Tales of a wandering lesbian

The eternal return

I’m back. It’s the third time in about a year that I’m in Italy. This time, I’m here with my aunt. It’s a scouting mission of types. She’ll be retiring in a little over a year, and we’re looking for a place in the south of Italy for her. I’m basically tagging along, soaking up every ounce of life I can.

The run-up to this trip was unlike the last two. There was no job to quit, no house to sell, no major life change. Just a packing-up and coming back. So I was able to spend the week before the trip enjoying the people and places I love. It was beautiful. I found myself, on several occasions, welling up with emotion at the incredible beauty of my life. Sitting in a coffee shop, eating pie, riding my bike, hiking in the woods, I’d be overwhelmed at how fantastic, how downright fun life is. In one year, it has changed completely for me, and I am grateful. In every moment, I am grateful – okay, maybe not every moment, but a lot of the time.

I have amazing friends. Generous, kind, peaceful people who have housed me, fed me, supported me and above all loved me. People who have given me the luxury to live my life as I see fit. To experience this leap fully.

Sometimes, people tell me how lucky I am. I don’t see it as luck. I am a fortunate woman to be able to make the choices I have. That is for sure. I am blessed beyond measure. By my family and friends. By the grace that has given me health and perspective and opportunity. I am blessed.

And I am grateful to have pushed aside the veil that kept me in doubt and less than full appreciation for this amazing life. I am truly grateful for the glimpses I have into the limitless possibility of my existence. I am grateful that I remember to choose my path in that existence. I am grateful for the choices I have made and the ones I will make.

We are in Rome today – the eternal city – on our way south. Already, after two trips, it feels like a piece of home. A reminder of what can come from living fully, with intention. And I am eternally grateful.

Bookmark and Share

June 1, 2010   Comments Off on The eternal return


Alright, people.  I know I haven’t been posting much.  Part of the reason is that I’m starting the book-writing process.  I’ve got one little segment done, so I thought I’d share it.  Enjoy!

Choose.  Every day, choose to live in love.  Choose to trust yourself, and others.  Most of all, choose to choose.


I planned to be President.  It came about pretty rapidly, really.  One day I was receiving a college scholarship from the local homebuilders organization.  The next, a reporter from the local paper was asking me what I thought of the First Lady, Hillary Clinton.  And then it happened.

“So, would you ever run for president?”

“Yeah, sure.”  With that flip answer, I did a quick calculation, determined when the earliest feasible time would be for me to run, and made up my mind.  I would be President.  I was 17.


“Daniel!”  The girl from the school newspaper was shouting at the group of us posing for a picture.  I was back in town from a series of extended travels.  One of the High Schools I’d worked with over the last 4 years was presenting a $11,000 check to the charity I’d worked for.  I was tagging along to congratulate the students, and see the completion of my work.

“Daniel, get out of there, you’re too tall!”  Daniel’s shoulders hunched as he jogged out of the picture.  His linebacker’s frame oozing disappointment as the smile slid from his face.

“Here, Daniel, come kneel in front,” someone offered.

“Nah, I don’t want to make the picture ugly.”  He said it as though he truly believed that his presence would destroy the memory of this great day.  The tone in his voice was absolute.

The 6 adult women holding the oversized presentation-check gasped in unison, “NO!”  Daniel was covered immediately in a hurled web of reassurance.  “You have to be in the picture!”  “You’re part of this, Daniel!”  “We want you here!”

Daniel found his place on the ground in front of the check, and we all breathed a sigh, glaring at the totally clueless photographer who was clicking away, her unnecessary flash blinding us.

I’d known Daniel for a couple of years.  I’d seen him as an awkward teen, too tall and too big to do what we all so desperately want to do in high school – fit in.  The first time I met him, he assured me that he was a dumb jock.  But the questions he asked during my presentation betrayed his words of self-doubt.  He was engaged and funny, asked intelligent questions, and served as a great role model for the other students.  His deep voice and heavy brow couldn’t mask his keen mind and personality.  By the end of the year, he would find himself in a statewide leadership role with the Future Business Leaders of America.

Now, a year later, he was just as engaging, outgoing and talented.  And just as willing to believe that he wasn’t good enough.

Standing in the entry to the school, we all said our thank yous and good byes.  I reached up to hug Daniel.  When we stepped away, he looked at me with curiosity.

“You know, I can’t even guess at how old you are.”

“Thanks, Daniel.”

“No really, I can’t.  But it seems amazing that someone your age can live such a fulfilling life.”

When I left my job with the charity, it was to change my life.  I sold my house, quit my job, left my girlfriend and my dog, and took a leap.  The kids I worked with knew this.  Daniel knew this.

“It’s amazing,” he continued, “that you, at your age could be living like you are.  There are so many people who don’t even try until they’re 65.  And then they can’t even enjoy it because it’s too late.”

“Thanks.  That’s exactly why I’m choosing to live this way, Daniel.”

“I know, but who gets to do that?  I mean really, who gets to do-“ I cut him off.

“Anyone who chooses to.”

He looked at me.  And then he blundered on, “Yeah, but It’s really incredible.”

“Anyone who chooses to.”  I caught his eye with my hand and brought him to my eyes.  “Internalize this, Daniel.  Really.  Anyone who chooses to. That’s who gets to live like this.  End of story.”

The beautiful boy stopped.  And he listened.  Still looking at my eyes, he nodded once.


I smiled, nodded back, pulled my visitor’s badge off my shirt and tossed it in the trash as I walked out the door.

Once in the rainy winter air of Portland, I breathed.  Maybe – just maybe – if I was lucky – he’d heard me.  And maybe that would be what he remembered in 10 years when he looked back to this day, and not how he’d ruined the picture.  And maybe – just maybe, he’d remember that he gets to choose.

Bookmark and Share

February 18, 2010   4 Comments