Unmoored

Walking past you docked on the shore, stored for winter

I am reminded how much I want to float away, unmoored.

So heavy in this moment, I fear I would simply drown.

Sinking slowly in the murk, longing for someone, anyone

to pull me by my hair back to the surface.

Knowing instead that I am solitary in my chaos, lone to save myself.

Waking Up Hated

I would imagine that being a Jew today, is not all that different than being Muslim on September 12th, 2001. Which is to say that you wake up each day startled by just how many people hate you. And make no mistake, they hate YOU. They do not limit their hate to a terrorist organization, or a government's policies, they hate your identity and your existence, even if YOU are simply a 20-year old college kid who keeps Kosher at Cornell University. And the most mind boggling of all is the infighting. Jewish friends and family so vehemently standing in their belief that there is only one way to feel, refusing to acknowledge that war spares no one, and that antisemitism is further stoked by anti-Palestine rhetoric.

Let me say these things plainly as they are facts, not opinions.

• Hamas is a terrorist organization who spent a year planning a Pogram in Israel and it carried out on October 7, 2023. The slaughter of innocent Jews was horrific and far too reminiscent of Nazi Germany. The more than 200 hostages still held by Hamas include babies and the elderly, as well as children who are now orphans. 
• October 7 emerged as "the deadliest day for the Jewish people since the Holocaust."
• Worldwide antisemitism appears to have exploded since October 7th and officials are issuing serious warnings about our safety.
• The response to that attack has left thousands of Gazan's injured and dead - without food, water, and electricity. 
• The majority of Palestinians DO NOT support Hamas. Just 27 percent of respondents to a recent poll selected Hamas as their preferred party.

I am the grandchild of Holocaust survivors and "never again" was a concept understood from an early age, even though we were by all accounts, reformed Jews. With that said, I believe in a two-state solution — one in which Israel would co-exist with an independent Palestinian state. I am not an absolutist, because I was raised as a critical thinker and I do not think there is ever only one right answer. Sometimes there is 'the right answer for me," or "the right answer for now," and at times there is even "no right answer" - we simply take a leap of faith when a decision must be made.

Humanity is not pie, with a slice for each truth. I can be outraged at the attacks in Israel on "my people," and equally outraged at what is happening to innocent civilians in Gaza.

It is with that mindset that I am trying to make it through each day with some level of balanced indignation, if that is even a thing. But I am slapped in the face each morning with the reality of the hate here in the US and as far away as Russia. I am terrified for my college student in DC, and for the two at home in our tiny town where we have seen our own hate. As a pro-choice, gay woman I am more than used to the vitriol thrown my way. But this feels different. I must remind myself every day that it is not that there are more people who hate us, it is simply that there are more of them who feel emboldened to say so. Social media makes for anonymous keyboard warriors and live protests make for mob mentality, right? 

I mean it cannot simply be that previously kind and peaceful students at Cornell woke up this week with the intention of terrorizing their peers, now too afraid to go to class or eat in the kosher cafeteria. It's not possible that the students at American University who slipped a death threat under the door of a Palestinian IT specialist, woke up that morning entirely different beings than they were the day before?

With all of that in mind, my driving fear at this moment is that the hated become haters. In this moment there is nothing more important than making sure that we do not direct our fear, anger, and outrage at an entire population of equally innocent people. We cannot be lazy with our humanity. It is unimaginable to wake up each day hated by so many across the globe, but that reality for us as Jews should be our own wake-up call. 

We cannot condemn antisemitism while ignoring or excusing the plight of Gazan's in this moment. We cannot scream about the possibility of "no more Israel" while watching the images of a decimated cities and hospitals only a few miles away. We cannot cry for Israeli mothers and children and disregard the same atrocities across the border.

We make up .02% of the population and yet we wake up each day hated. We know what that feels like, what it looks like and how it sounds. So, as we raise our voices in condemnation, can we find a way to remember that our plight is not ours alone? It is in fact, the universality of that plight that makes us best positioned to lead with humanity in this moment.

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.

Where the Hell is My Roadmap?

It’s been 63 days since I made the choice to make my sexuality public. 63 days of waiting for the welcoming committee, the bi-big sis or the gay genie. Still NOTHING. When you come out as a teen, the resources available to you are abundant. In addition to peers, most schools and youth groups today have some type of support and comradery. The road for these kids is painful and dark at times, but they are not alone. This is not the case when you are 41, divorced and living in suburbia. I am lucky to not feel afraid or threatened. I am not worried that I will be disowned or thrown out of my house. For that I feel blessed. But I am so very alone.

Where are my mentors? Where are my peers? Where are the “others” who’ve successfully navigated this road at my age and come through on the other side at peace? Where is the FUCKING roadmap?

In the days leading up to my publishing All of the Things I Am, two of my heroes Elizabeth Gilbert (Eat Pray Love) and Glennon Doyle Melton (Love Warrior) also came out. I’ve spent sleepless nights crafting my letter to them, asking for entry into their squad. Dear Liz and Glen, are you’re the big sisters I’ve been searching for? Pretty sure I’d be tagged as stalkerish.  I’ve scoured the internet and local resources for support groups and so few seem to apply. It’s like writing an old school personal ad – Bisexual, 41 year old mom seeking bi-mentor for long talks, too much wine and late night panic attacks. Only those with well-traveled road maps need apply. Sounds awesome.

The best is when someone I don’t know well says “wait, I thought you had a boyfriend?” I do. He’s amazing, kind, patient and tries endlessly to be my shoulder - but there’s a limit to how much a straight man can do. That’s the idea you see. I have always fallen for men and women. I just chose the easy path for almost 40 years and kept half of those feelings to myself.

One of my dearest friends and my therapist are both convinced that if I look hard enough, I’ll find a local support group. They might be right, but the searching alone is exhausting. When I went to college I was assigned a buddy. Joined a sorority and given a big sis. Started a new job and was paired with a mentor. So why the hell not for this?!?! Is that too much to ask? Do you have any idea how many questions I have?

Remember when you were pregnant or your partner was and you were deluged with “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” and “Your Pregnancy.” But then a friend who really knew you and loved you enough shared their battered copy of “The Girlfriend’s Guide to Pregnancy,” and shit got real. And guess what? Vicki Iovine built an empire. From pregnancy, through child rearing, to her inevitable divorce – there was a guide! So where is the Girlfriend’s Guide to Coming Out at 41?? Is it really too much to ask for? I have searched high and low for a website, a book, or a guru and found little.

Someone recently suggested that the mother of invention is identifying a need and filling it – “you should write the book.” Are you kidding? I am seeking the tome, the bible, the encyclopedia here people. I cannot write what I do not even fully understand. Besides, my life is exhausting enough. I barely have time in my day to read what I seek, much less to write it. Instead, I wait eagerly for my imaginary squad (are you listening Elizabeth and Glennon?) to write their next books, which I just know will be everything I’ve been missing. No pressure, ladies.

In the meantime I struggle with the fact that anyone who doesn’t know me well assumes my straight and it’s often too awkward to correct them.  I struggle that I find myself feeling defensive when I shouldn’t and offensive when it’s me with the issue. So that’s fun too.

So yeah, all I want for Hanukkah is a guide or a Sherpa. And if 2017 arrives and he/she is nowhere to be found – dammit, I’m starting my own group. Is there an app for that?

All Of The Things I Am

“What was the most dramatic change you ever had to make? How did that situation change your life? If one unavoidable shift changed your world – for good or bad – in enduring ways, write it down and share it with Real Simple.”

The words jumped off the page as if they’d been written for me. I knew exactly how I’d answer the question. The emotion almost knocked me off of my feet and sucked the air out of my lungs. I’ve been struggling with the tornado in my head and heart for over a year. I’ve been desperate for a peace I cannot find, longing for perfect answers that do not come. I wrote and rewrote a submission in my head a million times before the due date. Sheer terror kept me from actually putting it on paper. I know myself. I know I strive to “Live Life Loudly” and own my truth. I find writing cathartic. If I wrote it, I’d want to share it and I wouldn’t. I COULDN’T.

I pride myself on “being me” and “being enough.” I write essays to my daughters encouraging them to “stay weird.” So WHY is it so f*cking hard for me to put THESE words on paper and say them out loud?!? Why, when I share with someone I trust, does it feel like I’m telling them a secret? Why? Why? Why?

Years of denial might have something to do with it. It was not so much shame or fear as much as it was lack of comfort. I have always needed to feel completely comfortable with my people, my space and in my own head. This was scary. It was terrifying and I kept reminding myself that I was too old for this sh*t. But I was the ultimate hypocrite. Always inspiring those I loved to be “all of themselves.” Always willing to fight the fight, to advocate and to push.

The last year has brought me to my knees. I have wrought turmoil, heartache, confusion and hurt on people I love. I have wavered between who I am, who I want to be, and what I am ready to own in my life. My inability to deal with these issues when I was younger have forced myself to deal with them now. Now, when they are not part of my fabric as I know it. Now, when it feels too late, too hard and too suffocating.  Now when the storm in my mind won’t stop swirling. The ME who tells my daughters they can be ANYTHING feels like a fraud. The ally in me feels like a half truth. The woman in me feels oppressed and afraid and very small without my authentic voice.

I am also a mom. As a mom my primary responsibility is to my kids - to protect them, to shield them, to love them unconditionally. And that’s the crossroads I find myself at. If I am to lift this mountain from my shoulders, if I am to unburden my heart and live my fullest truth – am I being selfish? Am I being a good mom? A dear friend asked – what would you tell your daughters if this was their dilemma? And I knew instantly that I’d tell them to be 100% themselves, to own their voice.

That same voice is reminding me as I write this that I will be judged, I will be whispered about, I will be afraid. I remind myself I will be ok.  I am enough. I am a good friend, a good mother, and a good human. I know in my gut that once we jump, we must decide if we are going to fall or fly. I choose to fly.

Today is National Coming Out Day. Humans around the world will dig to the deepest depths of their souls and share their truth. They will overcome fear, violence, rejection, and hate. They will choose - as I am - to own who they are.

I AM  - #mother #daughter #friend #jew #woman #liberal #ally #41 #bisexual

As You Become a Bat Mitzvah

The weekend is here. The first family members have arrived. My lists have lists, which have lists. Your dad is doing his best to be patient as I try to check things off his list too. Three years ago when we chose your actual birthday for your Bat Mitzvah, I’m not sure I realized how much significance could be wrapped up into one weekend. We were still married then, your dad and I - a typical family. You were just 10 and a tiny dynamo of a kid.

Fast forward three years, and everything in your life and ours is so different. You have gown and matured so much and now remind me more of a teenager, than a child. You have taken our hurricane in stride and powered through. You have found your voice, your soul, your village and your true north. You are about to become an adult in the eyes of Jewish tradition and law. I know you chalk that up to early life expectancies when the Torah was written, and on the surface you are practical and likely correct. In my heart though, I understand what Rachel, Rebecca and Leah saw when they looked at their young daughters. They saw the soft, round cheeks more chiseled, they saw the eyes of concentration and focus, they heard a voice more full of confidence and knowledge, and they felt little hands slipping from their grasp.

I watch you while you chant your prayers, your Torah portion and your blessings and I am in awe of the person you are. How did your dad and I manage to make someone so amazing? I listen to your animated recitation of your D’var Torah and I am struck by your passion and conviction.  A speech you focused around the topic of acceptance, at an age when that might very well be most kids greatest challenge. You care so deeply about the issues that are meaningful to you in your life.

Unknown to you, your sister is currently compiling a list of “100 Things We Love About Talia” from our friends and family. Do you have any idea how easy it is for us to make that list? Your dad teased your sister that he had 20 off the top of his head and her request for 2-3 from him was “going to be impossible.”

Your stress and mine have hit epic levels in the last few weeks. We are so alike that way, wanting everything to be simply perfect for this weekend. I know that I keep reminding you that even if your worst fear comes true and you “mess up,” that only you and the Rabbi will ever know.  But I understand that we both suffer from the desire to not disappoint anyone, to cross every “T” and dot every “I”. I assure though my love, I could not be more proud of you and we haven’t even begun. You are my heart, my love. Your sister is my soul. You are everything I could have ever hoped for in a daughter and so very much more.

I am better because of you. I am wiser and kinder and calmer and zanier and sillier. You, my sweet girl, are mensch and an old soul. You, my love, have untapped and unending potential. You, my Bat Mitzvah, are just standing at the starting line and the finish is too far out to see.

This will be a weekend full of love, laughter, tradition and faith. It will be a weekend of family and food and fun. It will be a weekend when your dad and I work our hardest as a team for you, our love. Because there is nothing the two of us would not do for you. Our divorce is simply a fact of our lives; it does not define us, or you. It’s just our family and we make it work. And because it works, you will kick ass this weekend, no doubt in our minds. I promise to remind us both to breathe in the experience and breathe out the stress. This weekend is about you. Celebrating you. Embracing you. Being in awe of you.

You, my heart, will be a woman in the eyes of Jewish law after this weekend. In my eyes however, you will always be my baby. 

Stay Weird, My Love

The day you were born you looked at me with the eyes of an old soul. I knew right then you were what I’d waited my whole life for. You were wise from the start. I’ve always known that I have as much to learn from you as I have to teach you. You can be a typical teen at times. Cranky, argumentative and an emotional tornado, but you are so genuine, so kind and so unique. I am regularly in awe of how well you know yourself and how hard you are willing to fight not to change for me or anyone else.

But this one is tough, kiddo. Middle School. It’s not the schedule or the shifting of classes. It is not balancing multiple teachers or harder courses. It’s middle school kids. Are they all a special breed of gremlin that morph by smelling out fear and insecurity?  Perhaps.  Will the next two years be nothing but pimples, body odor and mean girls? No. There will be finals and term papers and rumor mongering too. There will be crushes and heartbreak and friendships tested. There will be moments of greatness and success that your insecurity will warn you to celebrate quietly as to not stand out.  I say this from experience. I don’t tell you this lightly or without knowing that I sound like I am prepping you for war, but forewarned is forearmed, sweetheart.

Don’t be shocked by how mean girls can be. Middle School girls are a special kind of mean. And while I hate to believe it, we’ve all been that girl and we’ve all been the victim of that girl. Don’t let it define you or wound you for too long. We all survived, scars and all.

You have been blessed thus far with a group of friends who are as “perfectly weird” as you are. Social misfits, who all “fit” together.  It’s why The Breakfast Club resonates so deeply in your soul. You have been so lucky to remain outside of most of the drama online and in person. Middle School will make that harder. But stay weird, my love.

Your “weird” is what makes you, you. The way you write. The way you draw. The way you wear your hear t right out on your sleeve. The way you laugh and giggle and sing. The way you dance and draw song lyrics all over your pants. The way you read obsessively and memorize whole books so that you can share the best parts with us. The way you get into the minds and hearts of characters and long to understand them as people. The way you are part girl and part woman and 100 shades of tween. The way you rally for the causes you believe in and do everything with a sense of passion and purpose.

As hard as it will become to remain true to whom you are, FIGHT for it. Fight for your friends when they are faced with cruelty or hardship. Fight for the ideals you already hold so dear. Fight to remain you while figuring out exactly who that is. Fight the urge to “fit in,” when standing out will take you so much further. Fight to ignore the bullies and the desire to be one when you are hurt. Fight taking down a friend, an acquaintance or even someone you really don’t like. There are some hurts that scar us forever. Fight against injustice when you see it, against boredom and insecurity when you feel it and cruelty when you hear it. And stay weird, my love.

Spend time nurturing new and old friends. Spend more time on the subjects you hate than the ones you love. Spend time being unique when it’s easier to be anonymous. Spend time bettering your mind and your body. Push yourself, HARD. Never turn in anything less than your best work. Never leave a friend alone. Never walk when you can run. Never say no because yes is more work. Never let anyone else define you, tell you what you think, what you feel or who you are. Never chose hate when you can chose love. Never treat anyone in a way you’d be ashamed to admit to me.

Things will be confusing for everyone around you - popularity, sexuality, identity and ideology. Keep your mind wide open. Let your spirit and your heart guide. And LISTEN. Don’t just hear but really LISTEN. Listen more when you disagree than when you agree – those times will prove to be your greatest lessons.

Trust me when I tell you that you will learn more about yourself and others in the next two years than you have in the last 13 combined. This is a passage out of childhood. It will be exciting, and overwhelming and scary and wonderful and awful. Some days it will be all of those things at once (oh blessed hormones).

So as we embark on this journey together, my love. Stay weird and know:

1. My door, my ears, my heart and my lap and always open.
2. There is nothing you can do that I cannot forgive, but you have to tell me so I can help.
3. Girls will be mean. It will not make sense.
4. You will be mean. It will not make sense. Learn from it.
5. Deleted and erased no longer exist. Don’t do it, say it or show it if you’d be ashamed for it to wind up in your grandmother’s inbox.
6. You have a powerful voice. Use it wisely and with conviction.
7. Silence is equally as powerful when used correctly.
8. You are beautiful, smart, funny, wise and strong. You will not truly believe any of that for many years, so I will be here to remind you.
9. I want you to be successful, but not as much as I want you to be kind.
10. Don’t give anything less than 100%. If you can’t, don’t bother.
11. I don’t expect you to be the best. I simply expect you to try your hardest, always.
12. You. Are. Loved.