Embracing masculinity has been a life-long process. I was always a tall, athletic girl with a knack for basketball, softball, and gym class—a baby butch in the making. I grew up with three rough-housing older brothers. My dad enlisted us to help with construction projects. We all had to shovel the driveway, and my favorite chore was mowing our big, Minnesotan lawn with our John Deere. I had a childhood infused with typically "masculine" experiences, which I cherish and gravitate toward to this day. For most of my life, I went about the world as what I call a butch-in-femme-wrapping. I decided to cut this act in my early twenties. I got myself the “boy” haircut that I had always secretly wanted, and started wearing clothes that I adored from the men’s department. Despite some social discomforts of going against the grain, outwardly presenting my masculine self has been a marvelous improvement to my life. For all my sunny talk of gender-queer life in the Midwest, I must note how truly lucky I am for the general acceptance I receive from folks around me despite presenting myself against social norms.