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Last Monday at our weekly Theology on Tap gathering, we discussed death. Cheery topic, I know, but we had a wonderful conversation about funerals, memorial services, preparing wills and other documents, and how we perceive our own impending deaths.

Someone mentioned the idea of living each day as if it were your last, and another considered the idea of living each day as if it were your first. Somewhere in the middle of it we talked about our bucket lists – things we want to do before we die. Someone said he was writing a history of his life so that his close descendants could look back and see that dad had done things he wanted to do.

Now I have joked a time or two about a bucket list, but I realized at that gathering that if I had a list, there are a number of things that would already be crossed off it. And more – there are things that other people might wish were on my list, but I know don’t belong there at all. Does anyone know some of the things I’ve done – that I wanted to do? Does anyone know why there are things I haven’t done and am okay with?

It seems to me that we keep looking ahead with longing, or back with regret. But this kind of assessment lets us look at our lives with some sense of connection to who we are and where we’re headed. I want someone to know that not only did I not have kids, but I was fine with it. I want someone to know that I’d always wanted to live in NYC and go to grad school and I got to do both at the same time. I want someone to know big and little things have happened in my life that are pretty cool. I want someone – besides me – to know something about me.

We don’t know when we will kick the bucket. I hope it’s a long time from now, but just in case… here’s a quick list of some notable things I have gotten to do and have chosen not to do, and few things I still hope to do. Just in case.

Things I’ve wanted to do, that I did (even if I didn’t realize it was something I wanted to do until I did it):

  • Live in New York City
  • Live and work on a tropical island
  • Travel to the Channel Islands
  • Fall in love and live with a partner (it’s been a while, but I did it)
  • Finish my bachelors
  • Get a graduate degree
  • Discover where I belong spiritually
  • Organize a protest
  • Organize a voter-registration drive
  • Present a paper at an academic conference
  • Direct and perform on Broadway (accomplished on a technicality – I directed and performed at Union Theological Seminary, which is on Broadway and 121st)
  • Preach to over 150 people
  • Meet some heroes: Rita Mae Brown, Z Budapest, Starhawk, Marilynne Robinson, Bill Moyers, Harry Belafonte, Harvey Fierstein, Carly Simon, Lee Smith, Kaye Gibbons, Ysaye Barnwell
  • Sing for someone well known (Carter Heyward is a giant in feminist theology and I got to sing to her at her partner’s memorial service)
  • Get paid to act
  • Get paid to do comedy
  • Get a standing ovation
  • Be a redhead

 

Things that were never on a bucket list (and I’m perfectly okay with that):

  • Have kids
  • Own a house
  • Marry my high school sweetheart
  • Run a race of any sort
  • Go to the top of any building or tower

 

Things that still exist on the bucket list:

  • Be ordained
  • Figure out the answer to just one of life’s big questions
  • Conduct a wedding
  • Be able to support myself doing my arts ministry
  • Retire to the Channel Islands
  • Visit New Zealand and Australia
  • Be my ideal weight – just once, please?
  • Get Lasix surgery
  • Pay off my student loans
  • Play Mame and Dolly
  • Meet my grand-nieces and grand-nephews
  • Write a book
  • Meet one more hero: Stephen Fry

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I have never been comfortable with the word “bisexual.” As a young queer woman in Durham, North Carolina, in the 80s and 90s, our community was very clear that we would use the acronym LGBT, but we would struggle with the T (a subject for another day), and we would not believe the B. I grew to understood the B as meaning “not really gay” or “can’t make up their minds” or “horndog.” So in fact, “bisexual” was a wishy-washy term, attractive to couples looking for threesomes, useful as a category to put questioning folks in.

After my partner Tricia died in 1998, I found comfort not from my gay and lesbian friends, but from my straight male friends. They seemed to hear the pain in my heart – especially one friend, Mark. Mark’s comfort was inviting, and my relationship with him did turn romantic for a while. And that was fine. My mistake was telling my lesbian friends, who branded me a traitor to the sisterhood, who called me a “hasbian,” and then proceeded to ostracize me from the community I had loved and served in for years.

Over the next 15 years, I stopped dating women altogether and focused on men. I decided that my “lesbian days were over” but I didn’t quite step into the term “straight” (despite two boyfriends’ attempts). I also didn’t see myself as bisexual, because at that point, I was not sexually attracted to women, and I knew all the problems the B word brought with it.

That was fine for me personally – I didn’t really need labels. However, I knew that many would not understand my personal history, and I worried that they would think my years as an out, proud, activist lesbian were “just a phase” or that I was embarrassed by those relationships and activities – something that couldn’t be further from the truth. But I also carried the old, tired definitions of bisexual with me – and I honestly did not feel attracted to women at that point. How could I be bisexual if I don’t feel attracted to more than one gender? I wasn’t trying to play the field. I knew the truths of my romantic history and sexual orientations. But I couldn’t explain it well. Throughout seminary, I used the word “queer” and said simply “I exist in the queer cloud” as a way to show my general solidarity but not identify as anything I didn’t think I was.

So fast forward to this week.

Bisexual Visibility Week.

I started reading articles, blog posts, and Facebook statuses from and about bisexuals. Someone shared the video of actress Anna Paquin trying to explain to Larry King that her sexual orientation is not defined by the person she is in a relationship with. Someone else talked about the misconceptions about being confused and still sorting their identity out. And then I read this quote from Robin Ochs in an article called Bisexuality 101:

“Bisexuals are people who acknowledge in themselves the potential to be attracted – romantically and/or sexually – to people of more than one sex and/or gender, not necessarily at the same time, not necessarily in the same way, and not necessarily to the same degree.”

Not necessarily at the same time.

Oh.

Oh!

Oh. I AM bisexual… and it is my definitions that are too narrow.

As open and knowledgeable as I am about gender identity and sexual orientation, I was remarkably closed-minded about bisexuality. Mine, particularly. While I was open and affirming about others’ bisexuality, I used the old, outdated, incredibly short-sighted definitions for myself, thus cutting me off from embracing the fullness of who I am.

And I was doing a serious disservice to the people I want to minister to. A recent study shows that bisexual youth face particularly specific challenges. Others may not know what to do or say to be a good bisexual ally, whether they themselves are gay or straight. And others may just need to see the richer, more colorful texture of sexual orientation, even as we speak more fully about the richer, more colorful texture of gender identity. I need to be out, not just as queer, but out as who I am, in order to best serve others.

So…big breath…. here goes:

bisexuality-flag-heartI am bisexual.

I wish to be visible… to my friends, to my congregation, to my community, to my denomination…. and most of all, to my self.

I am bisexual.

I am a sexually healthy, emotionally healthy, spiritually healthy human being that has loved and been attracted to people across the gender spectrum, to different degrees, at different times, in different ways.

I am bisexual.

I am called to ministry, to be everything I am and want to be, including who and how I choose to love.

I am bisexual.

 

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So… then there was that time I scrolled through my Facebook newsfeed and saw this:

Running after “slaying a dragon,” at all costs, with no relationship to your divine or to the other human beings in the world, will never generate joy .

A Hero’s Journey doesn’t suit us. It’s just not going to work.
We need something else, we need a new map.

We need to step into the Heroine’s Journey.

The Hero points himself in the direction of a singular goal,
the Heroine uses her desire as her internal compass.

The Hero leads with his sword,
the Heroine leads with her pleasure.

The Hero is alone,
the Heroine locates herself in community, in sisterhood, in collaboration.

The Hero is self-sacrificing,
the Heroine receives from others.

The Hero revels in his victory, no matter the price.
the Heroine is filled with deep gratitude at the privilege of life, itself, at every twist in her storyline.

The Hero never questions himself, or his value, or direction,
the Heroine lives inside the question, and trusts that the enjoyment of her deep longing draws her desires closer to her, every day.

The Hero survives adversity against all odds,
the Heroine owns her rupture, surrenders to it, celebrates the perfection of her circumstances, no matter what.

The heroine takes a huge leap- she chooses to be the author of her own storyline, rather than the victim.

The power and the fuel that allows the Heroine’s Journey to unfold is her turn on.
Turned on to life. Turned on to her divinity. Turned on to her beauty. Turned on to her pleasure. Turned on to her power.
When a woman is turned on, she is tuned in.

And I realized that maybe my hesitation isn’t fear, but that I’ve been living the wrong story.

 

 

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I don’t understand it.

I am an extrovert and love to process ideas, emotions, and experiences with people. I hold strong opinions about equality, justice, compassion, and ethics. I am willing to be in a crowd of people rallying for causes, to sign a petition, to write letters, to even blog a bit about things I believe.

But I am scared to death of stepping out on my own.

I want more than anything to be brave, to have the courage of my convictions, to not worry about what others think of me, to go boldly in the direction of my dreams and vision. I want to be an example. I want to be Me with a capital M. I want to affect change. I want to take risks and make a difference.

Instead, I worry about what others will think. I step out gingerly. I couch my comments in wiggle words. I make excuses to stay among the crowd, not stand out. I dress conservatively.

Some of my caution comes from knowing there are others who have to approve of me in order to reach my goals – including ordination. I surely don’t want to freak out the Ministerial Fellowship Committee any more than I have already freaked out the Regional Subcommittee on Candidacy (who thought I was too theatrical and garrulous). And I will always need the approval of someone who will hire me to be their minister/consultant/artist/director.

Some of my caution comes from living in a family with beloved members who are on the opposite side of the political spectrum, who are older and have the power to put me on the defensive with just a look, whose questions hit like accusations.

But most of my caution comes from being a middle aged woman in America.

I’ve been called pushy, overwhelming, aggressive, too much. I’ve been told I “scare the boys in engineering.” I’ve been told to not go too far, do too much. Even in my years as an LGBT activist in the 1990s, I experienced urges for temperance and caution.

I’ve been taught to not do too much, not to color outside the lines, not to breathe into the fullness of who I am.

Who I am, of course, is a beautiful, loving, passionate, creative, compassionate, brilliant, sexy, queer, full-figured femme woman with a deep and unshakeable call to ministry. I am a powerhouse who wants more than anything to unleash my femministry on the world. I am a guide and a muse who wants more than anything to help others unleash their awesomeness on the world. I am a missional mother who wants more than anything to love the hell out of this world.

It is a fact that I am surrounded by bold, creative, beautiful, brilliant people who are much less fearful – who step out, who make waves, who are not afraid to be who they are. One of them even got honored on this impressive list of incredibly bold femmes.

Now my experience, qualities, and desires are particular to me, but the truth is, most of us are scared of something. Something holds us back from living into our fullness. Something keeps us ineffective, uncreative, and fearful. It could be money, or family, or a job, or – and this is more likely – messages from someone who told us we should scale down our dreams and desires, to be realistic, to be responsible rather than radical.

So how do we stop the cycle? How do we stop letting others’ expectations keep us from our fullness? How do we  – how do I – stop being afraid?

dragshow2014Over this past year, I’ve been observing my Year of Jubilee – it is my 50th on earth, and I have been consciously noting life lessons, the thoughts and habits I want to discard, and those I want to express. I’ve been unearthing my true self. It’s been incredible – I’ve made frequent posts on Facebook, run a Tumblr of ideas, slogans, and images that speak to my true self, and have done a fair bit of private journaling. I know that by the time I complete this year-long spiritual practice, I will be stronger, freer, more creative, bolder. I am daily rejecting messages that keep me cowed and timid.

But it’s a process.

And maybe that’s my real message today. If you’ve spent a lifetime being timid, boldness can’t necessarily come rushing in all at once.

But I am ready for more boldness. I’ve been preparing for it, and when I look back, I can see many places where I am much bolder than I have been as recently as last fall.

I am still scared. I am still hesitant. And I don’t want to be.

But step by step, I’m making progress.

And that’s something.

 

 

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When I first formed Word Alchemy five years ago, it was with an eye to being able to work anywhere in the world. While I was comfortable in upstate New York, I quickly set my sights on working on a tropical island, and I would joke about working “the Nassau Way”… complete with wifi and electricity that extends to the hammock near the water and an administrative assistant well-versed in bookkeeping, organization, and daiquiri-making.

I dreamed into this further as I worked with Ray Patterson and his brilliant strategic life visioning process. And for Christmas 2009, Carl Eeman gave me a poster of that hammock by the sea. When I got the poster, I taped it (I thought temporarily) over a framed print of “Night with her Train of Stars” that hangs on the wall across from my bed. Since that Christmas day in 2009, I have looked at that poster every day I have been in that room. This is my view:

dreamonmywall

Since then, of course, I heard the call to ministry and am well on my way. Part of being on my way is seeking an internship position in a congregation for the year after I graduate from seminary.  As early as this past August, I started haunting the UUA’s Internship Clearinghouse… and was delighted to discover a new teaching congregation in Key West, Florida. Key West! That seemed so fantastical… yet what an opportunity! While other congregations began to fill the page, I found myself not willing to let go of my initial thrill, and added Key West to the sites I applied for.

Now I will admit – at some point, in the midst of interviewing with some large congregations with well-established intern minister programs, I began to think Key West might be too small and too green. And then I heard someone at another seminary say “everyone is applying there!” and I figured the pool would be too large and I would get lost in the mix anyway.

I am happy to say I interviewed at all the sites I applied for.. but after each of the first three, I felt a little uncomfortable, doubtful, and worried. I knew I’d be happy at two of them but it was clear I wasn’t a really good fit.

And then I talked to the intern search committee in Key West. It was an incredibly fantastic conversation. I heard places where my gifts would meet their needs … and of course where their strengths would teach me and help soften my growing edges. We laughed together, we spoke in first person terms, we engaged each other. And when I hung up I thought “this is it.” I then heard from my references that they’d had amazing conversations with the committee as well.

On Wednesday, December 18th, Rev. Dr. Randy Becker and board president Joy Taylor called to offer me the position as their intern minister, starting August 1, 2014… and now I am a part of One Island Family, the Southernmost Unitarian Universalist Congregation.

A day later, I traveled back to Round Lake for the holidays, and as I sat on my bed, I looked and saw that poster.

The dreaming… the imagining…the visioning.

Made manifest.

Sure, not precisely as I imagined it five years ago… but five years ago, I knew I wanted to live and work on a tropical island. And in about seven months, I will be doing exactly that… in a more meaningful, heart-felt, missional way.

Can dreams come true? Bet on it. And if you are open to how they will manifest, they may surprise you and be even better than you imagined.

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Many years ago, I worked with an intuitive woman named Coral, who was part astrologer, part therapist, part mirror. For the years we worked together, she held a mirror up for me to see parts of myself I couldn’t see, and couldn’t trust. Part of what made Coral so valuable was her unquestioning trust in her intuition; there were times when she would say something that was right on the money that surprised her after she said it – her own mind and heart led her to speak, and instead of filtering or thinking before she spoke, she just spoke. She trusted herself enough to know she was speaking from the heart. And she moved through her days trusting her intuition, living a full and rich life.

zaphodI have always admired that about Coral, always wanted to unquestioningly trust. But instead, I have this second mind that a friend calls “Zaphod” from the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy – this second mind worries, watches, considers, analyzes, and fears.

Mostly fears.

Fears being rejected, fears being hurt, fears being judged, devalued, scorned. My Zaphod Brain is anxious, envious, jealous, worried, nervous, and jerky. For years, I have longed to get rid of my Zaphod Brain, but I haven’t known how. I haven’t felt strong enough, old enough, daring enough, secure enough. It has kept me from speaking my mind, from living into my fullest self, from properly navigating relationships, from feeling free.

But something has shifted.

I’m not sure what it is; maybe some of it is having swallowed the red pill and seeing endless possibilities for serving the world and loving the expansive and infinite Divine. Some of it may be realizing that as I approach 50, I really do know a thing or two, and my seminary career has deepened my knowledge. I know some of it is my recent interactions with an old friend, whom I trust completely – “pre-certified trust” he calls it – and who encourages me to put my Zaphod Brain aside.

So in the last month, I have found myself doing things that are showing me what trusting myself is like: I’ve engaged a debate from antagonism through to a burgeoning friendship; I’ve conducted a discussion group where I realized I have theological knowledge despite believing I am not a theologian; I’ve called out an ex who was doing me emotional harm and haven’t backed down. I’ve stood on the side of what’s right over what’s convenient. I’ve stood on the side of love. I am speaking truth as I see it from the pulpit without apology.

Now for many people, these may seem like no-brainers. But my Zaphod Brain has been quite nervous, second guessing, sabotaging. Or at least has wanted to. It has long convinced me that there is only so much room, and stepping out means breaking the reasonable, much-needed protective barriers.

But what I have discovered is that the space has been there for a very long time.

I’m reminded of an early episode of the animated series Futurama, where the protagonist, Fry, needs a place to stay. His new best friend, a robot named Bender, invites him to stay at his apartment; of course, it’s tiny, with just enough room for a robot to power down. But when Fry gets a plant as a housewarming gift, he longs for some sunlight. Benders says “oh, there’s a window in the closet” and opens the door to a huge room – perfect for a human, wasted on a robot.

That’s me – that room has been there all along. Space for trust – in myself, in others. I am not pushing out through the protective barriers; for the first time, I am living into all the spaciousness of my mental, emotional, and spiritual capacity.

I am still surprised at it – and I’m sure my Zaphod Brain is freaking out as I write. But I can show my Zaphod Brain the big open spaces, the huge picture windows, and the magnificent view.

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After the service Sunday, we had a small group conversation – what some congregations call a talkback but which Saratoga calls “church chat.” It was a lively discussion about the series of sermons I just wrapped up on God – over three weeks, I talked about the transcendent, the immanent, and the creating-creator aspects of the Divine as we see them in our principles and our hymns.

During the conversation, one member asked me “did you put process theology at the end on purpose?” The question was probably meant to tease out my own beliefs, which I addressed – yes, process theology clicks for me, and it feels like a broader idea of God that encompasses the transcendent and the immanent.

But I think there’s more to it than that. And I have been thinking about it a lot. There are many reasons I put this  relational, creative, dynamic God at the end of the series – and what I keep coming down to is that this image of God – this ever-expanding, ever-changing Divine energy/spirit/infinite all – doesn’t coerce us but rather entices us toward beauty and goodness. This creating-creator God embraces us in the family of humanity and shows us infinite possibility in every choice we make. This way of being in the world, with each other, as artists of time and space, as painters of beauty and truth, as sculptors of dignity and justice, is what we are each called to be at each moment.

This calling vibrates through the hallowed halls of our theological house. Our Unitarian, Universalist, and Unitarian-Universalist roots call us to choose, at each moment, a path toward goodness and healing, to create a community of well-being, to reach out.

This creator, creating, relational, dynamic God IS the God of Unitarian Universalism. This is the faith that calls us to action. This theology is how we make our way in the world. And we must make the choice, at every moment, to act. How will we act?

And more to the point, how will I act? What choices do I make? How am I an artist of creation, painting and weaving and sculpting my corner of the universe to make it more compassionate, beautiful, healing, just?

I put the God of process theology at the end of the series because we cannot just sit and sing and think about God. We have to do. We HAVE to take an active role. Life is not a spectator sport; we must all act in this participatory universe.

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As I completed the manuscript for my sermon entitled “God and Democracy” I realized that I write and speak more passionately as a Universalist than as a Unitarian. While my Unitarianism compels thought, my Universalism compels action.

I also know that my recent exposure to the Red Pill Brethren, as well as both Michael Tino’s Murray Lecture and Beth Ellen Cooper’s compelling presentation (“Occupy Your Faith”) further engaged my Universalism – that part of me that knows my power comes from my faith, is grounded in justice and compassion, that we are called to serve the family of humanity, to stand of the side of love, to make sure the smallest voice is heard, to do, to speak up, to act.

And so I delivered a sermon that was perhaps the most passionate sermon I’ve delivered, despite my feeling like death on a cracker. I demanded action of the congregation, but also of myself. As bad as I feel, I know I too have to be an active, willing participant in the lives around me. Who am I if I ask a congregation to serve the needs of those next door if I am unwilling to do it myself? Who am I to talk about mission and servant evangelism and the call of democracy as a call of faithful action if I am not going to act as well?

So my passion – my deep faith in a loving, benevolent God who, as Clarence Skinner remarks, “loves the universe, who hungers for fellowship, who is in and of and for the whole of life” – compels me to action, to be intimately and actively engaged with this amazing family of humanity.

Here we go. Are you ready? Am I ready?

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I attended General Assembly in Louisville last week, and I’m still high off the buzz. (Those who follow me on Twitter or are Facebook friends got quite an eyeful, as I joined many of my fellow attendees live-blogging our experiences.) In a nutshell, it is a transformative experience; I was an offsite delegate two years ago, but nothing beats being in the same space as over 3000 fellow Unitarian Universalists, seeing familiar and unfamiliar faces, hearing amazing lectures and sermons, listening to and singing tremendous music, being inspired by casual interactions and intentional conversations. Oh, and the shopping; there is nothing like walking into the Exhibit Hall the first time – I wanted to buy all the things! (I limited my purchases to a few t-shirts, some books, and a nice pin, but it was difficult at best!) While I am still processing some of the things I experienced and lessons I learned, I do wish to share some of what I gleaned with you (in no particular order):

  • Ellen Cooper-Davis’s workshop called “Occupy Your Faith” was one of the single most inspiring events I attended. In this session, she talked about ways to make our faith real and active and welcoming. Like Occupy, she said, our faith isn’t anarchical; rather, it is immediate and active, not an idea with manifestos and declarations. To help us get out there just DOING our faith, she gave us some great advice, using the acronym EAST(e)R:
    • E – Educate; we should know our history and our theology, and we should be religiously and Biblically literate so that we can talk to others but also within our communities.
    • A – Articulation; we must talk about our faith, but talk about them in the language of the culture we find ourselves in – in other words, we don’t automatically have a universal translator, so we must consider what our common phrases mean to others.
    • S – Service; not just ‘write another check’ service, but on the ground, present service to those around us. Who is next door? How are they hurting, and can we help?
    • T – Transformation; we are a transformative faith, and we cannot continue to be complacent.
    • R – Relocation, Redistribution, Reconciliation; it is actually inconvenient to live out our faith fully. It requires stepping out of our comfort zone, going places that are uncomfortable, living out our faith moment by moment.

 

  • Friday. Eboo Patel. Inspiring, brilliant, thought-provoking. Just watch.

 

  • Saturday’s Service of the Living Tradition was amazing; the music was led by the gospel ensemble at All Souls Church in Tulsa, and I can tell you the place was on fire. Add to that Rev. Vanessa Southern’s inspiring sermon. Add to that the experience of sitting in the audience and watching people around me being ‘called forth from the congregation’ in recognition of achieving ministerial fellowship or credentialing as a religious educator or music leader. Three of my friends from Union Theological Seminary walked, as did Schenectady’s Director of Religious Education, Melissa MacKinnon. What joy to see these leaders emerge from our ranks!

 

  • Sunday’s service was equally amazing; Rev. Dr. Bill Schultz preached an extraordinary sermon. He reminded us that we are fragile, but out of our fragility comes gratitude and trust – and we must thus act morally. I can’t do his words justice (they brought many of us to tears); go and listen. (Also, Meredith Lukow tweeted this:

“Blue Boat Home is like the Freebird of Unitarian Universalism.” – H. Roberts

…which led to a Twitter explosion of “FREEBIRD!” when we sang it during the service (and there is nothing like thousands singing with one voice a beloved song like that).

  • Youth! So many young people were there, so excited about being at GA but more importantly, about being Unitarian Universalist. These young people love our faith – we’re in good hands. I encourage you to look at the work the youth caucuses are doing, including campus ministry; I wasn’t able to attend the session on campus ministry, as it was during my own presentation, but there’s a real opportunity for us right up the street, and there are good materials to help make it happen.

 

  • Because I wasn’t sent as a delegate on behalf of my congregation, I didn’t attend many of the plenary sessions (where the business of the Association is conducted). However, that time was spent talking to people, hearing stories, learning about organizations like ARE (Allies for Racial Equity) and the Ministry for Earth. I ran into Rev. Sam Trumbore from FUUSA about a dozen times (who signed my copy of his new book during one of our encounters), but also had the opportunity to finally meet in person Rev. Erik Walker Wikstrom, who – in addition to having written the beautiful book Simply Pray – was my spiritual director the year I decided to attend seminary. It was nice to finally give him a hug of thanks for being part of my journey.

 

  • Though personally disappointed in the outcome of the moderator election, I know Jim Key will do a fine job. Meanwhile, outgoing moderator Gini Courter absolutely WOWED the crowd with her final report. It’s worth the watch.

 

I have so many more memories and lessons learned – from the Murray Lecture (sponsored by NYSCU) to the various worship services I attended – from seeing old friends from my UU Musicians Network days to the crowd of Union students/alumnae closing down a bar. I got to see good friend Reggie Harris, and emma’s revolution, and Brother Sun perform. I got to make new friends, like KC Slack, Nicki Drumb, Craig Rubano, and Elie Kirkpatrick. And I got to hang out with Union friends Emily DeTar, Valerie Freseman, Ranwa Hammamy, Sara Goodman, and Annie Gonzalez. And and and and….the memories and lessons are countless, but since this is already long, I will close simply with this:

GO.

Go to a General Assembly before too long. Next year, it’s in Providence, RI. It’s transformative and amazing and exciting and eye-opening and exhausting. It is worth it.