Lonely alley at sundown, just me and my thoughts, until I saw this little snippet of wisdom shared on the side of a building. Yes. It’s all what we make it. Minute to minute, day to day. What are we really searching for?

Busy-ness by creating a double booked schedule to keep us from standing still and feeling what’s left when all the i’s are dotted and t’s crossed?

Acceptance from others so we start to believe that we are good enough?

Money so that we can measure our wealth by our bank account and not by our heart?

Love from anyone or anything that fills the void?

Sedation so that we don’t feel anything at all?

Or do we seek Enlightenment? Truth? Self? The Divine? Whatever you want to call it… do we search internally for fulfillment or externally? Where is our happiness found?

Did you see this line-up? It’s astounding how much we can learn in 3 short days, but I’m doing it all… including the yoga and meditation. I’m in. All in.

It’s funny, my daughter told someone recently that I was going to a conference and that I wrote a book. I was surprised because she prefers that we live relatively (almost completely) stealth so I probably produced a more than inquisitive look at her proud declaration. (Still working on my poker face truth be told…) Later I asked about it and she simply replied that she was happy that I was “helping people be better parents.” Whoa!!!!?? 

I wish that I could assume such a glorious job title, but alas I felt more comfortable clarifying that I ask questions and talk about things that might help parents along their journey. Simple. A take-it-or-leave-it type of thing. No pressure. But in her eyes, when she sees the cover of my book she’s constantly reminded of our talks about the parents who may not understand their child’s gender identity, or as she prefers to it as “how people feel inside”. She may ponder what life would be like if we didn’t listen to her or forced her to be someone she isn’t. That breaks my heart.

Even my son brought on the water works today. Bright and early, before 6am he chose to absolve me of my parental duties by telling me that he “forgives me for missing his graduation” and gave me an enormous hug that made me wish that this was my wake up call every morning. Mind you, he is graduating from preschool, which is huge for him and totally important. I get that. Still.

I start to tear up when I think of connecting with others this weekend. Why? Maybe because I feel the emotional weight of families who struggle with issues surrounding gender expression. I was there just a few years ago, not knowing where to turn or how to help. Life looked condensed in a way, with fear closing all the doors I wish were open. That was then.

Today we are free. Not completely transparent, but living and standing in our truth day in and day out. And I have so many people to thank for that. You know who you are – you beautiful, courageous, loving, loyal, open and supportive friends who have stood by me even when my brave disguise had worn thin. You’ve lifted me, carried me, soothed me and inspired me to do more for all of the families, like ours, that want to live genuinely, no matter what that looks like. I’m eternally grateful. And blessed.

The kids sauntered over once the discussion started and stayed for the whole thing. We watched so intently you’d think there was a space shuttle launching right before our eyes. What a courageous man. What a powerful message. I couldn’t hold back the water works. Truth be told, the kids even started to roll their eyes when I requested tissue for the tenth time. Yes, their mom gets a bit sentimental. Rightfully so.

My heart soared to learn about how Roger Ebert morphed what looked like an impossible situation to most of us into a fulfilling, rewarding life. He never gave up. When the TED discussion came to a close, I felt compelled to revisit a story I’d read about three years ago. Team Hoyt.

If you aren’t familiar with Dick and Rick Hoyt, you should be. They are a dynamic team, a loving duo, and a constant reminder to me (and many) to live fully. I’m not talking about counting our blessings and saying thanks more and all that jazz, I’m talking about finding out about what really means something to you in this world and pursuing it without limits. No boundaries. No finish lines. No stopping. Going beyond what you thought was humanly possible and then waking up and doing it again.

It doesn’t have to be physical either. Many of us are sitting back and saying, “I can’t run marathons, I have (this or that issue)” and that’s okay. Maybe exerting yourself physically isn’t your thing, but what is? Whatever it is that you feel passionate about, whether it’s planting veggies in abandoned lots or taking care of an older relative- do it, and do it with an open heart.

Buddha’s last words are something I think of every day, if not hourly. He reassured his followers as he started to leave his physical body. “Strive on tirelessly,” he told them when they asked how they would go on without him. The message has been interpreted in various ways, but this one resonates with me in a special way. Keep going with tenacity, perseverance and fortitude is what he is saying. Continue. Don’t stop.

I experience Dick Hoyt’s love for his child and I am rendered speechless. Can I summon a similar type of love, patience and courage every day as I parent and advocate for my children? Is it possible for me to break through my fear, discard my selfishness and release my ego long enough to meet every challenge before me with grace, with purpose? I ask myself all the time. Some days I respond with a resounding “Hell yes!” and other days I struggle to find the right words. Doubt can be like a sedative, coaxing us to give up a little bit more optimism each day.

Dick Hoyt has run more than 1,000 races with his son, and his son cannot move on his own. Dick swims pulling a boat behind him with Rick inside. After that Dick carries his son from the boat to the conjoined bike. After biking is done, Dick pushes Rick in front of him as he runs. Can you possibly imagine? Rick told his dad that he doesn’t feel handicapped when he is racing, and so they continue.

Now that my kleenex have piled like a small mountain on the table and thankfully my sobs have turned to sniffles I can run to my little wonders and hug them like I’ll never let them go. Sure, they’ll snuggle at first and then slowly let go as they turn their attention back to their art projects and games, but I’ll freeze that moment in my mind, what it feels like to have my five and seven year olds in my arms. These two little miracles in my life.

What do I need in this world? Very little actually. What do I have to give? Everything, and more.

Whenever I reached the full commitment phase of my practice (and it was always there impatiently tapping it’s foot staring at me like, “What’s it going to be this time?”) I’d resort to holding my breath as I turned my back on the most fulfilling part of my personal life. I wouldn’t accept real happiness back then; I felt I didn’t deserve it. And I couldn’t allow going there, so deep inside myself that I’d unearth my demons, blindfolded and gagged for years. I didn’t want to face what was trapped within my strong, resilient facade. Until now.

A few years ago a friend, also a yoga instructor, told me she wanted to be my teacher. Sheepishly I had to admit that I didn’t have the funds for such a lavish expense, a private yoga instructor. It sounded so extravagant, like a live-in nanny. I’ll never forget her response, so calm and cool. She said that she was called to do it and would come to my home for free. Who would turn that down, I thought. I set up an appointment immediately, as if this special offer deal would run out at midnight, completely unaware of how actions have a ripple effect on our lives.

The breath was my first gift. Unbeknownst to me I held my breath for the majority of my day (and my life if I want to be honest with you) and the chain reaction inside my body led to more fear, more anxiety. This was the first hurdle, breathing. Next came sinking into the discipline of the asanas, unlocking my old thought patterns about what my body can or cannot do. Living with where we are at today, right now. This, I’ve found is ongoing, and I love it. We are limitless creatures.

Soon my teacher led me to books that expanded my practice, things like Pema Chodron, Louise Hay and Don Miguel Ruiz, cracking the shell of my old patterns and retraining my inner dialogue. Effortlessly I became open to all the aspects of yoga that I feared before. Divine time. Divine order. Don’t get me wrong, embracing the 8 limbs of yoga is not an easy (or quick) task. You don’t just wake up one day and nail it. It’s an unfolding, like slowly peeling layers of an extremely large onion. Most of us spend our lives just enjoying the work, the practice of yoga. And that’s enough.

My mother chuckled when she heard I was (finally) focusing on my practice. “You were about 4 years old when you begged me to buy this little book about yoga at the grocery store. Jenny, you never wanted anything before and you never wanted anything so badly. You had to have it,” she explained, “Once you got home you spent the next five years doing these crazy poses. You’ve always done yoga.” Funny how people see things from the outside. Yoga has always been there for me – guiding me, comforting me, restoring me, energizing me, calming me.. and ultimately, waiting for me to come back home.

Yesterday my daughter slid in when I was preparing for meditation, her long locks falling into her bright eyes as she stared at me. “May I join you?” she said softly. I thought you’d never ask! And there we were, mother and daughter sitting in lotus position, hands in anjali mudra, smiling at one another in perfect silence. Bliss.

As the name of my blog and my book suggest, I’m a Seussian, a devoted follower of Dr. Seuss and I strongly believe than most of life’s biggest mysteries could be solved by simply reading his books. Love. Vanity. War. Conservation. Integrity. Boredom. Courage. Government. Mischief. Freedom. Ethics. Commitment. You name it, I’ve grasped the concept first from Dr. Seuss. First as a child, then as an adult, I’ve gone back to his books when I’ve needed to take that flight of fancy into what really means anything to me in this world.

There is nothing more soothing than Oh! The Places You’ll Go! when you crave enlightenment. Yes, we WILL move mountains. 100% guaranteed.

Every moment for the past 40 years has been rapid, like I’m navigating wet stepping-stones set too far apart across an angry current, and you just know the bone crushing waterfall waits around the corner. You can feel it. Adrenaline pulsing, mind racing activity focused on sheer survival. I’ve always been able to quickly stay the course and hop back and forth across the slippery banks of pain and pleasure. But what about happiness?

When Hope transitioned almost two years ago I had to stop staring at my feet and let go of where I thought I was headed. My inwardness (my extroverted disguise) was challenged for the first time, despite acting as a mother for almost 6 years and I needed to let go. I jumped, sailed down that river and across the bend to meet that watery cliff… and off I went.

I’ve been falling these past two years, and sharing that lovely suspension with you. In that time I’ve caught my breath, used my voice and even lifted my self-imposed veil of secrecy. I’ve been the mother and the person I’d always hoped I could be. Meaningful stuff. And, like every journey, you never stay in one spot for too long.

Last week I felt the whoosh, like when you nervously dive off the highest diving board and finally ignite with the water below, and I had to make another choice. Stay in the dark bliss below the surface where you can hide or rise up to face what lies above in the light. Tempting as the coziness below feels, I am destined to ascend. To move on. Hope and Will show me that every day, their resiliency and raw courage radiating with each smile. I’ve made it. I jumped and I survived. Now what?

“Allow yourself to be needy Jen,” my Reiki Master told me this weekend, “Other people, I tell them to be less dependent on others, but you? You do just fine all by yourself.” And it’s true. I’d rather crawl into my comforting seclusion than have to work out life’s complexities with others. It feels weird. I wasn’t raised that way. I was trained to be fiercely independent, strong to a fault and so resilient it scares people, but that’s not taking me to the next level spiritually. I’m not in this world alone, and I don’t want to be. I want more. I need more.

So for the first time friends are hearing that I need them and it feels good. I guess I always thought that if I asked for what I needed that no one would listen. Back then I didn’t have enough love for myself to even try. Most friends have generously opened their arms wide to embrace me, accepting me for who I am right now – imperfect and completely honest. Others lost my phone number (and email address) when I showed my first sign of weakness. It stings a bit, but when I look around at who is left I see that I am blessed. I am loved. I am whole. And I can move forward with my heart and mind wide open.

Take this morning… one sleepy child was in a huff that the other had (what appeared to be) more strawberry-banana smoothie in their little Lilly Pulitzer pink and green glass. Heaven forbid! Shoulders crunched, faces scrunched, eyes squinted. What time is it again? The lovey mojo of good morning kisses were long gone until I turned to iTunes to rescue us. Not even a song later I saw their postures loosen, smiles emerged and then, laughter graced my little kitchen. Saved, yet again, by the power of music. As the two pranced off, best friends once more, I stayed behind loading the dishwasher when this Tracy Chapman song came on and it hit me like a ton of bricks…

If you knew that you would die today,

Saw the face of God and love,

Would you change?
Would you change?

If you knew that love can break your heart
When you’re down so low you cannot fall
Would you change?
Would you change?

How bad, how good does it need to get?
How many losses? How much regret?
What chain reaction would cause an effect?
Makes you turn around,
Makes you try to explain,
Makes you forgive and forget,
Makes you change?
Makes you change?

If you knew that you would be alone,
Knowing right, being wrong,
Would you change?
Would you change?

If you knew that you would find a truth
That brings up pain that can’t be soothed
Would you change?
Would you change?

How bad, how good does it need to get?
How many losses? How much regret?
What chain reaction would cause an effect?
Makes you turn around,
Makes you try to explain,
Makes you forgive and forget,
Makes you change?
Makes you change?

Are you so upright you can’t be bent?
If it comes to blows are you so sure you won’t be crawling?
If not for the good, why risk falling?
Why risk falling?

If everything you think you know,
Makes your life unbearable,
Would you change?
Would you change?

If you’d broken every rule and vow,
And hard times come to bring you down,
Would you change?
Would you change?

If you knew that you would die today,
If you saw the face of God and love,
Would you change?
Would you change?
Would you change?
Would you change?

If you saw the face of God and love
If you saw the face of God and love
Would you change?
Would you change?

Last night I found myself reading into the wee hours, that’s my thing when I have too much on my mind, so I grabbed Deepak Chopra’s Power, Freedom & Grace to shine a light on what was happening in my life: finances, prickly relationships, school next year for the kids, things I wish I would have done, but didn’t have the courage to, words left unspoken. I felt like a top spiraling, but not the way you’d normally picture it quickly gliding in smooth circles, all strong and centered. No, this was the loopy, falling to one side, drunk-looking top that couldn’t decide whether to keep going or just plop over. I was flailing, so I cracked open the vessel that I hoped had an answer. It didn’t, but I got tired enough to put my thoughts to rest, at least for one night.

When I woke up my quandaries still plagued me, but in the backdrop like white noise as the kids barked at one another about breakfast and equality. Then, in my peaceful state of contemplating whether the Crate & Barrel eco-friendly bowl could actually unravel in the dishwasher like they cautioned, I began hearing the answers louder than the questions.

Every moment is another chance.

Reminds me of a conversation I had last with a friend who told me he heard a PSA supporting the LGBT community earlier that day. “I watch a lot of TV,” he said, “but I’ve never heard anything like that before.” Times are changing. Hearts and minds are opening. With each story, each voice, the message finds a crack where it never reached before and therein lies the opportunity to grow and expand, and love.

Maybe I’m too hopeful? Maybe I need to see the silver lining so that my momentum doesn’t lose steam? Or maybe, just maybe, this is exactly what I’ve always dreamed about – a time when we can talk about gender diverse children and their families without shame or fear.

As I write I watch my gorgeous little child peacefully working on her schoolwork, pausing for a moment to grin at me as she finds I am staring a little too long. I can’t help it. I would move mountains for my the safety and well-being of my children. I will fight for her, and all kids who are diverse in their gender expression, so that they have an equal chance in this world. They deserve to experience life, with all of its ups and downs, the way any child could. Gender is just one part of the whole child.

“I love you,” I tell her when I look up and it’s she who is now looking right at me.

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Thank you!

My heart sank. The mother of the 9-year-old victim spoke eloquently about how her daughter, born on 9/11, was brought into this world amidst tragedy and left this world in the same helpless circumstance. As I wiped the tears I could not hold back, my two little children played upstairs unaware of the hatred in this world.

From time to time I get a glimpse of that small mindedness here on this blog, my simple, safe space that I share with the world. Often the comments are so inappropriate that I do not post them, so I keep them hidden from you and me and them as if they never existed at all. But is that fair? I pocket the hate sometimes like an old receipt that I feel the irrational need to keep, but can’t seem to file away in the right place. So it lingers in a jacket that’s out of season left hanging in the closet. Forgotten, but there.

Here I’m on the cusp of being public for the first time to promote the book and I’m still not quite sure how to deal with hate? A friend’s voice whispers in my ear that compassion is the key. Easier said than done sometimes I think. In the past my knee jerk response to this conflict was fear, but I see how that doesn’t serve me. It doesn’t come close to satisfying what is present in my heart.

Last year a parent who was acting on the defensive (long story) threatened to out my daughter, who lives stealth. The mere mention of this sent me into a panic. Shaking, I sat at the kitchen table like a statue, unable to stop the rage and fear that pulsed through me like sparks flying off jumper cables. One part of me wanted to unleash my wrath, protect my child at any cost. Mama Bear was not happy. The other part of me wondered what I could do to defuse the situation. “How do I make this woman leave us alone?” I thought. I wanted to run away. Change our name and never look back. Looking back I recognize that her threats were out of my control. The only thing I was responsible for is my reaction to the situation.

Say the same scenario happens today, how do I react? How do I seize the opportunity for compassion and go there. Jump into the messy parts of misunderstanding and small mindedness and create a small space for love, for what it’s worth. Would it bridge the gap between she and I? Would she come to a greater understanding of my child’s diversity and I to a deeper knowledge of her fears? That’s yet to be seen.

We’ll never make sense of hatred, let’s face it. The only action I can control, especially when faced with tragedy like what happened in Arizona, is to muster up the courage to show compassion for all people, and teach my children to do the same.