In light of recent events in the political sphere, here's a page from the book I'm writing, 52 Words for Hope. Belonging She was black and I was white and we were lesbians in racially-torn Boston. We were walking down bustling Tremont Street, holding hands, when a car pulled...
Essay originally published by Evening Street Review, Number 17, Autumn 2017 As a bi-racial lesbian couple in 1982 Catholic Boston, friends were hard to come by. So when a neighbor invited us for dinner, Anita and I sprang for Heineken and ran to her door. There was...
Get ready for one of those platitudes you’ll probably hate: WE ARE WHAT WE THINK ABOUT. Annoying, right? It’s one of those Buddhist-y, Oprah-esque sayings spouted by people with hot tubs and enough time to sit around contemplating abstractions. You know, privileged people like me. Most platitudes—i.e., every...
I am loath to admit it but—I've grown numb. It's been over 7 months since the election and the initial tsunami of disbelief, horror, fear and sadness has faded. It seems I've moved through the five stages of grief and landed at a glassy-eyed gauze of resignation, if not...
Yesterday, Mr. Trump offered a rare piece of honesty, “I thought [being president] would be easier.” I was on my way home, stuck on Highway 17, when I heard the admission and a tight little howl filled my car. With my jaw on the floor, I...
Years ago, I used to meditate every day. I enjoyed it. I’d light a candle, curl up on the couch, take a few deep breaths and twenty, thirty, forty minutes later get up feeling nourished and enlivened, ready to take on the day. Not any more. Now,...
Nine weeks have passed since the Inauguration and once, twice, thirty-seven times a day I hear something infuriating. Today’s insanity? A health care plan that plans to not take care of people’s health. Every day there’s another vortex that sucks me up, whirls me around...
Maintaining a glass-is-half-full mentality is tough these days. An unstable, narcissistic bully with the worldview of a second grader is running the show and I’m writing a blog called Chronicle of Joy. Give me a frickin’ break. I’m even annoying myself. But, here’s the thing: I...
Feeling powerless sucks. That's how I felt in the wake of the election. Helpless, impotent, victimized. Cast aside and silenced. With news of the Women’s March on Washington, the fog began to lift. There was something I could do—yank off the muzzle and kick some ass. A cross-country flight and January in...
Turns out, I’m a patriot. I had no idea. Fourteen days ago, Donald Trump became my president and the depth of my anguish has surprised me. I wake up to a fog of dread and fall asleep spent from worry. Things that used to matter—like the book...