That’s just it- its an outsider’s perspective. We never know what is happening in someone’s brain, in their heart. Nor can we grasp the immense pressure that we sometimes inflict on ourselves, unbeknownst to others.

As a parent I react by questioning how I can help my child to keep talking, keep relating what she needs and what she feels. As she gets older I know that the lines of communication naturally get strained, but how do you keep a child feeling safe enough to share intimate feelings and realities? Love? Stability? Security? Leading by example?

It’s funny… before I logged on I emailed my sister. Earlier this morning I had a little surgery that brought about a revelation. As the flurry of preparation buzzed around me in the cold operating room I slipped into a trance like state (meditating has proven a success in the face of uncertainty here, and the kirtan music didn’t hurt) and went to my happy place. In my email I reassured that I was fine and then I went on a tiny tangent saying that I felt like I must have been a prisoner of war or a hostage or something in another life because I have an uncanny ability to transport myself to another place when I need to endure pain. I did it giving birth. I did it for my marathons. I do it when my back pain ceases to be manageable.

I guess I did it for my emotional pain as well. When my father died I had just survived a near fatal injury months earlier and was, for all purposes, emotionally tapped. I’d been isolated in the hospital and near silent for hours and then days on end. I went inside myself for comfort and reassurance and it worked. I guess.

After his death I was left without words. It wasn’t that I kept my feelings hidden, it was that I could not sort out the shock from the pain from the grief from the fear. “Jenny doesn’t talk,” was what I heard in my bubble, but I felt too overwhelmed to try and piece apart my confusion and despair. Was this what Mike/ Christine experienced in some way? The inability to translate the tornado of emotions inside. The guilt for not being able to bring something to the table, so to speak. The hatred building because I couldn’t make anything better. The fear that if I said a single word I would lose myself completely.

Now thirty years later I have found my voice and my courage. By writing I’ve found a way to unzip my armor, let every emotion spill out into words, expose the most vulnerable parts of me and witness the reality of where I am at with love. It’s not perfect. It’s not logical at times. But it’s real. And it’s out there. I am grateful that this journey leads me to this result. Standing in my truth.

Sat Nam. Truth is my name. It rang through my ears as I laid on the table today and I was peaceful despite pain. It’s all I could hope for. Maybe tonight I will sit with my kids and talk about my experience honestly. I’ll tell them that I didn’t know what to expect, but I took a deep breath with the knowledge that I could face whatever comes my way.

Yoga has been with me and inside me my entire life though I have practiced on and off over the years. From the very first moment I saw the mysterious little orange booklet in the checkout aisle at the grocery store I knew I had to have it.

At first glance the otherworldly figure on the cover sat peacefully in lotus with hands at the prayer position. For me it was as if the yogi’s hands were motioning to me. “Grab this book and never let go,” was what I heard. I started when I was only 5, but I spent the next couple years staring at that little book, desperately trying to stand on my head and twist my body to look like the illustrations. It was a godsend for a lonely child with countless hours on their hands. I became lost in my peaceful practice.

Now after all these years I have found a practice that brings back the wonder I felt when I was a child. Fresh. Focused. New. Alive. My favorite part is when the instructor reminds to simply sit and receive. Receive. Accept it all. The overwhelming love I feel spilling out like a fountain. The fear that rattles my core. The delight that crashes like waves. The pain like a noose around my neck. The words I’d like to take back. The tender moments I never want to forget and on and on and on. Whatever messages are coming through. Receive. It felt like an epiphany the first time I heard it.

Even my meditation felt like more like quieting my mind, rather than opening my mind. Like a librarian telling a chatty student to “Shhhhh!” complete with finger tightly pressed to an exhaling mouth. My practice now feels like I am becoming a more beautiful part of the universe. Connected. Strong. Fierce. Whole.

Another step on the journey. Another awareness of love and comfort.

“She likes to dress like a boy. She wants to be a boy. So we had to cut her hair. She likes to wear boys’ everything. She thinks she’s one of the brothers.” Jolie was quoted as saying. Perhaps because an international mega-star like Jolie has said it people across America will think twice before judging other children like Shiloh.

Isn’t that what it takes sometimes? A popular tv show or a celebrity to validate everyday life. I think lots of folks subconsciously rely on prime time and magazines to provide cues on how to think, what to wear and of course, what to buy. When in fact, life is just fine no matter how you look at it.

Nevertheless, I am enormously grateful that Jolie responded honestly about the questions regarding her child’s clothes. I hope that it opens doors of thought for people across the planet. It definitely made me smile.

Today I sat in front of the laptop and finally watched and read about the documentary entitled Her Name Was Steven. Incredibly moving. It was sent to me months ago, but for some reason I was ready today. It struck me when she said that she, then he, confided in his wife that he needed to wear women’s clothes. The wife said she “played along” and dressed him up. Giggling, she said, and brought him to the living room to look in the mirror. “There she is,” he said. And his wife said she stopped laughing.

Steven said he battled that person in his life for so long and then that day he tried on the clothes she was released – born. Can you imagine someone having to hide their true feelings for decades? Running away from their truth? Tears fell from my eyes as I watched his anguish.

There was some footage about his, now her, son writing a note to her saying she was the best dad in the world and that no matter what people said or what she looked like, he would love her. The child sat smiling approvingly, but Susan was so emotional she couldn’t continue. All this time she hid from her authentic self because she thought that no one would accept her. And they do. The power of love is astonishing.

I guess we move in a personal timeframe, the path unbeknownst to us. Only divinely right. One day something happens and life is forever changed. Like a snap of your fingers. Perhaps the times when we feel off track, our true path could be around the next corner. Maybe in our running away (or in my procrastinating) we are getting closer every day. Just in our own way.

This morning we found out that a really lovely person we know was murdered. For nothing, really, The person (or people) that took his life wanted his new car. Here he was waiting for the next two weeks to slip by so that he could peacefully retire and live out his happy life. It didn’t happen. I keep thinking of him and his family, wishing them peace.

In my heart I go to that place that tells me that his work here was finished. As my best friend always says, everything is divinely right. Yes. Although I believe that’s true, my mind challenges my heart by reminding me that we are all a breath away. A blink away. A wave and a smile goodbye. Flash… and it’s gone.

For the first time in my life I can honestly say that I am loving the way I am destined to. I am living the way I feel is genuinely, and for that matter, divinely right. It is all in line. Not perfect, but real. It’s flowing without regard to what it looks like to anyone else. Pure. Free. Real.

Whenever you lose someone in your life you re-assess. This evening I said goodnight to a family who makes me happier and more fulfilled than I have ever been in all my (almost) forty years. Each one of them have been my gift. My reward perhaps. My everything.

“Don’t worry… about a thing. Every little thing gonna be all right.”

Can a message get any more perfect than that?

It’s my wake-up call. Every. Single. Word. Whisper it to me first thing in the morning so the dread dissolves with my dreams. Sing with me during the day so the permasmile lingers. Words seem lighter. The sun is brighter. Laughter spills over in my heart and I am hopeful once again. I am where I should be. Let it be my lullaby as the day comes to a close and I drift into what could be the best night of my life.

The path twists again forcing the person to accept that our Hope is just a child who is not at fault. Another twist and they need to decide whether they will be a loving and supportive influence in Hope’s life. Continuing along, the person must choose whether they can handle being with Hope in public and talking to their friends and family honestly about her transition.

The last stretch of road is where most people call it quits and go home. The final mile is where the person walks in our shoes. This means enduring public or private scrutiny for the choices I’ve made as a mother (“allowing” my child to “be” a girl) and for who my child is. Educating when someone is ignorant and speaking up against nasty comments, accusations or jokes at our expense. Stepping in the line of fire when someone tries to attack this helpless child even if it means taking a hit physically, personally or professionally. This last stretch doesn’t happen when I’m around. It happens when no one is watching.

It’s easy to be “on board” when we are standing right there and then turn your back and follow the crowd when no one would know. It’s easy to attempt to keep us in the closet from the rest of the people in your life. It’s much easier to act like it isn’t true or it didn’t happen, brushing our lives under the rug like an old tabloid article from an unreliable source. It’s easy to give up on us and not go all the way.

Thankfully people have made their way toward us. Some even seem to have journeyed effortlessly, though I am sure that’s not the case. Right now we have a circle of love and acceptance surrounding us that continue to make life worth living. They’ve acted as allies and champions for us. They’ve used sheer force to move mountains so that my child can enjoy a loving and healthy life. They didn’t have to do it. They could have taken the easy route.

If I look at my circle today I am inspired by these courageous people who open their hearts to us, comfort us and want to be a part of our lives. I admit, lots of people aren’t in my circle. Some people surprise me with their actions. Maybe some are taking their time on the path and we might see them again. Some have shown that they will never take a step toward us. That is okay. We have enough. This is the balance of life.

When spending time in nature I can discard my material trappings and just be. Light as a feather. Shed my troubles and just breathe for a while. Let all the worries of who did this and who didn’t do that fade into a hazy sunset.

Light. Air. Color. Life. It surrounds me like a warm blanket after being pushed into a cold swimming pool. Comforts me like an old friend who I haven’t visited in a while, but is always ready for my return.

Yesterday Hope asked me what paradise was and I had to turn the question around. Where do you feel completely at peace? Where do you see the glory and majesty of life? Her answer was California with it’s mountains and sunshine. My son said it was a national park where we recently hiked.

I’m with them.

“When I dare to be powerful-

to use my strength in the service of my vision,

then it becomes less and less important

whether I am afraid.”

Audre Lorde

__________________________________

As I watched my son in karate yesterday I found myself getting lost in the beautiful Japanese language as they counted from one to ten doing kicks and blocks. Music filled my ears with these little children using their voices, bodies and quiet minds. Like a high pitched harmony.

My head must have been swaying a little to the tune in my head because my peripheral vision caught sight of Audre Lorde standing, arms outstretched, as if reaching for me. Little old me just sitting on a cold metal chair. I stared at the image and then read the quote above.

A thunderbolt ignited my brain when I read it as if the words beckoned me to stretch beyond my cozy, little comfort zone I’ve created. “It’s time!”, Audre screamed to me with her poetry and I accepted the challenge. Ready for the next step.

- – - – - – - – -

It’s been a little luxurious, writing books that is. I have to admit that I feel a great sense of calm when I can rationalize the countless hours I’ve logged at the beach watching waves, for “inspiration” you know. Or the days I seem to float aimlessly from place to place, not doing particularly anything, but just being in the mix. Feeling my feelings amongst the ebb and flow of my so-called-busy-life. I’ve taken advantage of every chance to slow down and think, a thing I have never done in my entire life. Like a year long vacation if you will. Just moving from moment to the next.

In the past, my other life, I’ve been my own superhero, fast as lightning and able to make minutia a full time job. I stressed if I wasn’t at the latest event, tweeting about the next-fun-thing, going the extra mile, striving to fill my calendar the way a squirrel hordes nuts for the winter. Like I was checking off a never ending list of what I should do, who I should be.

Picture a semi truck, maybe one of those you see on the Discovery channel that drives on the ice at break neck speeds, screeching to a halt for a crying baby abandoned on the road. That was me when Hope said she needed to transition to living as a girl 24/7. Not because I didn’t know or that I was upset at her need to live authentically, but because I was speeding away on my own path. It was all planned out.

So I put on the brakes and stopped for the first time in my life. I’d never trade it. Never change a single thing. Slowly I shut down that other life, the one that didn’t add up to much if you looked at the big picture and I started to look at what I was here to do. What was my vision? Where was I needed?

It’s been one year ago today that Hope transitioned. One year since I started living my authentic life as well. Dismissing my need for “fillers” to escape real feelings and searching for substance. The nitty-gritty, real life, tough stuff that few of us ever dig deep into. I admit, I never wanted my junk to come out. My back story. My feelings. My heart. Petrified that someone would learn that I am broken, damaged, failing.

Now I look back at this year with a lotus in mind. This vibrant flower escaping the mud to rise and bloom. Free. A lotus never denies where she came from. Never tries to transplant herself in some gorgeous meadow like she was meant to be there. No, she came from what some might consider the lowest place. I’ve had 365 days to think about it another way. The filth is beneath everything, even the meadow.

As I think of Audre Lorde’s words I feel ready to move beyond the contemplative inner work of this past year and open the door in front of me. My children’s book about gender non-conforming children is being published in the next few months and I plan to embark on an outreach extravaganza. Someone recently corrected me and said I should use the word marketing instead of outreach, but nothing could be farther from the truth. Marketing feels fake to me, like telling someone they need a new coffee maker when you have one that works just fine right now. Outreach feels right. It feels like sharing a message, touching lives, making a difference. If I can educate people about gender identity and the kids that do not fit into a binary code of this-or-that, then my life’s work will be complete.

I’ve found it and I’m not afraid anymore. My courage. My voice. My mission.

A friend just mentioned that there are several links on a popular search engine that basically out us. My heart sank before it began beating as if I was sprinting for the finish line. Only there isn’t an end to your internet history, is there? You can’t simply move on. It won’t let you go. It clings to what you consider the past like an ex clutching old love notes that speak of feelings long gone. It keeps shoving it in your face.

In the past I would have been frantic, flying into what I used to call “Recovery Mode” trying to fix everything that was wrong or broken, but is it? Lately I’ve been reading Pema Chodron and she’s made a huge impact on my thinking. Now before I take that emotional leap toward all the small “what if” places, I mentally sit down and let it all come. The worry. The fear. The panic. The improvised conversations with words that sting and bruise. The dark, wretched places where my child sits in the middle. The anger. The frustration. The pure, unadulterated rage. Doors open… come on in.

When I can see what my mind is fighting up close I realize that it doesn’t have any power over me. I can change the past about as much as I can change people’s feelings about me. Not at all. As I look back at the chicken scratch notes next to me about all the active sites that reflect the truth of our past, I am going to choose to do something that scares me. I am going to throw them all away and not do a single thing.

Are we still running or are we free people?

Do we stand in our truth with all its complexities and still feel whole?

Perhaps the farther I run or frantically try to erase, the more clear our past becomes. The sharper the focus. The bigger the deal. The more power we give away to people who simply don’t have the capacity to understand real life. Real life to me is what resides beneath the banter in the checkout line. Beyond the smile to your postal worker. The simple realities that are kept for those in your inner circle of trustees. Real life is everyone’s truth. Don’t we all have something we’d rather not share?

A recent conversation about the difference between “right to know” and “need to know” floods my brain and my heart slows the pace. We are just people living in this world. People who want to live authentically. Although I protect some details for the sake of my children, I am not afraid of our truth. It’s ours and I am proud of that. It is as much a part of me as the memories I keep closest in my heart. I don’t need to explain them. They just are.