Just to weigh in on my own question,
I think where we want to go, and where we eventually end up, actually defines the end of transition, because sometimes the destination changes along the way. To me, transition is movement, and when we stop moving -- when we stop wanting to move -- we are, de facto, at the end of the journey. Perhaps a new journey then begins, and like Tessa suggest, perhaps we're always in one transition or another, and perhaps we need to be just to stay alive and not stagnate (which is distinctly different from "treading water," which still requires movement).
I kind of deliberately made the poll such that my own answer wasn't there -- I do think the end is more subtle than what we typically think of when starting the journey. For me, transition ended when I finished the things I needed to be gendered female in all spheres of my life. Which, ironically, wasn't exactly "happy and comfortable" with my body and social role, though that comes close. I mean, I certainly wasn't unhappy, but I had a lot of mixed emotions about it.
If there's a single moment when I think my transition finally ended, it was when I first had sex with a man post-op -- not only was I no longer in recovery from the operation, I was now actively engaged with the word in this respect. It was just a one-night stand, a cute guy I picked up at the bar. I stayed "mum" on my medical history. It was a mind-blowing experience, full of contradictions -- like how he could be so gentle and so violent at the same time, how I could be so totally right in my own body and yet a fumbling virgin at the same time. And so forth.
The morning after, I was sore and achey deep inside. "Is this how it feels for all the other women in the world?" Maybe, perhaps, for some. I felt like I was walking around that part of myself, a bow-legged cowgirl, though the mirror told me I was walking normally, just like any other day. But it was at this point that I realized I didn't have to "do" anything else, that I had "arrived," and yet despite my intense joy I was also anxious, and yearning, and even a bit scared, because now I knew I wanted more, and there was my whole life in front of me, waiting for me to step into it and run like the wind.
Except the first "geographic" feature of this internal landscape was a cliff, and I was at the precipice, like The Fool in those old Tarot cards, and the next step was actually going to be a leap of faith. Before I could run, I would have to fly. Happy and comfortable? Yes, but also terrified and uncomfortable as all get out. But I realized, it was this cliff I had always been heading towards, even if I wasn't always aware of it.
