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Made lists
Cleaned bathrooms for no good reason even the toilets
Threw away old stuff
Poured more Drano down the shower drain
Checked pantry for mouse poop
Washed hands many times
Started laundry and sprinkled in essential oils to combat stink
Washed all the clothes I wore in the hospital and thought of Avett Brothers lyric
Ate a brownie
Finished the milk
Went through the accumulated mail
Found another speed camera ticket
Answered 12-year-old’s question “what happens if you can’t afford to pay a ticket?” by explaining they just keep doubling the fine until you can’t afford it even more and there’s nothing you can do about it
Perused the library books I checked out
Put several in the pile to return
Read a chapter or two of several others, mostly about British witches
Had hot flashes
Changed pajamas
Had hot flashes
Changed pajamas
Ate saltines
Tried to plug in 12-year-old’s phone but couldn’t find the charger
Dust-busted some lint in a corner
Looked online for used loft beds and chairs
Wondered why people use strange names for chairs
Thought about measuring space where chair would go but didn’t, again
Wondered why resale economics is so confusing
Put stuff in Amazon cart for when money appears in bank account
Felt guilty about using Amazon but not enough to stop
Rearranged apps on phone screen to reflect current realities and also make pretty patterns
Checked location of daughter out late at college and remembered it’s ok to go out late at college
Checked location of daughter to make sure she was no longer out
Piled up trash by the front door
Scowled at heap of recycling that has not broken itself down or taken itself out
Checked all social media platforms for anything important, found nothing
Couldn’t stop thinking even for a second during all this activity about the fact that there’s a tumor in a lab somewhere that was recently in my husband’s brain and how that clump of cells has changed all of our lives and we don’t even know how yet
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It’s been a rough week to be the parent of a trans kid and an advocate for the queer community. I told a friend that it feels like you’ve just recovered from a gut punch, caught your breath, and stood back up, when another punch comes straight at you. Of course, this is what it feels like to be just about anyone in the US since January, unless you’re a rich and powerful white cis straight man. If your demographic or your job or your ethnic group or religion hasn’t already been attacked, just wait a few minutes.
I’m trying not to feel like I’m being dragged under the waves, but it’s hard. Thank goodness there are always books! Helping people feel connected with other humans since the invention of the printing press!
To celebrate Pride month, I’m writing about 30 of my favorite LGBTQIA+ authors and books that center queer characters. I’ve been posting on LinkedIn and Facebook, and I shared the first 10 titles here. Now here’s the second installment of 10 more books.
No. 11) Sir Callie and the Knights of Helston by Esme Syses-Smith
I was not expecting to feel so seen by this book. While 12-year-old nonbinary Callie is the main character here, the author does an outstanding job conveying the struggles of Callie’s dad to protect and advocate for his kid (and other queer or outsider kids he encounters) in an exceedingly traditional (read: hostile) environment. Yes, this is a middle grade book, but in many ways I felt like it was written for me.
No. 12) Pink, Blue, and You! Questions for Kids about Gender Stereotypes by Elise Gravel – français
https://elisegravel.com/en/
Elise Gravel is one of our favorite authors. She is imaginative, compassionate, and funny, and she explores all kinds of topics in her books. Pink, Blue, and You! examines some of the myths our culture perpetuates about gender and invites readers to decide for themselves what they think about what kind of activities and attributes are appropriate for different kinds of humans.
No. 13) The Magnus Chase trilogy by Rick Riordan
https://rickriordan.com/…/magnus-chase-and-the-gods-of…/
God bless Rick Riordan. He’s most famous for the Percy Jackson universe, but he’s written a lot of other books as well. Riordan does a terrific job featuring characters who are diverse in race, ethnicity, socioeconomic status, religion, gender, and other ways without tokenizing these differences. He’s also helped publish a variety of authors whose fantasy series are rooted in lore from around the world.
But right now I’m talking about the Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard trilogy, set in the world of Norse mythology. This series includes genderfluid and pansexual characters, and reading the books with my then-eight-year-old helped them find the words to come out as nonbinary.
No. 14) Augusten Burroughs
https://www.augusten.com/about.html
I am in the middle of listening to Augusten Burroughs’ Lust and Wonder, which apparently came out in 2016 but just came to my attention recently. If you haven’t heard of him, I recommend starting with Running with Scissors. Most of his books are memoirs, but his life has been so unusual you might think they’re fiction. I love his honesty and insights and he’s funny as hell.
No. 15) The Heartstopper series
https://aliceoseman.com/heartstopper
Heartstopper started as a web comic that quickly amassed a huge following, the became a series of graphic novels, and then was picked up by Netflix for several wonderful seasons, which are expected to culminate in a feature film this year. The stories are about these teenagers who are so normal and so unique in the way all teenagers are. They have challenges with their parents, or bullies, or self-image, or anxiety, AND they have each other AND they are all figuring out their sexuality and gender identities. The books and the show are incredibly sweet and true and heartbreaking and joyful. I would recommend these to folks who don’t necessarily have LGBTQIA+ kids (that you know of), but would like to (or should) learn more about what it’s like to be a queer kid.
No. 16) Spin with Me by Ami Polonski
A question that isn’t always explored in books about queer identity is what it means when a person who thought they were straight develops romantic feelings for someone who is gender expansive. That’s a central theme in Spin with Me, a beautifully written story featuring a girl who temporarily moves to a new town with her dad and makes a new set of friends. Fun fact, after we finished this book, Niki wrote a message to the author through the author’s website and got a response right away!
No. 17) Brandi Carlile‘s Broken Horses
https://brokenhorsesbook.com/index.html
Brandi Carlile is one of my favorite artists and someone I think is just a beautiful, brilliant, badass human. She is one of the few musicians who my husband and teenagers and I all equally love. We’ve seen her in concert several times. So if you don’t know her music, listen to it now. Then read her memoir. Better yet, listen to her memoir because she sings throughout it, songs you won’t hear on any album, but that influenced her or meant something important to her at some point in her life. She’s not only a songwriter, but she’s an insightful and talented memoirist as well.
No. 18) Dear Mothman by Robin Gow
My kid recommended this to me a while ago and I just remembered to read it. Dear Mothman pierced my heart in the best possible way. It’s about being a trans kid who feels very alone, then finally seen, and suddenly alone again and the lengths they go to to find acceptance and love. And it’s a novel written in verse, which is always cool. And Robin Gow is a trans author who I’ve just discovered has written several other books which I plan to read immediately.
No. 19) Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid
https://taylorjenkinsreid.com/books/the-seven-husbands-of-evelyn-hugo/
While LGBQTIA+ people today certainly don’t have it easy, given the political climate fomenting homophobia and transphobia, coming out as a queer person in 2025 is definitely not as seemingly impossible and dangerous as it once was. This book explores the lengths to which gay people in show business went to keep their private lives secret, and the effect that had on the people they loved.
20) Over the Top by Jonathan Van Ness
https://jonathanvanness.com/books/
I am such a Queer Eye fan that I have the lego set on my desk–a little lego version of JVN is styling the hair of the lego version of their former high school music teacher. I love Jonathan because he always makes people feel good about themselves no matter what, because he’s spent a lifetime learning to feel good about their own identity in the face of negative messages from all fronts. Over the Top is JVN’s first memoir, but he’s also written other books–fiction and nonfiction–for kids and adults about loving yourself just as you are.
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You know why I post about all these queer books and authors? Because reading builds EMPATHY and UNDERSTANDING. Reading helps us understand the thoughts and ideas and experiences of all kinds of people. Reading fiction achieves this as much or more than reading nonfiction, because it’s more accessible to many readers.
Anyone who questions why they would read about queer people if they’re not queer needs to examine this logic. Humans have been reading about people who are not like them as long as there have been books because humanity is made up of a million flavors of people and it’s a blessing and a gift to be able to learn about and explore the things we have in common and what makes us unique. We gain insights and new perspectives by reading about people from different periods in history, different places, different cultures, different religions…why wouldn’t we read about people with different gender identities and sexualities? The world is populated by billions of extraordinary ordinary people whose lives have meaning and value.
Ideally, we all have the opportunity to get to know lots of kinds of people in real life. But when that’s not possible, there are always books. I urge you, even if you’re not queer or don’t have queer loved ones (that you know of) or don’t have queer kids, read some of the books I’ve recommended. And if you DO know or love kids or adults who are lgbtqia+ please read some books I’ve recommended. Or other books by or about lgbtqia+ people. If you work with children or young people in any capacity, read some of these books. There are a ton of great book lists.
If you want to be an ally, learn more about the people you say you support. That’s a place to start.
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Inertia has me prisoner
Glued to the bed long after
I should have arisen
Captured by an invisible powerful pull
Sometimes I sleep.
My need is rarely satisfied.
Sometimes I glimpse the chaos and suffering of the world and
I have to disappear somewhere that it can’t reach me.
It may be cowardly but it’s true.
Most often I read novels.
For years and years all I read was realistic fiction but now reality is too painful
even if it’s fictional because I know at the heart of all fiction is truth.
Now my books are populated by wizards and witches.
Which makes me consider my own witchy tendencies and talents.
Witch has always been another word for a woman
Who stands on her own
Who knows things about people and the world
Who doesn’t care to conform
All of which is threatening to men
My books follow the paths of magical creatures who actually face human choices and consequences, or maybe they are universal choices and consequences
because we have no way of knowing
what goes on in the minds of vampires and demons
and there is plenty in the world
that we don’t have to see with our eyes
to believe in.
When I require a break from the plot,
I wade into an endless stream of crosswords,
a reliable source of immediate endorphins.
There I frequently encounter familiar characters such as Brian Eno and Uma Thurman and Che Guevara
and any of the King Olavs and Pope Leos and always a czar or tsar in the mix.
I spy many an imp, some tots on trikes, and French and Spanish ladies, both married and unmarried.
I often visit Erie (the lake, the city, and the county), I hear the echo of Caesar’s last words, many formulations of the Latin word for egg, and at least two ways to end a list.
I gaze at the bear in the sky and the guy with the belt. I am reminded of campaign slogans from before I was born and what to say when someone is sharing more than you want to hear and any number of Australian animals.
Occasionally, the two names of our current domestic terrorists come up,
even though I’m deep in the crossword archives when they were once
seemingly harmless rich idiots.
Harmless no more.
Eventually I am able to extract myself from the bed and go about my business
There are always more demands
on my attention
Than I can satisfy
Which is why the temptation
to hide under the covers
remains.
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From where I’m sitting on the balcony of our Airbnb, I can see into the houses or yards of at least seven other apartments. Surprisingly, it’s quite quiet for a Saturday morning. The only activity I can observe right now is a guy in the yard below and to the right who is digging up some kind of slate tiles or chunks of flagstone that were haphazardly leading from the alley behind the building to the wooden patio of the house. I don’t know if this space is supposed to be a garden or a place to park your car (it’s big enough) but right now it’s dirt and plants (weeds?) and a large and lovely tree. I wish we could stay to see the “after” picture.
The cool breeze through the trees is a peaceful contrast with our adventure from last night, when we walked down Mont-Royal Avenue and Saint Denis Street looking for a place to eat a late dinner. This neighborhood is apparently the place to be on a Friday night if you’re young and cool in Montreal. And we were there anyway. There are infinite bars and restaurants, many with wooden, lighted outside seating areas. There are tons of benches out in the streets–closed off to traffic–seemingly for the sole purpose of people hanging out. There were chairs set up in an area where you could watch street performers. It was all thoughtfully designed with people enjoying themselves in mind. After walking up and down both streets to see what was on offer to eat, we decided to try a dumpling place, only to discover their kitchen was about to close. Then we decided to try a tapas place, only to discover that their kitchen was about to close. Finally we settled on a bar full of people (so we decided it must be decent) that was named after the Catholic church across the street. They were blasting American rock music from the 80s, but everyone was speaking French so it seemed authentic enough. We attempted to order in French and they quickly caught onto the fact that our French is terrible and switched to speaking to us in English, but in a friendly way. We ordered a cider and a beer and a half kilo of chicken wings (which seemed like a lot, and it was) and poutine, and relaxed after two long days of driving.
So far we’ve covered more than 700 miles on this trip, and gone back and forth through several states before reaching Canada. We delivered Niki to camp in Western New York on Thursday afternoon and stayed in a hotel in Pennsylvania, just a couple miles from the New York border. We planned to leave for Montreal first thing on Friday, but then things happened and we didn’t. But while Randy was on a call, I found a cool coffee shop that also had antique axes and knives on display and a vast array of tinned fish for sale. Sardines have never appealed to me, but these looked so cool!
We finally started heading north and stopped to use a bathroom in Catskill, New York. We happened to park in front of a used bookstore. This was not planned, I promise. So we bought some books! And there was an art gallery. So I bought some art! Then we drove north some more and decided to have lunch in Saratoga Springs, where I once lost $20 at the racetrack and decided never to gamble again because there’s so much other stuff I’d rather do with $20. Saratoga Springs is a lovely little city. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on the way you look at it, there’s a phenomenal bookstore there. We swore to each other we would only stay for five minutes…
So…by the time we got to Montreal it was after 8pm. But we found our cute little apartment and rallied to go eat. Now we get to explore Montreal in the daytime.
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Today, for our 20th wedding anniversary, I took our kid to the library to research Megan Rapinoe and browse the cookbook section because our kid has lice and the fifth grade is complete chaos. As is often the case even though we both work from home, Randy and I saw each other in passing, sharing a quick kiss and saying “I love you” when I left the house. We’ve texted more often than we’ve spoken in person today. I am pretty sure he is upstairs right now finishing up his last work meeting of the day from his desk in the corner of our bedroom. His is not an ideal office space, but pandemic + small house = it is what it is. More often we work in the family room together. My desk is there, another space completely lacking privacy. See previous sentence. Meanwhile, Niki is in their room participating in their online book club, and Zoe is working her shift at the front desk at EvolveAll, one of her two afterschool jobs. Dinner will be a meal kit from Marley Spoon. As usual, the washer and dryer are running (today on high heat to guarantee extermination of any persistent lice). Despite our continuous folding, a new mountain of clean laundry is rising on the loveseat.
Lest you think we are completely unromantic, we will celebrate with a date at the Birchmere (one of our favorite live music venues) tomorrow night, sans kids. And, more extravagantly, we are planning a trip to Canada for this summer. This will be our first trip ever without the kids that’ll last longer than a weekend, I’m pretty sure. I am giddy with excitement as I imagine the simplicity of our decision making every time we want to eat or choose an activity for a whole week. So we will continue with our regularly (over)scheduled lives tonight and really do it up in a few months.
We have not bought each other anniversary presents for many years, although we did Google the “traditional” 20th anniversary gift. It is china. We were not interested in china when we got married and we still have no need of it. We also have no plans to visit China, or acquire it. The “modern” 20th anniversary gift is platinum. I’m not even sure what items exist that we could purchase made of platinum. Our friends suggested we dye our hair platinum blond for the occasion. Too much trouble. So I am offering the gift I know best: words.
Things I love about my husband:
- He loves and supports me unconditionally. I remember when I was growing up seeing examples of marriages (not my parents’, thankfully) in which one or both spouses frequently questioned or criticized their choices or actions, even the seemingly smallest and least significant. Our marriage includes a lot of room for mistakes. We’ve both made plenty. We try to model this grace for our kids. Randy encourages me to do what I want to do. He believes in me and reminds me that I’m awesome, and I try to do the same for him.
- He cares so much about the world and the people in it and making life better for them. In my dad’s toast at our wedding reception, my dad said the two of us exemplified the Jewish concept of Tikkun Olam, which means to repair or improve the world. For better or worse, we’re both still at it. Randy devotes a massive amount of time and energy to Tikkun Olam–through both paid and volunteer work as an advocate for economic, social, housing, and food justice. He meets with policymakers to convince them to reinstate the Child Tax Credit and expand nutrition benefits. He volunteers at our local food bank. He writes letters to the editor. He helps total strangers who find him on social media to navigate the complexities of applying for public benefits. He is writing a book. He is ready for a revolution. He has a heart that is sometimes so big it hurts.
- He loves and is moved by music as much as I am. The longer we’ve been together, the more of our musical tastes overlap, and he’s introduced me to some of my favorite artists. There are few things we love more than enjoying live music together. I can usually predict when a piece of music will make him cry. Often we seek or find different things meaningful in the music we listen to, both of us appreciate the power of music and what it means to us individually and together.
- Long, long before he was a dad, Randy was the master of the dad joke. He is a punster of the highest degree. He will never, ever, ever pass up the opportunity to make a joke. One time at the dinner table he burst out laughing seemingly apropos of nothing. After he settled down, we asked what was so funny and he said he couldn’t even remember, but he had remembered something funny from sometime and just started cracking up. I can’t imagine falling in love with someone who didn’t make me laugh. Fortunately Randy makes me laugh every day, so I’m still in love!
- Except for cribbage, with which I struggle because of the mental math, we are absurdly evenly matched at gameplay and wordplay and puzzles and we have fun matching wits. Randy is typically a bit better at strategy and looking ahead to the next move. I’m usually a bit better when speed or improvisation is involved. But give us a crossword or Bananagrams or Trivial Pursuit or just some silly rhyming thing we make up to amuse each other when we’re trying to fall asleep and not think about everything that’s wrong with the world, we’re likely to keep pace with each other until one or both of us just passes out from exhaustion.
- He is still curious and eager to learn and discover new things and people and places. Someday when we have more money and time we will travel to all the places we want to explore. Since we decided to visit Montreal, he has been dedicated to practicing French with Duolingo every day. I haven’t been nearly as disciplined. We are both always reading, writing, and putting ourselves out there in different ways to engage with the world. I can’t imagine either of us ever getting complacent, or apathetic, or bored.
- He is a wonderful dad. For a while he was convinced he wouldn’t know how to be a good dad, but he figured it out. 🙂 He loves and supports our kids unconditionally too, and encourages them to be themselves 100%. He has shared his passion for soccer with them, and they are now as devoted and knowledgable fans as he is, or maybe more. He has such a great attitude about school, and sports, and success in general and helps them to do their best without putting any pressure on them to be perfect.
- He is a phenomenal hugger.
Our wedding day was unusually hot and filled with cicadas and wonderful people and so much love. Twenty years has gone by in a flash, but also contained immeasurable joy and adventure and fun and certainly plenty of challenges. My brain is too full right now to even imagine what’s in store for the next 20, but I’m confident that love and joy and adventure and fun and wonderful people will all be in the mix. In the meantime, it’s time to make dinner. Happy anniversary, babe.
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I feel like I’ve been holding it in all summer.
What it is I’ve been holding in, I’m not exactly sure. My breath? My thoughts? My feelings? You know when a writer holds in all those words for a long time it’s not healthy. Eventually they’re going to find a way out.
Maybe there’s an imbalance of words because I have spent so much of my time off this summer reading. I have devoured at least two dozen books. I attended the national gathering of Unitarian Universalists and absorbed ideas and songs and Pittsburgh and ate a lot of food and had a lot of conversations. I’ve returned to church and gotten back up on the chancel as a worship associate and a speaker. I’ve made new friends. I’ve eaten a lot of lunches and taken miles of walks with old friends. I’ve been rebuilding my soccer team–now known as Athena’s Arsenal! I am the only player who remains from the original Ice & Ibuprofen squad that made our debut in 2016. I&I merged last year with a team called Far Gone and we’ve had to recruit a lot of folks to build up our roster. In choosing our new name, someone suggested Tottenham Hotties (a riff on the Premiership team Tottenham Hotspurs) and I countered with Tottenham Hot Flashes, but that didn’t win. Perhaps it’s just a reflection of my personal situation. It turns out I am still not really any good at soccer and I’m not sure why I am playing other than to prove to myself that I can and to give myself the gift of two hours a week when I am not thinking about anything else even if I have to run around in circles while that happens. I am organizing an event through church called QA2: Queer or Questioning, Awareness and Acceptance to provide LGBTQIA+ kids and families with an opportunity to make connections and find resources and support. I’m still trying to teach myself to read tarot. What little I have learned so far has offered insights that given me pause and steered me in new directions with surprising confidence.
I’ve been watching my kids grow up before my eyes. It’s like time-lapse photography of their emotional maturity and ability to navigate the world. Niki can bake on their own from start to finish now after a week at baking camp. At the back-to-school open house, they brought cookies they made and gave them out to all the teachers and staff. At film camp they made a silent film–a dark and modern twist on Hansel and Gretel in which they played Gretel. They discovered a previously unknown talent for an interest in being an emcee after performing that role at the end-of-camp presentation at two different camps. They’ve made all kinds of friends at all these camps and are now immersed in various group chats and FaceTime calls. Niki earned their blue solid belt in martial arts after a long stint as a green solid and a final burst of energy and dedication that enabled them to move up. We’ve attended so many martial arts growth ceremonies and they never fail to move me to tears. Always and especially when there are those kids who struggle to break their boards long after their peers have had their new belts tied on by their instructors, I cheer the hardest. We did a bit of rearranging of their room this summer, taking down drawings they’d made during the pandemic (signed with their old name) and hanging photos of them with animals from our trip to the Houston Zoo, and pride posters, and a picture of Megan Rapinoe with the slogan “Be Proud.” And they are. They own their identity and their uniqueness 100% and I am there for it.
Zoe spent a month away from us at Camp Friendship, her home away from home. This was her eighth and final summer as a camper, and her plan is to return next year as a counselor. I remember when she was little and in martial arts and we’d be at the growth ceremony and I would ask her if she could imagine being a black belt, and for a long time she would shake her head, wide-eyed and in awe, and say no. Until one day she nodded and said yes. It’s been the same way at camp. We always asked her if she would be a counselor some day and she couldn’t see herself having that kind of responsibility, until suddenly she could. She said this summer as a camper, she imagined everything she did as if through a counselor’s eyes, and thought about what it would be like to lead little kids in the activities that she has loved learning so much herself. The first week of camp this year, she didn’t know many campers or counselors, as several of her favorite counselors had moved on to other jobs, and many of her camper friends had aged out. She wrote us saying she was homesick, but didn’t let it keep her from making the most of camp life. As more familiar faces arrived each week and she cultivated the relationships with folks she had just met, everything fell into place, as it always does. The camp has a system where parents can write emails through the parent portal and camp will print them out and give them to the campers, and campers can handwrite messages back and camp will scan them and email them to us. It’s much quicker than snail mail but eliminates the need for campers to have their phones with them at camp (which is one of my and Zoe’s favorite things about camp). I loved having the opportunity to update Zoe on the goings on of life at home (mostly boring, without her!) and hear from her about developments at camp. I wish we had some way of continuing that correspondence at home, even though we’re both in the same house. That’s one reason that I am so happy to be taking road trips with her to visit colleges. We’ve toured a bunch of colleges in Maryland and Pennsylvania and New England so far and have several more up and down the east coast on the calendar for this fall and next spring. I love claiming this time in the car with her, to listen to music and books and talk about anything and everything, and notice weird signs and unusual sights along the way, and stop at little bookstores and find cute coffeeshops with resident cats.
This fall, Niki will practice walking to and from school on their own. We’re going to teach them how to take the bus. Zoe is so close to finishing the requirements to earn her driver’s license. Then she will be given a vintage minivan by her grandparents and will be set loose on the world. We’ve discussed curfews and she has gainful employment. This morning at church it gave me so much joy to watch these four-year-old girls dancing around at the front of the sanctuary during the service. I love four-year-olds. But I don’t wish my kids were younger. Or older. I am so excited to be with them at this exact moment in their lives, where they are learning so much about themselves and about the world. Sometimes, that means seeing how people can be awful and the world is kind of a mess. But sometimes we get to fill it with cookies and music and hugs and laughter and forget about the rest of it for a while.
So I will take in a breath and remember to fully and deeply exhale. All the way from my belly up out into the world. I will take it all it, and release. Because I have to let it go so I can take another breath.
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If we want to support each other’s inner lives, we must remember a simple truth: the human soul does not want to be fixed, it wants simply to be seen and heard. If we want to see and hear a person’s soul, there is another truth we must remember: the swoul is like a wild animal — tough, resilient, and yet shy. When we go crashing through the woods shouting for it to come out so we can help it, the soul will stay in hiding. But if we are willing to sit quietly and wait for a while, the soul may show itself.
~Parker Palmer
This is a talk I shared during a Sunday service at the Unitarian Universalist Church of Arlington as part of the church’s series on the six sources of Unitarian Universalism. My writing was inspired by this source: direct experience of that transcending mystery and wonder, affirmed in all cultures, which moves us to a renewal of the spirit and an openness to the forces which create and uphold life.
For two years I spent a good chunk of my waking hours talking and writing about this church. As a member of the ministerial search committee, I met with my fellow committee members weekly, and we worked doggedly to discern what the congregation needed in a new minister. Surprise–Unitarian Universalists have a lot of opinions! Our committee had to digest, synthesize, and transform what we learned into UUCA’s church profile, an incredibly elaborate version of a job announcement. Then we spent months reviewing applications and sermons of prospective ministers. This role and its attendant responsibilities were heady–and hard–and ultimately richly rewarding. It was a privilege to serve UUCA in this capacity, and if I’m being honest, it made me feel kind of important. It’s easy for me to make the mistake that what I do for a community is more valuable than who I am.
Now, raise your hand if you were part of UUCA in any way in the spring of 2020. You may recall that, just as our committee was preparing to recommend Rev. Amanda as the candidate for our senior minister, the pandemic shut everything down. All of our plans to introduce her to the congregation, celebrate a new beginning, and enjoy the fruits of our committee’s labor were funneled online or simply forgotten in the crush of a worldwide crisis.
I know every one of you here in the sanctuary or watching online has a story like this–or a very different one. There are likely a million variations on the theme of how things changed in 2020. Now, four years later, I am still feeling the effects of those changes, for better or worse. Maybe you are too. Who knows how long the ripples will expand throughout our lives?
Church has always meant community for me. Throughout my life, community often outweighed theology in my choice of a congregation. I feel lucky to have found in UUCA a place where I feel both a sense of belonging and alignment with the tenets of the faith. From the moment I arrived at UUCA, I felt seen. I felt valued. I understood that my being here mattered.
Unfortunately, for a good portion of the years since 2020, I lost that sense of belonging, not just here, but really anywhere. Does that sound at all familiar to you? The isolation of the pandemic was soul crushing. And I am a big believer in silver linings. I love my family so much, and I am so thankful for the hours we spent playing board games, watching movies, making art, and going on hikes. But the four of us did not a whole community make. I need different kinds of people and multiple communities to nurture various aspects of my personality and my identity. All of us do.
There’s a wonderful graphic novel series called Heartstopper, which is now an amazing Netflix show, that my kids adore and introduced me to and which I love now as well. First of all, Heartstopper creator Alice Oseman does a masterful job portraying the pain and beauty of making your way as a teenager, particularly as you come into your gender identity and sexual orientation. Secondly, in book four of the series, Charlie–one of the main characters–comes face to face with what feels like an insurmountable struggle. His boyfriend, Nick, wants so badly, as all of us do when we love someone, to be able to fix Charlie’s problem, but of course he can’t. And Nick realizes that, no matter how much he loves Charlie, he can’t and shouldn’t be everything to Charlie. Charlie needs a community to help him. As do we all.
I took baby steps to return to UUCA. I co-facilitated a covenant group for parents of gender-expansive kids. That was an easy one–a way to test the waters by creating a small community. Coming back to church on Sunday mornings, however, was a challenge. The first few times I tried, I felt confused and out of sorts. When we were all masked, I felt embarrassed because I didn’t recognize people who I had known for years. That kept me home for a while longer. When I came back again, I felt like I had somehow forgotten how to interact with other humans. Once after the service ended, I just sat in the back and cried. Holly saw me and sat with me. She didn’t ask me to explain myself. She just kept me company.
When I heard about the LEAD program that Greg and LeeAnn were running, I knew I had found a path back to community. I wasn’t sure what my role was supposed to be in the congregation, but this was an opportunity to meet new people and reconnect with old friends, so I took it.
The irony–or perhaps the true intention–of joining LEAD was being reminded that I didn’t need to have a leadership position or a particular responsibility in the congregation to belong. When I arrived for that first workshop, I was so warmly welcomed back. Wendy and Kristen, among other folks, let me know that they were genuinely delighted to see me again, without asking why I hadn’t come back sooner, or what I was going to be doing for the church now that I was back, or without any other expectations of me whatsoever. After the session, I gave Kristen a ride home and we sat in my car, parked outside her house, for an hour catching up. It was such a relief to renew that connection. I know I’m name dropping a lot this morning. I intentionally want to recognize the people who have shown me so much grace and love in building and rebuilding community here.
One of my favorite activities during the LEAD workshops was using the World of Experience as a tool to examine where I’ve been and where I want to go. If you’ve never seen it before, you can check out the World of Experience at the LEAD table in the fellowship hall after the service. In the meantime, picture this in your mind. A map that, at first glance, looks like it could be a two-dimensional representation of the Earth. On closer inspection, however, the familiar continents and oceans are replaced by other geographies, named for elements of the human experience. For example, the sea of possibilities, mountains of work, and plains of solitude.
On several occasions we used the World of Experience as a way to articulate the challenges or adventures in our past and present, and where we hoped to navigate in the future. In all of my conversations, my partners shared their journeys with unapologetic honesty, and invited the same vulnerability from me. The guiding principles practiced during the LEAD series were touchstones created by Parker Palmer and the Center for Courage and Renewal. One of these is “no fixing, saving, advising, or correcting each other.” In our type A problem solving culture, that’s a particularly tough one for many of us to follow, but it’s so important. Participating in the LEAD workshops reminded me that this congregation is a safe place for me, where my wild animal soul can show itself. That’s how I experience moments of mystery and wonder–when I feel truly seen and understood.
This year I attended General Assembly, the Unitarian Universalist Association’s annual gathering, for the first time. I had long wanted to experience GA, but to be honest I was also super anxious about it. When I arrived in Pittsburgh and checked into my airbnb, I texted Gay and Elizabeth. What am I doing here? I asked them. Of course, they were both kind and reassuring. I felt their hugs from 250 miles away. Then I arrived at the convention center, and I found Diane and Bruce and I knew everything would be ok. I had tacos with LeeAnn, and reconnected with folks who I first met at UUCA but who have moved on to other churches, and I made new friends. Knowing I was among so many people who share my UU values and commitment to repairing the world was exactly what I needed and hoped to experience at GA.
Of course, church is far from the only community that can nurture the soul. Some communities are intimate and some are vast but both can offer sustenance. My 16-year-old is a member of the seemingly infinite community of Swifties–devotees of pop star Taylor Swift. While her knowledge of Taylor Swift’s catalog and every minute detail of every concert on the Eras Tour may verge on obsessive, it is clear that she and other Swifties find joy and meaning in listening to the music, experiencing the music, and talking about the music with each other.
The community my 10-year-old thinks of as their second home is SMYAL, a DC-based organization that provides resources, connections, and activities for LGBTQIA+ young people ages 6 to 24. My kid has found kindred spirits, role models, and unwavering and unconditional support for their whole self. Their wild animal soul feels free to lead a dance party whenever they’re with their SMYAL peeps.
As Parker Palmer wrote, “If we want to support each other’s inner lives, we must remember a simple truth: the human soul does not want to be fixed, it wants simply to be seen and heard.” I am thankful to be a member of this and other communities where my soul can be seen and heard. Cultivating that kind of community–something greater than any of us individually, which can only be created with intention and love–is a sacred act. Sometimes we can build community, and other times we just stumble into it. We don’t always know where we will find community, or where we will experience that sensation of truly belonging, but we surely know it when we feel it. Some may call that providence, or divine intervention. To me, that certainty of belonging is a product of the mystery and wonder of the universe. Whatever you call it, I wish for you the comfort, safety, and nourishment of community, wherever you may find it. May it be so.
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It’s almost my birthday and I am thinking a lot, as one does when a birthday approaches, about everything. Asking a lot of questions.
I am thinking about why every book I read seems to contain a subtle but unmistakable link to the previous book I read, like a scene set in New Haven, Connecticut, or a young character hospitalized with a serious illness, or a political protest. Why are books about witches and witch trials so popular right now? Perhaps, or probably, because most men (and some women) have always been threatened by women who are strong and independent and powerful, and they still are. I have read a lot of books about the persecution of witches and they never fail to enrage me. Maybe I just want to be a witch. I also want to have to a Scottish accent. Or listen to Scottish accents. All day.
Books consume me these days. Reading always has, but lately novels are my means to escape from our ceaselessly corrosive culture. I can hardly stomach our society and the way it treats people–people of color, women, LGBTQIA+ individuals, people with disabilities. Basically anyone who isn’t Mitch McConnell or similar. Even though books I read have bad guys and characters have bad days and there is trauma and suffering there is also so much joy and redemption and humor and empathy and fascinating and strange and delightful people with whom I can immerse myself. Of course that good stuff exists in my real life too, but it’s not as reliably accessible. Reading is my vice and my virtue. The novels I read also help me understand why people can be such schmucks. But it doesn’t make their cruelty any easier to take.
I am thinking about earwax, and where it comes from, and where those teeny tiny flies that emerge from the drainage holes in the back of our bathroom sink come from. And how you wouldn’t want those flies to encounter your earwax. Why do the flies only appear in that bathroom? Do they have a purpose in life? If so, I am quashing that purpose. Sorry, little guys. Apparently as my birthday approaches, I am inclined to tie together loose threads. Sometimes they come unraveled again.
I am pretty sure I believe that people can change, but how much I am not sure. At the age I’m about to be tomorrow, I feel like what’s left for me to master is infinite and what I don’t understand is vast. Certainly there is plenty for me still to learn. But what’s my capacity to learn it? I played soccer last night, the second game in my 12th (?) season of playing in the Arlington Women’s Soccer League. I am fairly confident I’m never going to get any better at soccer. I would say I’m probably better than most people who have never played the game. But I am not as good as most of the women who play on my team or in our league. Admittedly, I do not practice outside of our games and I have not put time or energy into improving except for the simple fact that I am showing up and doing my best. And after all these years, I still have to remind myself every single Monday that showing up is enough.
Yesterday I was the guest speaker for a class in the school of public affairs at American University. My co-worker and friend teaches the class and invited me to talk about nonprofit communications. I love talking with students about writing and communicating, whether it’s elementary school kids at career day or college students. The crux of the conversation was that communication is all about choices. When you interview someone, you choose what to ask and how to ask it. When you write about the interview, you choose what facts to focus on and what to leave out. Your choices have immense power to influence the reader and their perception of the subject. When you’re doing nonprofit communications, you choose your audiences, and how you’re going to reach them, and what you want them to do. You can’t control what they do, but your choices can push them in one direction or another, if you make good ones. I told the class that usually the choices aren’t right or wrong, but they always matter.
In recent weeks I’ve visited a lot of college campuses. In addition to the class visit at AU, we spent our spring break touring colleges so my high school sophomore daughter can start thinking about what’s possible for her after she graduates. More choices. Big ones. Complicated choices. Seeing these colleges is exciting and also startling. I cannot quite comprehend that it’s been more than 25 years since I was one of those kids, at a point in my life when so many choices lay ahead of me–lavish, abundant possibilities. Even though I am only middle-aged now, I feel like there are so many choices behind me, so many doors closed, that I am unsure about what’s left. I have chosen my husband and we chose to have two children and we chose how to raise them. We chose where to live, and what jobs to have, and even though some of the small details may change, it feels like we’re pretty locked in to our current circumstances, for better or for worse. This is primarily because of bad choices, most of which are around money. My brain does not like to keep track of money, or calculate things, or hold onto numbers of any kind. I can’t even remember my license plate number. I think I have dyscalculia, although I’ve never been diagnosed, and people have made fun of me when I’ve brought it up.
Some part of me has always hoped that my financial foibles would be graciously overlooked because of my decency and tendency toward kindness. That I would be excused from my mistakes by virtue of my virtue. I don’t think it actually works that way.
When I was talking to the AU students, all of whom were taking notes (I hope, and not doing something else entirely) on their laptops, I kept thinking how I had to take notes by hand in college. And I went to college before ordinary people even had the internet! Not that it’s a good thing or a bad thing. It’s just a thing. Making choices was a whole different ball of wax before the Internet. I don’t know that we make any better choices now, we just make choices while information floods our brains. What did my brain used to be full of? Song lyrics? Hormones? Possibilities? Questions, for sure. That hasn’t changed.
What do I want from the rest of my life? More chocolate cake? Bigger muscles? The chance to hold more babies. Last week I interviewed four young women for a project for work. When I asked one of them–Patrese–to sign a consent form acknowledging that our interview would be recorded and excerpts from it posted online, she asked me to hold her baby. I was glad to. I hoisted the little girl onto my hip and talked with her about what her mom was doing. She played with the laminated card on which interview questions were printed and listened to the noise it made when she moved it around. She dropped it. I picked it up and handed it back to her. Several times. I continued to hold the little girl, who was wearing a denim jumper over her diaper, while we set up the camera and the lights and got Patrese set up with her mic. I bounced the baby while I interviewed her mom about how the pandemic affected her life and what she’s had to do as a result. I held her baby while I asked her about safety, and family, and the kind of world she would like to see her baby grow up in. By the time we finished talking, that little girl was fast asleep on my chest. I wondered if Patrese was going to take her back or if she was simply too relieved to have someone else holding her baby for a little while. I would’ve kept holding her too. But I handed her back, trying not to wake her up. I was thinking about all the ways the pandemic changed my life, which were different, but not entirely, from Patrese’s. I don’t know if those feelings– isolation and uncertainty, and that sense of being in survival mode–will ever truly go away, even when we’re surrounded by people and things are theoretically ok. Maybe it’s the uncertainty that haunts me the most. The constant grinding in my brain of questions that have no answers. Choices that may not be right or wrong but simply are. Maybe all I can ask for in the rest of my life is patience and the ability to take a few deep breaths and let the questions float away.
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Picture this: I am making a delicious lunch for Niki to bring to school because although they woke up at 7:45, they have decided at 8:25 that they want to bring lunch and will not eat the “baked fish treasures” on offer at school. They are supposed to leave for the bus stop at 8:30.
They are dressed except for socks and shoes, which they claim they cannot put on until I help them put their halloween costume in a bag. I have not yet done this because they came downstairs saying, “You need to put my halloween costume in a bag,” and refused to rephrase this as a polite request instead of a direct order. I told them I do not take orders.
Meanwhile, as I spread the sun butter and strawberry preserves on bread, I am suddenly overcome with an urgent need to use the bathroom. I drop the knife on the counter and sprint to the bathroom. On the way I somehow encounter a shard of something (glass? plastic? no idea) that impales my foot. I make it to the bathroom but while I am on the toilet my foot is bleeding all over the floor. I try to stop the bleeding with toilet paper, and end up with bloody toilet paper stuck to my foot and all over the floor. Niki is asking through the door if I’m ok and what’s going on and I am shouting instructions about filling their water bottle and putting it and their lunch bag into their backpack and where to find a tote bag for their halloween costume and oh by the way can you ask Daddy to come downstairs with the bactine and bandaids since I am bleeding all over the floor.
Randy (who is weak and feverish from his covid booster yesterday) comes down with first aid supplies and cleans the floor while I clean my foot. I hobble upstairs and roll up Niki’s axolotl costume (size adult medium because that’s all that was left when they decided on a costume) and they stuff it in the aforementioned bag. I gingerly put socks on over my bandaged foot and slip on my Birkenstocks to drive Niki to school, since we’ve long since missed the bus.
They insist, as usual, on taking an umbrella. They repeatedly try to open the umbrella in the hallway despite the fact that it’s not necessary to do that in the house AND IT’S NOT RAINING. They insist that it is “rainy” and I counter that no precipitation is happening and tell them they may not open the umbrella at all. I say (because we are currently reading a book together that takes place on a submarine) that that’s an order from their captain. They say “you’re not my captain, you’re my mom.” I say, “moms are captains.” They say, “no, moms are caretakers.” I say, “They are both captains and caretakers.” They say, “I’m not taking orders.”
AND scene.
You Ask a Lot of Questions 
