A (Re)introduction

Isabella Dellolio Photography

For some reason unbeknownst to me, I’ve received an inordinate number of Facebook friend requests recently. I took the opportunity to say hello and to offer a bit about myself, my work in the world, and what I stand for. Since some of you are new to the blog, I thought I'd share that here, too.

First things first: Writing is my jam. It's how I connect. It's how I dig around inside of myself. I started blogging in 2007 and have been writing publicly ever since. There is a Hebrew saying, attributed to Rabbi Nachman of Breslov (1772-1810): "The whole entire world is a very narrow bridge and the main thing is to have no fear at all” (כל העולם כולו גשר צר מאוד והעיקר לא לפחד כלל). Writing is my way of walking across that bridge, day after day after day. I am not so sure about the "no fear" part, to be honest -- to me, fear is inherent to being alive. The key is not to get mired in fear, not to let it stop me from growing. In fact, fear can be a powerful propellant for growth. Many years ago, fifteen maybe, a therapist asked me a question that has stayed with me: "How do you move through fear?" I wrote a poem about it at the time, and the answer largely remains the same: One footfall at a time.

You've probably gleaned by now that I'm Jewish, and that is important since Jewish values inform and permeate my writing and my being. I believe that we are here not to perfect or transcend but to discover and repair, and that we each have a personal responsibility to contribute to our collective liberation and wholeness. How we do this varies wildly and is premised on all of us showing up in the ways we can. Judaism understands that inevitability of "missing the mark," and has mechanisms, through ritual, for acknowledging our shortcomings, making amends, and articulating intentions for learning as we go.

In this way, for me, activism is built into everyday life, with Jewish values as my foundation and writing as my vehicle. Part of my work in the world is to hold space for other people to explore what their values are and how they can best embody and express those in the world. Many, though not all, of the people who come to work with me are interested in how and where writing fits into this equation.

Coaching offers a container where people can slow down enough to siphon off the noise that may be interfering with what they know to be true. This noise is pervasive and comes in the forms of toxic social "norms," intergenerational trauma, and a world that screams at us 24/7 about how we're supposed to look, sound, feel, and act.

Making room to quiet all of that is a radical act and a necessary step for anyone who wishes to bring more of their authenticity to the fore. It's also extremely nuanced and takes time. One of the things I try to remember and keep close is that it's ok to move slowly. In fact, urgency is a hallmark of our consumer-driven culture where "now" is less of a word invoking presence than it is one that suggests you will miss out on something if, for example, you don't hit the "purchase" button immediately.

I believe in the power of naming things, even, perhaps especially, the things that scare us. We can't change what we don't or won't see, beginning within ourselves. And when I write "we," I always mean "me," meaning this work of deepening awareness and expanding my consciousness must begin within or it will be nothing more than a shallow replication of the very things I'm intent on exposing and undoing that harm us all.

I proudly identify as queer and am a fierce advocate of people who belong to the gorgeous spectrum that is the LGTQIA+ family. I lived the first 36 years of my life as a straight cisgender woman, a decade of them as a wife in a heterosexual marriage. Even then, I identified as an "ally" and sometimes wondering why I felt so passionately connected to issues like civil unions (this was in Vermont in the early 2000s) and transgender rights and stories. Coming out was the scariest thing I'd ever done. It meant letting go of the life I'd built, the heteronormative life I'd wanted and dreamed of since I was a child, with a house on a cul-de-sac and a nuclear family.

Coming out was not an intellectual or political decision. Despite how it may have appeared, it was also not really a choice. Once that truth became known to me consciously, there was no putting it back. I've done my best to own the mistakes I made in the midst of that period of my life as well as to have compassion for the suppression of self and deep fears that kept me in the closet for so long.

I am also a fierce advocate of antiracism who, like some of you, was socialized to think of myself as a "good White person." Unlearning this is an ongoing process, one that I am not shy about discussing in my writing as well as through the voices and truths I seek to amplify here. If this territory is at all new or uncomfortable for you, I invite and encourage you to stay, especially when your impulse is to unfollow or scroll away. Being an accomplice in the fight for racial justice means repeatedly setting ego aside and learning how to process our feelings in ways that don't center them.

It really helps to have some folks in your life you can do this with -- it's not that the feelings don't matter, but that they end up eclipsing what needs our attention. In other words, this is not an either/or proposition, and remembering that the work is so much bigger than any one of us is crucial.

White Supremacy is at the root of the economic disparities in our country that leave so many people without stable employment, safe housing, inclusive education, affordable and compassionate healthcare. White Supremacy is at the root of the mental health crises that plague our youth and the multibillion-dollar industries that prey on self-loathing and insipid competition and comparison. White Supremacy is at the heart of dickering over increasing the minimum wage; it's the reason the residents of Jackson, Mississippi still don't have water three weeks after a severe winter storm; and it's the basis for current proposed legislation in Minnesota that would send trans and gender-expansive kids to juvenile detention for using the "wrong" bathroom. There is so much to say here, but the bottom line is that IT IS ALL CONNECTED.

Let me pause here.

Let me pause and take a moment to look up from the words. The sun has come out. My coffee mug is empty. Aviva just wandered into the kitchen to make some breakfast.

And let me return to where I began this morning: On the very narrow bridge, this sometimes-tenuous passage, this brief experience of being alive in this body, in this incarnation, in this moment in time. If I can bear witness to suffering -- my own and yours -- if I can delight in dorky humor, if I can remember that we're here not only to dismantle and undo harm but to create whole new worlds within and without, if I can do any of these things with any modicum of grace or impact, it will be enough.

All of this is to say: If you're new here, welcome. And if you're not, thank you for sticking with me. It means the world.