food. Yet, like so many others, I’ve also been faced with the fact that staying in my home state was becoming less and less feasible.

I don’t take relocation and migration lightly and it’s hard to think about my life in terms of someone being displaced from their home. Hearing a recent report that those making $120,000 annually in California are considered “lower-class,” I reconsider, slightly. The truth is, in being financially forced out of the life I’ve come to know, I must relocate, which in turn directly contributes to displacing others. I still hold ample privilege in this situation and wanted to relocate as ethically as possible. In college, I made a life for myself in Northern Nevada for four years before returning to the Bay. When looking at my relocation options, I hoped to stay as in-community as possible--which led me to Reno.

As of today, January 18, 2019, I am a resident of Nevada. I have traded in the Golden State for the Silver State. My license plate now reads “Home Means Nevada.”

I thought I would have more time. More time to transition. More time to come to terms with the relocation before I would hand over my license to be hole punched to say “VOID” across my home. The man checks my papers, “Ah, another refugee! Well, welcome! You’ll like it here! It’s no Napa, but when you get used to our mountains, those valley hills will pale in comparison.”

I had dreamed of renewing my California license this year with the newly passed opportunity to have a nonbinary gender marker. I enjoyed not having to plan my day around the snow forecast. This isn’t to say I’m not excited and looking forward to the adventures awaiting me in my new home. I'm just reconciling what it means to give up a piece of my identity to do it. People do it all the time--and many are forced into leaving their homes for much more serious reasons than I will ever face. It was all so simple, too. It took me a three-hour drive, some paperwork, and 45 minutes total at the DMV. (You know, in the Bay Area the DMV wait would have been easily three times that--so it isn't all bad.)

Throughout this transition, I’ve held onto one thing: my vote matters in Nevada. Nevada is a swing state and my radical politics can make a difference here. Instead of Gavin Newsom, I now have to check up on Steve Sisolak, who is the first democratic governor Nevada has elected in 20 years.

As I walk out of the DMV this morning, there is a young man with a petition. I have just registered to vote, so I am particularly excited to have this opportunity to engage in local politics.

With kind eyes, he asks, “Would you like to a sign a petition to protect your gun rights today, ma’am?”

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an open letter

11/25/2018

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TLDR; I will be finishing my time at Djerassi Resident Artists Program at the end of the year, a place that I am immensely grateful for. I don’t know what’s next. (Bonus: my pronouns are they/them/theirs.)

one of the first photos I took, featuring "Yeild to Whim" by Frank Foreman

To whom it may concern:

As of 2019, I will no longer be managing Djerassi Resident Artists Program. For nearly two and a half years it has been a pleasure to be in direct service to supporting hundred of artists from around the world. I applied for this job, knowing if I didn’t I would regret it for the rest of my life. It fit me in so many ways, syncing up to my dreams of working and living on land for an organization that prioritized investing in artists, and sometimes there were even cows. I have grown in ways I imagined I would, and in more ways than I could have predicted.

Djerassi Resident Artists Program was founded in response to the tragic death by suicide of Pamela Djerassi Bush. Pamela was just 28 years old when she took her own life. This year, when I turned 28, living on this same mountaintop nearly 40 years later, I found the void between us shrink. I honor Pamela for the life she lived, and the vast network of artists, scientists, and others that have been nurtured in direct relation to her.

I, myself, have been nurtured by this land* and by the people here. I have been blessed with a team of stunning coworkers, and even more impressive are the artists that have come through over my tenure. I love and respect each so deeply, and thank them all for letting me into a tiny piece of their life and process. It is with deep appreciation that some of those artists have stayed in my orbit even after departing from their residency.

From my spot as residency manager, I continually worked towards an atmosphere for artists to reach the level of vulnerability they need to be able to create the meaningful work we all so desperately need. In a time of increasing discontent and destruction, artists are the magicians that are creating something out of nothing. And we need this more than ever. Like a fly on the wall, I was able to witness this creation, this passion, this struggle, time and time again. And unlike a fly on the wall, I answered calls at 2 AM, wrote yet another email, and drove into town for shampoo or wine. I also witnessed hundreds of sunsets that took my break away each and every evening.

I will never be able to quantify, qualify, or explain what this position was to me. All this gratitude is not to say it hasn’t been hard. The past two and a half years have been some of the most difficult in my life. Through these challenges, though, I have grown in ways that only move me closer to the person I aspire to be. I have faced my fears in this job, daily, and that has taught me how to tackle the scarier things in all aspects of my life. I have found solutions in impossible situations. I have worked myself harder than my body could handle, and learned from it. I am immensely proud of what I have accomplished here.

This position afforded me opportunities I didn’t expect. Including living in a tiny cabin, with the downstairs neighbor (read: rat) that scuttles around at 3:30 AM every morning. I also travelled a ton, started backpacking again, and even managed to get an MA in Social Justice and Community Organizing by basically not sleeping for a year. With the support of a couple co-workers I came out as non-binary, adopting they/them/theirs pronouns (yes, I did just drop that into the middle of all this). Plus, I am now completely unbothered by spiders, learned how to tow cars out of mud, relocated live rattlesnakes, and much more. I practiced what it means to be a good ally--sometimes being more successful than others. I showed up to hard conversations and listened when people needed to be heard.

As I wrap up the end of another successful season, I plan my departure. My next adventure is still unknown, though there are a handful of options. What I do know is that I am curating an art exhibition at Sierra Nevada College that is on view January 3-February 8, 2019. More details to come, but perhaps I will see you there. Until then, I will be here finalizing projects and preparing a smooth transition for my successors through the end of the year. If you have some interest in having a job you cannot explain, while living in a place that is unbelievable, alongside the most talented artists you will ever meet, you can think about applying to replace me. I cannot say you won’t regret it, but I can guarantee there will not be a dull moment to be had.

With deep love and gratitude.

*I want to acknowledge that this land is the traditional territory of, and sacred to, the Ramaytush, Ohlone, and Ahmamutsen people

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