But why?

 

Growing up I was, as I am now, not a kid who went unnoticed. I was loud, silly, and opinionated. My parents told me my body and voice were mine and even as a kind in the 70s, I knew that I was meant to question when things simply did not make sense to me. I was raised to believe that if I asked good questions, I would get good answers. Mostly. I clearly recall an exception to that rule. It was the “but why” exception. Often when I asked my mother “but why” about any number of things – why can’t I have ice cream, why can’t I watch that show, why can’t I stay out later - her response was “because I said so.” That phrase made absolutely no sense to me. I was a scientist’s daughter – I knew why the sky was blue and why baby bird sometimes fell out of the nest and why sedimentary rock could tell me how old an area was. So how was it possible that the answer to other very important (to me) questions were shot down with no explanation.

It enraged me so that I remember knowing even at 10 or 11 years old that I would never say that to my children. That even small, they were people, and all people deserve a why. That understanding my reasoning, would help them understand me. Hopefully one day understanding me would help them navigate the world of adults.

I kept that promise. I assure you that there are 1,000 others I did not. Bribery – anything to make them stop crying on an airplane, junk food – it will not kill them, R movies – I will take bad language and sex over gratuitous violence any day. But that one I kept. Partly because I have a vastly different communication with my kids than I had with my parents and partly because I cannot handle not knowing why.

Ask my wife and she will quickly tell you that I need my world to make sense. I think one of the reasons I never gravitated to science fiction or fantasy is grounded in my need for things to make sense. I have a strong commitment to fairness, reality, and a disdain for lying, fakery and a lack of why. Even as an adult when something happens that does not compute for me, I need to try to get to the bottom of the why. This is where the growth happens for me. 

I should be clear; this need is not esoteric. It is not a why did this person have to die, or why is there antisemitism, racism, or hurricanes. I am humble enough to know that those are answers are way beyond me. This more personal, more soul searching and reflective. It is the why that require someone else to provide an answer they are often unwilling to give. Why aren’t we friends anymore? Why didn’t I get that job? Why would you say something bad about me behind my back? Knowing these answers would allow me to reflect on my own self-improvement as well as to recognize that many times when it feels like it’s about me, it actually isn’t. I tell my kids all of the time “no one thinks about you as much as you think about you.”

But those “whys” hurt as much now as they did as a kid. It is the knowledge that someone could provide the answer but chooses not to. It is the self-flagellation I go through trying to determine if it is me or them or none of the above. It is the deep dive into my self-confidence. It is the NOT KNOWING that keeps me up at night.

I know I am not alone, nor am I paranoid. I simply want things to make sense to me. Countless people (especially women) feel this way. That makes perfect sense to me. What makes absolutely no sense to me are the people who can move on with a “I am sure there’s a reason,” “it is not about me,” etc. I was clearly not born with whatever that gene is.

I also never want to burden someone with my needs. I try to ask for constructive feedback when something does not work out and I mean it. I would give I the same if asked because I want to honor the way that a lack of why impacts people.

I am not sure if it is a blessing or a curse to be a person who questions. I know it makes me a better mom, a better wife and friend. It also makes me a better marketer to ask why – it helps me get to the insights that matter, the nugget that will make us matter. Unfortunately, it also leaves me regularly frustrated when a why is just not going to materialize no matter how much I want one.

So, I am left with questions. How does someone not turn inward when there is no why - not assume it is about them or try to unbox the puzzle that likely cannot be unboxed? Rationally I know that not everything has a why and not all things make sense, but damn if I am not stubborn enough to want them to.

Peripheral Grief

Today two of my camp friends will fly to attend another friend's funeral. The irony that they are flying on 9/11 is not lost on any of us. Tomorrow I will attend the same funeral virtually. The irony that COVID is the reason that is even an available option is not lost on me either. 

On 9/11 I was a New Yorker in the Midwest. Completely freaked out and so far from "home." It took hours to confirm that those closest to me were alright, though no one was really alright. I was here and yet my pain was real and raw. In reality though, it was peripheral. Do I have college friends who lost spouses and parents, yes. Did a mom from my hometown never come home, yes. Did that day change me more as a lifelong New Yorker, also yes.

Your peripheral vision is your side vision, the ability to see things outside of your direct line of sight. And so often, such is our grief. My friend lost her sister, a boy lost his mother, and a father, his daughter. They are the mourners. They are the ones with the right to cry and scream and curse the sky. They are the ones who must put aside their grief to plan and organize and respond to questions. So why is my heart so heavy when I had not seen this friend in 30 years? Why did I have to be physically restrained from driving to my mother in New York 22 years ago today?

I used to think that everyone felt as deeply as I do. That they felt the pain of others and their own grief was not based on how recent or frequently they connected with someone who was now gone. I have come to understand that is not the case for everyone, that I am both blessed and cursed with peripheral grief.

If you have never attended sleep-away camp, it is a difficult concept to explain. It is hard for someone to wrap their minds around the bonds built in such a short but intense time together. It is hard to imagine that neither time nor distance can diminish how it feels when someone you grew up with in that environment is struggling. It is peripheral grief, and it is heavy.

If you have never felt your city in your bones, then it is equally hard to imagine why anyone who was a New Yorker, considers themselves one for life. That when something or someone destroys the fabric of what makes it the greatest city on earth, New Yorkers around the globe mourn. It is peripheral grief, and it is hard.

I still cannot wrap my brain around the idea that Randi is gone, or that Amy has lost her sister. I was just texting with Randi on July 20^th as she shared the astonishing news that the pharma company was going to cover her immunotherapy. I had reached out to her as soon as I knew she was sick and then again when she was fighting the insurance company with ideas with the little expertise I have in the area. I cannot wrap my heart around it either. It is peripheral grief, and there are times when I feel guilty for it. Who am I to have the right when those so close to her are the true mourners. But then a text dings or a call comes through, and it is another camp friend, and they share the same hurt and I know that we can find comfort in each other. In the past. In the knowing.

Earlier today I responded to one of the women flying today – “I know you are flying to the funeral today of all days, and luckily you have a newly anointed angel watching over you.” And while I do not really believe in g-d, or angels in any literal sense - I do believe in camp friends. I believe in cities that are part of our fabric. I believe in our collective peripheral grief, and it makes us all a little less alone.

Thoughts for my Daughter (and maybe yours) on the First Day of Being an Adult

It is 5:58 am, and I cannot sleep. I have been awake since just about the time you were born on this day 18 years ago. Let's blame muscle memory. That day started out calmly with an induction (God forbid you'd come out on your own before 40.5 weeks) and ended in chaos. That epidural I tried to push off, but which was eventually given, sent us both downhill and we wound up in an emergency c-section. I remember that my OB was on the gurney with me as they wheeled me into the OR, she was trying to hold me in a less dangerous position. They almost left your dad in the hallway, but I asked for him and they ran and got him right before they cut you out of me. When you didn't cry, I panicked. And I will never forget your dad saying "well, she's not crying, but she is staring right at me with the widest eyes."

I share that story of your beginning, because it was not at all like we'd planned or imagined. In the end, it gave us you, and in that way, it is exactly like life.

Today according to the law, you are an adult. We've said that before when you were Bat Mitzvahed and on that day according to Jewish Law you were "an adult" (take that with a grain of salt because when the Torah was written, most women didn't live past their 30s). Today though, you earn the right to vote and die for your country - odd when you have not yet technically earned the right to drink legally and in Texas you wouldn't have autonomy over your body - but don't get me started on our archaic legal system.

Instead, my love let's focus on real advice I can give, and hope that you can reflect on as an adult.

1.  It takes a long time to feel like an adult and once you do, you will realize you've been doing it for a while. It's not so much the bills and jobs and rent/mortgage etc. It's the realization that you are responsible for yourself and others. It is in being counted on and looked to, and the weight of that responsibility. It's a blessing and a burden, and being an adult never ends. 

2.  I will love you no matter what. Nothing you could do would ever change that. You will find only a handful of others who will be your "ride or die" people in this life. You will know then when you find them, hold on to them for dear life and show up for them no questions asked. Your sister is one of them, so you already have an example by which to recognize the rest. These are the drop everything, where are we burying the body, here is my kidney kind of people. You can face anything in life as long as you have them. Large groups of friends are overrated and inconsistent. These are your people.

3. You owe NO ONE an explanation of who you are and where you are going. You are just at the beginning of the journey in figuring this out, and I assure you that it will morph and change 100 times before you feel yourself in your skin. Do not let anyone make you feel like you owe the world an explanation. Your gender, your sexuality, your passions, your major, your path, your friends, your journey - they are yours alone. I might not always understand or agree, but you will ALWAYS have my support. 

4. Stay weird and curious. You have been from day one, uniquely you. You are brilliant and funny and work harder than anyone I know. Your thirst for knowledge is endless. You are the most curious person I know. These traits sometimes make you feel different or awkward, but they are neither. They are what make you exactly who you are, and I hope that never changes. We spend far too much time conforming to be who we think we are supposed to be, and that will never make you happy. I learned this lesson way late in life, and my wish for you is that you never feel the need to change for anyone or anything. The world will try to change you. I promise to be here to remind you that just because someone you love doesn't understand you, does NOT mean the burden is on you to be different.

5. Listen to your gut. Drinking and drugs are a normal part of being an adult. This means that you need to do your best to not be an idiot. But since that is inevitable, this is where friends and kindness come in. Never leave a friend alone over a toilet - grab water and their hair and know that next time it could be you. Never leave a drunk or high friend alone in a questionable situation, if your gut says otherwise. Do your best to avoid situations that feel off. And it's not just drinking and getting high. Your gut is the single best North Star you have. Listen to it anytime you are unsure and know that 98% of the time it will be right. For the other 2%, call me. My advice is free.

6. Sex is awesome. Trust me here, eventually the awkward fumbling in the dark becomes something intimate, empowering, and even fun. But sex is power, my love and people will use it in all kinds of ugly ways. So, make sure that you are always in charge of your heart and your body. There should be no shame in sex, no blame and no will ALWAYS FUCKING MEANS NO. But again, sex is power, and people will abuse that. So be safe (never count on anyone else to keep you safe), trust your gut, be kind, have fun, be generous with yourself and others, but please be careful.

7. Your anxiety can be a strength. This is a lesson you have taught me. I was wrong to believe that your anxiety was only harmful. While it's important to help moderate it, you have taught me that it is also your superpower. It motivates and drives you. It pushes you to excel and learn. It is, in essence, your driver. However, anxiety can also be crippling and so can perfectionism. So, try to find a balance as best as you are able. Cut yourself some slack as you move into college and find things that make you feel alive and are not centered around achievement. Grades are such a superficial measurement and even though they mean everything to you now, I promise you will never remember what you got in AP Bio 10 years from now. And this applies to humans too. Remember that everyone is just as nervous to make the first move or send the first text. Don't let the "what ifs" stop you from adventure.

8. You are beautiful. I know when you read that you will roll your eyes. That won't make it less true. But it's also because you look in the mirror and only see your insecurities looking back. The world sees something else. And while I think you have a shayna punim, that is not what makes you beautiful. It's the way your eyes shine when you tell us something you are passionate about. The way you laugh with your sister at jokes that only make sense to the two of you. The way you light up the minute the littles get on FaceTime to talk to you. The sense of calm that comes over you when you snuggle a kitty. The fire in your belly when you fight injustice. The way you cry when you are overwhelmed and done. You are an old soul, and all of it makes you beautiful.

9. Your voice is your future. You are so incredibly passionate about social justice, environmental destruction, the importance of critical thinking, storytelling and adventure. When you chose to use your voice as an advocate, a change maker and a disrupter, you are on fire. You are the epitome of my favorite quote "well behaved women rarely make history." Own your voice, use your voice.

10. You can ALWAYS come home. Home is not a place, per se. Home is the people, the feeling, the history, home is your family. And no matter when or where, you can always come home.  Today, tomorrow and every day for the rest of your life - my door, my arms, my lap and my heart are yours, Talia. You can always come home.

 

 

All of my exes live in Texas

I am still extremely close to my ex-husband’s sister. Her sons are every bit my nephews. But a few weeks ago when introducing her to another friend, I called her “my ex-sister-in-law.” She was appalled and smacked me in the arm, saying “I NEVER refer to you that way.” She’s right and I promised her it wouldn’t happen again. Over the next few weeks I was with my ex's family often - both of my kids celebrated birthdays, two Jewish Holidays etc. We all celebrated each of these occasions together. We have always gotten along well enough to do so, and we know how much it means to our kids. What I didn’t realize was how much it also meant to me.

I have been in Bat Mitzvah Momzilla mode for months. Planning, prepping, scheduling, paying, praying, ranting and raving. One million calendars, spreadsheets, lists, emails, texts and sleepless nights, and it finally arrived last weekend. In a concerted effort to save cost, we've chosen to take on all set-up, decorating and tear-down for both of our daughter’s Bat Mitzvah parties. And this is great in theory, but requires an army of helpers. In advance, I had reached out to mostly the same folks who had helped three years ago for our older daughter. I did this, knowing that the last time I asked, our divorce was still relatively new and I wasn't sure how his family would feel about working as a team. This time, I was even more unsure. I hadn’t seen some of them since the last Bat Mitzvah, three years ago. My ex does not keep in close contact with his family from out of town, and so now I was asking them for a favor for us both, without much context. As it was, some of the “exactly who is attending” was up in the air until the last minute.

But they came. My people. His people. Our kids’ people. They all showed up. Locally and from across the country. And I don’t just mean they showed up, I mean that they SHOWED UP. They arrived full of love and excitement. They were happy to be there. They were eager to shower our family with love, support, congratulations and help. They rolled up their sleeves - grabbed my list of instructions, crates of supplies, double checked that they understood my vision, and got to work. They worked non-stop until we were done. Our people showed up and made the night possible. At no time did anyone stop to question who was helping whom. My partners’ daughter worked with my ex-husband’s girlfriend on the centerpieces. My ex’s cousins worked with my tallest, “cousin” to hang decorations in a spot only a 6’5” man could reach. My parents ran out for missing supplies, my brother-in-law worked with his dad and strung endless word signs. My aunt and uncle wrote signs and filled bowls. Everyone laughed, everyone got along and everyone did this for our daughter. No one hesitated even once to question the scene, to remark how it might be odd in other families.

As the party swung into high gear, the video of our daughter growing up played on the screens. I had worked hard to make sure that everyone in the family was included at least once. This was made harder by the fact that I did not have many pictures of my kids with my ex or his family post-divorce. But I had asked them for some and they sent them – no hesitation. That night we danced and talked and ate and mingled and celebrated for hours and I swear no outsider would have ever known where my family began and his ended. Everyone was happy. Our daughter most of all. To my kids, this is normal, this is how we "family."

To say that I am grateful for the weekend, the family, the friends and the mitzvah would be a huge understatement. In complete transparency though, I am also proud. We made promises to ourselves and each other about how we would “family” in the wake of divorce, and for the most part we have held fast to those promises. In similar fashion to “the days are long, but the years are short,” in divorce - the tough times are tough, but the family we maintain is even sweeter. Its hard work, and we might fail more than we succeed. But we SHOW UP when it matters. And for our daughters - that is all that matters.

A wise friend once told me that divorce is hard as hell in the beginning, horrendous in the middle, and spectacular in the end. I realize now, that spectacular has many parts and this family isn’t an “ex” anything, we are ALL simply family. Thank you to everyone who showed up and reminded me. 

What I Will NOT Do for My Daughters

There are things you know about yourself innately.  Things about the core of your very being that are part of your brand, pieces of your very soul. I know that I am a warrior, that I am stubborn and do not back down easily in the face of injustice. I know that I am far more insecure than anyone who ever told me I was ‘intimidating” would believe. The first time you hold your child, the things you know about yourself shift. I know that I could kill someone who hurt my child. I know that I would do anything for my daughters. The most surprising thing however, as they have become teenagers, is realizing what I WILL NOT do.

I will not shield you from the reality of the world we live in. I will not turn off the news when you walk in the room, or tell you not to read about the stories of horror that shake me to my core. I will not lie and tell you that being abducted or assaulted will not happen to you.  I will not leave you uninformed or miss-informed either. You will be armed and ready with awareness, knowledge and the power of your voice and the strength of your mind.

I will not miss dinnertime with you, the time of day when you ask the most important questions and share your day and your worries.  I will not shy away from the hard ones – “do you have sex even if you don’t want kids,” “why are some girls so damn mean” “could there really be another Holocaust,” “will I have to drive my sister everywhere when I get my license” etc.

I will not hesitate when, even now, you ask me to cuddle with you before bed. I will not stop rubbing your back, or smelling your head or holding you close until you tell me, I must. I will not take these moments for granted. I will not refuse when it has been a shitty day and you want to sleep in my bed with me. I will not remind myself, that those times will become fewer and further between.

I will not soften the world for you. I will not lie or avoid hard truths. I will be your safe place to land when it becomes too much. I will not stop advocating for what is best for you. Exercise, sleep, healthy food - all with equal measure of ice cream, belly laughs and saying yes to your crazy ideas.

I will never say, “because I told you so” or “that’s not your business.” I will never ignore your feelings even when I disagree. I will never tell you that you are too much of anything. The world will cut you down enough. I will never couch my own experiences when you ask me for the truth – “did you drink, do drugs, and have sex, at my age?” I will not bury my head in the sand and pretend that I did not or that your peers do not. I will not pretend that it cannot and will not be you. I will not live in denial. I will not hesitate to arm you with what you need - advice you will not want, a ride home without questions, birth control, a toilet bowl and a cold floor.

I will not steer clear of conversations about health and illness or buy into the stigma around mental illness. I will not pretend that these things do not happen or do not exist. I will seek help without shame when you need it. I will not let you buy into the idea that there is anything ‘wrong’ with you, when life feels overwhelming or ugly. I will not forget to remind you that being a teenager will often suck, but that it does actually get better. I will hold your hand through every storm and every rainbow.

I will not allow the words fat, ugly, or stupid in regards to yourselves. I will not pretend to have a perfect self-image and will do my best to lead by example. I will not curb your individuality, your spirit, your voice, but I will say “hell no” sometimes and I will not expect you to like it. I will not ever give up on you. Even felons have mamas.

I will not badmouth your father just because we are divorced. I will not protect him either. I will not ever imply that either of us was solely responsible for our demise. I will not own more than my share. I will not make any of it your problem or your cross to bear. I will not kid myself that there will be times that it becomes your problem no matter how hard we try.

I will not belittle your passions, even if they are not my own. I will not underestimate your potential, but I will not tolerate laziness. I will not stop supporting you when we disagree. I will not assume that I always know better than you do.  I will not forget to tell you when I learn from you, when I am grateful for your patience. I will not pretend I can help you with your math homework anymore, or that I do not over edit your writing.

I will not prioritize anything or anyone over you – kids first, ALWAYS.  I will not stray from my commitment to be the best and do the best for you. I will not hesitate to remortgage my house if you work hard enough to get into your top choice university. I will forgo my own travel to let you have summers you describe as “the best of my life.” I will not forsake the time I have with you and I will be present when you are there.

I will not underestimate the importance of privacy and trust. I will admit that I am scared shitless about all of the ways the world can hurt you, and choose to give you space and leeway anyway. I will not forget to honor your trust in me and keep your secrets. I will not avoid conversations with your friends about important topics that they might not want to have with their own parents.  I will not be unwilling to hold you accountable for your mistakes and deliver consequences equal to the infraction.

I will not pretend I am not sad, or afraid, or silly or damaged. I am a product of my 43 years and I will not hide that reality from you. I will not embarrass you on purpose, but I will not be anyone but who I am. I will not avoid telling you that you will be the same one day and I hope to still be your soft place to land.

I will not let you forget that our home is our “safe space” and nothing you do will change that. I will not stop telling you that I love you, that I believe in you, that I am proud of you, every day. I will not stop pushing you to be the best you. I will not hesitate to tell you that you can do and be better when you forget.

I will not do everything for you, my girls. I would however, do anything.

Out of the Office Closet

I am an extroverted extrovert, no matter which version of any personality test I take, the answers are nearly identical. Within five minutes of meeting me, you will know I am a transplanted New Yorker, a mom to two teenage girls, Jewish, and typically very open. Within ten minutes, you will likely find that I am witty, warm, and a hugger. Oh, and if we aren’t meeting at work, you’ll quickly know that I’m not straight.

Coming out in my personal life was essentially easy. I was not a teen living in fear. I was not bullied or afraid of being thrown out of my family. I did not have to fear loss of my job, my home, or my loved ones. Coming out after 40 is received with more of a shrug and a “huh, OK.” I had the advantage of being at a place in my life where I knew myself too well to be discouraged.

Though I am openly out and proud in my personal life, I agree with writer Megan Evans who said, “I slip under the radar of both the straight and gay community and experience ‘femme invisibility’ and the assumption of heterosexuality.” (Huffington Post, Megan Evans). I struggle with the fact that anyone who does not know me well assumes I am straight, especially at work.

I have fantastic work relationships. Our atmosphere is friendly and everyone discusses their personal lives and asks about mine. They knew I was married to man, and therefore assumed I was straight. It was too awkward to correct them. I found myself feeling defensive and on the offense at the same time. For me, the craziest part was that I found my extroverted-extrovert-self, quiet and unsure. I was not being authentic or true to myself.

However, the office is like Thanksgiving dinner; there are three topics we do not discuss - sex, politics, and religion. My sexual orientation manages to hit all three. You are likely reading this and thinking “so what, I have so many out LGBTQIA colleagues, its 2018 and my office has an anti-discrimination policy?” Not so fast…

The turning point for me came after a long drive back from an even longer client meeting. I was seated in the back with a female co-worker whom I both adore and admire, but I did not know all that well at the time. She’s been married for a long time, and was asking me about the pains of online dating, and how the apps work. I handed her my phone, not thinking and told her scroll through. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that profiles of both men and woman were appearing and awkwardly mumbled something about an error in the app “I have no idea why there are women’s profiles, how weird.” She looked at me oddly for a moment and then moved on.

That moment felt like a year. I was sweating and nervous and coming undone. I felt sick and silent for the rest of the drive home. Who was I? This was SO not me. I am authentic, I am open, I am an extrovert, and a sharer. I write a blog called Living Life Loudly, for goodness sake. In that moment, though, I was small and my secret was too big to share. I felt exhausted.

I thought about what I would tell my daughters if they were facing the same dilemma, and I knew that was the last time that would happen. There was no widespread proclamation or announcement. After that day, I simply found my own ways to gently correct people’s assumptions – “Are you dating?” “Yes, I have a girlfriend.”

The truth about coming out at work is that the nature of the dynamic environment I work in means that my team often changes, and I wind up “coming out” again and again. Sometimes I can address it head on by repeating the word “girlfriend” two or three times until I can see it click on the coworkers face (since women often use it to refer to a close friend). Other situations are harder - after several offensive remarks, I had to approach a colleague with, “please don’t assume everyone in the room is straight when you speak.” They had the typical deer in headlights “I have no issues, I have tons of gay friends,” response. That one stayed awkward for a while. All of that said; I have not one regret about my decision. No one needs to waste that kind of energy - it is unhealthy and unproductive. And while I’ve had many uncomfortable moments, I can say that I have not faced anything I would consider true workplace discrimination since coming out.

OUTstanding found that 85 percent of those that answered they are closeted at work found that they are wasting too much energy pretending that they are heterosexual. Furthermore, 61 percent said that subsequently, they do not work as hard for their company. I never want that to be the case for me.

Goldman Sachs’s CIO, Marty Chavez once said, “Gay people are happier, healthier, and more productive if they feel they can bring their whole selves to work.” In an internal memo from 2011, he explained, “being authentic is crucial for peace of mind. There are connections that you can build with colleagues and clients based on being candid and authentic."

I couldn’t agree more. This journey, however, is not a sprint; it’s a marathon. I long to see this addressed openly at the highest levels of business and at my own office. Too often, the topic is so fraught with controversy, we avoid it altogether - the only people vested are those who are already part of this community. So that is this year’s commitment to self. Starting this fall, I will ask questions and inspire change. I will become more educated about all of the policies that affect my identity and my employment; I will push for more visibility. I will focus on how I can be part of the change I want to see and feel steadfast in my commitment to being all of me at work, even when it scares this extroverted extrovert.

So, what is my hindsight wisdom? (Caveat – this is not for everyone. Depending on where you live, where you work and safety in your environment - coming out at work might not be for you. Not to worry, you do you. Your reasons are yours; you do not owe anyone anything.)

For me:

1. Being all of me in all facets of my life has made me a significantly happier person. I am more productive, more engaged, and more creative. I bring a different perspective, and am perhaps more sensitive to issues coworkers might be struggling with.

1. I can be an advocate. I want to do more to bring uniquely LGBTQIA concerns to our leadership. In my experience, it is not that people do not care; often it is that they do not understand.

1. Being brave is a process. Sometimes that means baby steps, other times it means wearing your truth to work on a t-shirt the Friday before Pride. In the immortal words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. “you don’t have to see the whole staircase to take the first step.

And Finally...PRIDE

Saturday is PRIDE in Columbus. My girlfriend is in charge of Pride for her college and we will walk together with our three kids. This is new for me. My first Pride parade was only three years ago and I watched quietly from the sidelines beside a woman I had a complicated relationship with. I was not fully out, so I was just a spectator. Last year a friend insisted I not go alone, but with her large cadre of gay friends. They were kind, open, and friendly, but I was still more of a spectator than a participant. This year is the first time I will walk with the person I love and my daughters. I will not merely participate - I will BE. I will be all of me. All of my pieces finally in place and walking with the hope that my children will continue to be whomever they were born as and whomever they chose to be.

I am incredibly lucky. My coming out was essentially easy. I was not a teen living in fear. I was not bullied or afraid of being thrown out of my family. I did not have to fear loss of my job, my home or my loved ones. Coming out after 40 is received with more of a shrug and a “huh, OK.” That’s not to say that there weren’t surprises. My ex-husband worried that people would think it was why we got divorced. My mother wanted to know why I always choose “the hardest path” and some friends questioned if I was “doing what was best for my kids.” I was accused of being a rebel and selfish. Those moments stung, but I had the advantage of being at a place in my life where I knew and believed too much in myself to be discouraged by those voices.

That’s not to say that there wasn’t loss. There was – great, great loss. I lost two of the most important people in the world to me. My confusion, my discovery, my need to figure it out in my own time and on my own path caused each of them great hurt. She ghosted me, which I thought was something you only read about in bad online forums. As for him, I made the mistake in believing the right love means you never leave and was heartbroken when he did. To his credit, he tried to remain in my life, but it became too hard for him. He had moved on, quickly replacing me, yet unable to stay in touch as I eventually moved too. I had wounded them. My tornado came with the expected destruction and in the after-calm, I was alone. 

There has been incredible growth as well. I am so comfortable in this skin of mine. This finally, 100% “all-of-me" skin I now wear.  I have never so much as hesitated to be OUT with my girlfriend and that has affected my kids - IN THE BEST WAYS POSSIBLE! Not only do they adore my girlfriend, they regularly comment that they love our relationship, how we are together in the world. They are proud of us and send their “questioning” friends our way for advice (goodness help us).  All three of our kids are so blessedly unaware of the prejudice we would have faced even 10 years ago. To them we are boringly normal. And honestly, that’s the crazy part about this life of mine – I feel normal too. This is just who I am. It’s just who we are. 

That is until I DARE pay attention to the news. Lesbian couples kicked out of Ubers, Trans murder rates through the damn roof, the Supremes and the fucking cakes, hardware stores with signs hearkening back to separated water fountains, states seeking to disallow gay adoption and Chick-fil-A. I can’t even.

So Saturday we will walk in PRIDE, and I will embrace all of the good, bad, and ugly that comes.  I will no longer be a spectator too afraid to own my whole truth. I will no longer be just an ally. I will no longer fall short of using my voice. I will no longer stand while pieces of who I am walk by. 

I will walk. I will embrace. I will be all of me.