A cracked straw instead of the 
commemorative cup

A rash where the 
bandage was stuck

Scrapbooks filled with electrode stickers 
and parking garage receipts 

Emptied plastic sleeves whose cookies 
were reduced to crumbs 
and whose taste my tongue has forgotten

The pulsing cacophony of 
machine rhythms 
keeps vibrating in my brain
long after the
connections are severed 

You shared only your
smoothest prayers
sent them sailing
on the winter wind
through moonless night skies
from where you sit in the universe
to the small space
I occupy tonight
in an unfamiliar room
our momentary home 

On their way
from you to me
they glided into the
open hearts of
all the gods and goddesses
who whispered them aloud
and with strong and
gentle hands
surrounded us
with love

I am a pitcher pouring cool water into your cup

I am a clock taking its own time

I am a spiral staircase stepping up to the stars

I am the stitching of the quilt that you snuggle underneath

I am a match determined to ignite 

I am a curl standing out from the crowd

I am a bear defending every cub

I am the opalescent wings fastened on

so I can fly

I am a rivulet of strawberry ice cream dripping pinkly down the side of a waffle cone

I am a pair of dice rolling the

wrong combinations

I am a broken heart that’s tender to the touch

I am a puddle showing you your reflection

I

I am a pitcher pouring cool water into your cup

I am a clock taking its own time

I am a spiral staircase stepping up to the stars

I am the stitching of the quilt you snuggle underneath

I am a match determined to ignite 

I am a curl standing out from the crowd

I am a bear defending every cub

I am the opalescent wings fastened on

so I can fly

I am a rivulet of strawberry ice cream dripping pinkly 

down the side of a waffle cone

I am a pair of dice rolling the wrong combinations

I am a broken heart too tender to touch

I am a puddle showing your reflection

I am a third door opening to a different world

I am the sunlit clearing when you emerge from the woods

I am buttery words spilling off the page like tight kernels bursting into hot popcorn

I am sometimes the salt

I’m molting

Shedding haphazardly and with
intention
depending on the day

I’m curious
wondering what
will grow in next

Feathers jewel toned or silvered
Shiny scales smooth or gently textured,
inviting you to brush your fingertips
lightly across them

I’m musing on which
spells or incantations
learned or improvised
I might whisper or chant
to shape
my new incarnation
plain and bejeweled
soft and fluffy
lined and spotted
strong and supple

until I molt again

This metamorphosis is not for you

© 2024 by Betsy Rosenblatt Rosso

It is true that I like to plan and organize things, particularly if they are related to something I’m excited about. I will never become a corporate event planner or a travel agent, but I like planning things that matter to me. Right now, for example, I am in the midst of planning an event at my church for families with LGBTQIA+ kids. I love to plan trips for my family, complete with detailed itineraries that everyone makes fun of and we always stray from but at least we have a starting point and options. I love options. Which is why I have thoroughly enjoyed envisioning and implementing my 16-year-old’s college search process. Why am I doing this instead of her, you might ask? I’ll tell you.

  • I understand what college is and how it works much better than she does, since I went through the search process and attended college and graduated, and I know many other people who have done the same. At first I thought she magically knew all the things I knew about college, but it turns out that’s not the case.
  • One thing I’ve learned about parenting her over the past 16 years is that I have a pretty good sense of what she wants and what she needs even if she doesn’t realize what she wants and what she needs at the moment. I am proud of my track record of things I’ve mildly coerced her into doing (which she resisted simply because they were unfamiliar) that she ended up really loving. So I have come to understand that she often hesitates about jumping into something she hasn’t seen for herself. I think she connects with experiential learning. It turns out that our college visits have helped her learn about her interests, or at least reveal to us interests we didn’t realize she had.
  • I like to plan ahead. See above comment about often-mocked but still appreciated vacation itineraries. I’ve wondered for a while why so many families and schools wait until it’s almost time to apply to colleges to start looking at colleges. By the time you’re a senior, or even well into junior year, your GPA is pretty firmly established. You may not have the opportunity to sign up for any more classes. When you’re touring colleges, they say they want to see that you’ve challenged yourself in high school. By late junior year or early senior year, you’ve already taken or at least signed up for all your high school classes. You’ve already been doing most of the activities you’re going to do. It’s certainly possible you will take up a new sport or learn to play a new instrument as a junior or senior, but probably not likely. So that’s why I started this process when my daughter was in 10th grade, so there was still time for her to absorb the information we learned from college visits and act on it. I also anticipated that she would be unavailable for the entire summer between 11th and 12th grades because she aspires to work as a camp counselor at the sleepaway camp she attended for eight summers. That would mean no college visits during that time, which is often when families have the opportunity to tour.

Many people have asked how I started the search, since the universe of universities can seem so overwhelming, given that there are approximately 4,000 of them in the US. So the first thing is to narrow the scope. This does not mean that the initial list you make will be the final list, or that your kid won’t change their minds about what they want many times. And that is totally fine. But you have to start somewhere. Here’s the path we’ve taken so far. (Disclaimer: I am not saying this is the path for your kid, and I am not inviting debate or discussion here. Just explaining our experience).

  • During her freshman year, I was concerned about the lack of self-confidence she expressed when talking about people she knew who were being accepted into colleges that she felt sure she could not get into. Similarly, she seemed daunted by the prospect of taking AP classes because she had heard how hard they were. Of course this prompted me to launch into one of many “you can do hard things” speeches that parents pull out of their back pockets when needed. I attempted to explain to her that she did not have to go to any particular kind of college, or a famous or prestigious college, and that she could take a gap year if she didn’t want to go to college right after school. She could work or volunteer or take time to think if she wasn’t ready for college. We’ve emphasized this a lot. But that she does eventually have to go to college and she does have to take hard classes because she is capable and it’s important to challenge yourself. At this point it was still all theoretical.
  • While we were on vacation, we toured a well-known college in that city. Not because of any particular program that school offered, but simply because it was there. As in, “hey, here’s a college! Let’s look at it just for fun!” I hadn’t really prepared her for this tour and she mentally freaked out, as demonstrated by total silence, walking 20 feet ahead or behind us at all times, refusal to discuss anything during or after the tour, and unwillingness to read the brochure. So that didn’t go super well.
  • Later, when everyone was in a better mood. Perhaps this was days or weeks later, I don’t really remember, she asked me a lot of questions about how college works which I didn’t realize she didn’t know. After that, she seemed to feel reassured that she could, in fact, handle the concept of college, and was more open to thinking and talking about it.
  • One of her teachers suggested to me that my daughter might be interested in one of the Seven Sisters women’s colleges. My first reaction was, “Whoa aren’t those super expensive? We are not rich!” But her teacher assured me that these schools give generous scholarships, which turns out to be true, and was one of the first lessons I learned during the search process, which is that the sticker price of a private university is basically meaningless. I am still trying to understand exactly why that is the case, but I know that it is. There is a lot of money out there, whether or not you qualify for need-based financial aid. For example, at one school we visited, they give you an automatic $25,000 scholarship if you were a member of the National Honor Society. I felt so vindicated when we learned this in an info session because I made Zoe apply to her school’s NHS even though she didn’t understand why it mattered. Another school that we’re planning to visit this fall just sent us an email saying “every admitted student receives at least $24,000 in renewable scholarship upon admission.” Like I said, the way this works does not make sense to me, but there it is. What I have told my daughter is that she can apply anywhere she wants, and we’ll see where she gets in and what aid they offer her. Anyway the point here is that we took a day trip to the nearest Seven Sisters school, which was beautiful, and my daughter was receptive to learning about the school, appreciated its intimacy and traditions and proximity to a cool city, and she was able to start seeing herself as a college student.
  • At this point I was able to start asking questions, since she had some context for coming up with answers. We discussed geography, and she said she wanted to stay on the East Coast, basically within a day’s drive. A smaller school where she can get to know professors appeals to her, so we’ve concentrated on schools with populations roughly 5,000 or fewer. However, a few larger schools with smaller programs in her area of focus have recently made their way on to the list, but she definitely wants to be part of a tight community. We’ll get to that later. She also mentioned that she did not want to go to a school with a Greek system or a big focus on sports. It turns out, we’ve since learned, that this means Division III athletics. I think almost every college we’ve visited is Division III, which means they definitely have sports but sports are not the most important thing at the school. At one college we we toured, when they took us to the gym, I asked if many students attend games. The tour guide said that their women’s volleyball team had recently won the division championship, and that volleyball games in that gym were usually standing room only, better attended than basketball or football, which my daughter and I both thought was awesome. She knew that she wants to study abroad so it was important to find a school that offers plenty of opportunities for that. And I knew, even if she didn’t yet realize it, that we needed to look at schools that offer generous financial aid.
  • Armed with this information, I started looking at lists. My first stop was Colleges that Change Lives. I don’t remember where I first heard of this book, which is now also a website and a whole organization, but it seemed like a good place to start. First of all, college should be a transformative experience, and second, I liked the idea that someone had already vetted these schools and decided they were special in some way. I read about many of the 44 colleges, focusing on those within roughly 600 miles north and south of us. I requested information from any of them that seemed even remotely like a good fit. At this point, my daughter didn’t really have any idea what she wanted to study. The only class she was especially interested in was psychology, so we used that as a placeholder. Most colleges have psychology programs, so we weren’t ruling anything out based on academic offerings yet.
  • I created a spreadsheet with a row for each prospective colleges, and columns to fill in info like location, size, admission rate, average GPA of admitted students, percentage of students of color (we wanted a school that is diverse, like our high school and community), percentage of students who study abroad, etc. I’ve modified the spreadsheet many times and it has given birth to baby spreadsheets with subsets of information.
  • Understanding that Colleges that Change Lives is just a small slice of the big pie of possibly great colleges, I opened up the Fiske Guide. This is one of the few nods to my own college search process, which was much narrower and seemingly haphazard. I love a nice big reference book, and Fiske is just that. I had bought a copy earlier when I was introducing the idea of the Seven Sisters schools, so my daughter could get a little insight into them. Each entry is only a couple pages long, and they include ratings on social life and environment and cost and things like that. She underlined and highlighted elements of the entries that interested her. This was kind of a baby step in terms of her engagement in the process, but it was an important one. One of the most useful parts of the Fiske, in my opinion, is where they say something like “people who applied to this school also applied to these other five schools.” If you liked this book, be sure to check out these other books with a similar vibe. So I looked up every school on our list in Fiske, and added relevant details to the spreadsheet. Then I looked up every school listed in the “if you liked this school” part of the entry, and read about them to see if they met our other criteria. If they did –or came close–I added them to the spreadsheet and requested information on their websites.
  • A friend whose daughter had just gone through the college search process mentioned Niche.com. This is a handy website where you can look up a college and find a lot of information at a glance, including their “grades” for each school based on value, academics, campus, etc. These may be useful but should not be taken as gospel. Different things matter more or less to different people. Overall it’s a great resource, but I have two favorite features on Niche.com. 1) a more robust version of the “if you liked this college…” component of the Fiske, which suggests schools that similar to the one you’re looking at based on several different metrics, like “here’s another school with 2,000 students or fewer,” or “here’s another school with a top nursing program,” or “here’s another school in Pennsylvania.” So you can certainly go down many rabbit holes, but eventually you feel like you’ve thoroughly examined each category. 2) You can compare schools side by side, just like you would when you’re buying a refrigerator from Home Depot or a coffeemaker on Amazon. Comparing schools has been useful when looking at net costs, acceptance rates, and other numbers. I will reiterate that these are all numbers and not the only factors in decision making. Niche.com can’t tell you if the vibe at a school feels right to your kid. But it may be able to tell you if your kid is likely to get in or not, so you can make sure they’re applying to some schools they definitely will get into, as well as maybe some schools they’d like to attend but might be a reach. So I added several schools to the spreadsheet that Niche.com suggested.
  • We started to schedule visits. I’ve heard from many experienced parents that it’s just as important to tour schools you don’t like so your student continues to sharpen their sense of what appeals to them, what matters to them, and what they might want to avoid. So, while I didn’t want to waste our time going places I thought my daughter would hate, I definitely included some maybes on the schedule. Here’s what I’ve learned since we started doing tours. 1) Don’t schedule more than one school in a day, even if they’re in the same town or city. It’s too much, mentally and physically, to absorb and process. 2) Do schedule an info session and a tour. You will get different information and perspectives from each. Info sessions are typically (but not always) led by admission staff, while tours are led by students. 3) Ask questions during both the info session and the tour, but also remember you can read the brochure and look things up online, so you don’t have to ask everything. 4) Bring a water bottle and wear comfortable shoes. Maybe a raincoat and umbrella. Some people I know like to eat on campus when they visit. I do not, because 1) I feel like it’s weird to eat there when you’re not a student and you have other options, like a real restaurant. 2)You can find out how the food is from other sources, and 3) a given meal might not be an accurate representation of the food overall.
  • Somewhere in the middle of all this, my daughter discovered what she wants to study and do for a living, which is something in the realm of filmmaking, video production, photography, broadcast journalism, or media arts. Every school seems to call it something different, and she is still exploring what areas of the field she wants to dig into–which is great–she has so much time ahead of her to figure it out. But once she had this epiphany, that definitely changed the shape of our search. We started looking more intentionally for schools with film/video/media arts programs. This is slightly tricky because, as I mentioned, different schools label these things differently. She doesn’t want to study film, or theory, or just communications. She wants to make things. So that has added and eliminated schools to and from our list. It is important to note, however, that we have not struck a college from the list simply because it doesn’t have a media program if it is in a consortium with other schools that do offer great options in this field. It’s quite possible that she could attend a small women’s college that has amazing leadership opportunities and a progressive vibe and close-knit community while also taking film and photography courses at one of its partner institutions. We have learned that most schools, at least in big cities, are part of these consortia and you can easily cross-register for classes and basically have the resources of several schools available to you.
  • And that brings us up to speed. So far we’ve visited 8 of the 14 colleges currently on our list. We have tours scheduled for three more this fall, and are planning to take on two more next spring break. We have one late-breaking entry that we haven’t schedule yet, but it’s relatively close by, so we can squeeze it in. And there are few more schools that are basically like notes in the margin of the spreadsheet right now. Maybe someone suggested we check them out, or we heard them mentioned somewhere, so I will do a little research to see if they merit a trip. I’m sure that some of the schools will be crossed off the list after we visit, and some may rise to the top. We still have 14 months until any applications are due. I imagine by then my daughter will have forgotten her impressions from some of our trips. Between now and then she will probably meet with some admissions officers when they visit her school, or at college fairs. Her school counselor encouraged her to contact the admissions office or professors in the departments she’s interested in to ask questions, as colleges look favorable upon applicants who have demonstrated a deeper than average curiosity and interest in the school. The list of schools where she actually applies will probably look pretty different from our current list. We have time to sort it all out. Once she knows where she’s been accepted, she can always visit again for admitted students day or an overnight.
  • Of course I’ve already been thinking about next spreadsheet. This one I’m going to have her create, but I’ll help. This one will include the name of the admissions officer and the application requirements and deadlines, and the requirements and deadlines for the scholarships each school offers. And of course there will be another spreadsheet for other scholarships. Thank goodness for the internet. When I was in high school I had to look these things up at the library. I think I only knew about a fraction of the opportunities that were out there. Fortunately, I found one school I wanted to attend, and I applied early and got in and I loved my time there and it all worked out. But I was a different kind of student with a different personality than my daughter, and the world is different than in was in the 90s, so I want to open up the world for her as much as it’s in my power to do.

In the meantime, I will keep loving our road trips. Our next one is to upstate New York, to a city neither of us has ever seen. Every time we travel–for college visits or otherwise–we get excited about finding local coffee shops with resident cats, browsing through independent bookstores, and eating at funky little restaurants. We usually end up walking for miles. We listen to our favorite music and stock up on snacks for the car and notice weird and wonderful things outside as we drive. We laugh a lot. I’m soaking up every minute with her before she leaves on this grand adventure that I’m helping her imagine into being.

I feel like I’ve been holding it in all summer.

What it is I’ve been holding in, I’m not exactly sure. My breath? My thoughts? My feelings? You know when a writer holds in all those words for a long time it’s not healthy. Eventually they’re going to find a way out.

Maybe there’s an imbalance of words because I have spent so much of my time off this summer reading. I have devoured at least two dozen books. I attended the national gathering of Unitarian Universalists and absorbed ideas and songs and Pittsburgh and ate a lot of food and had a lot of conversations. I’ve returned to church and gotten back up on the chancel as a worship associate and a speaker. I’ve made new friends. I’ve eaten a lot of lunches and taken miles of walks with old friends. I’ve been rebuilding my soccer team–now known as Athena’s Arsenal! I am the only player who remains from the original Ice & Ibuprofen squad that made our debut in 2016. I&I merged last year with a team called Far Gone and we’ve had to recruit a lot of folks to build up our roster. In choosing our new name, someone suggested Tottenham Hotties (a riff on the Premiership team Tottenham Hotspurs) and I countered with Tottenham Hot Flashes, but that didn’t win. Perhaps it’s just a reflection of my personal situation. It turns out I am still not really any good at soccer and I’m not sure why I am playing other than to prove to myself that I can and to give myself the gift of two hours a week when I am not thinking about anything else even if I have to run around in circles while that happens. I am organizing an event through church called QA2: Queer or Questioning, Awareness and Acceptance to provide LGBTQIA+ kids and families with an opportunity to make connections and find resources and support. I’m still trying to teach myself to read tarot. What little I have learned so far has offered insights that given me pause and steered me in new directions with surprising confidence.

I’ve been watching my kids grow up before my eyes. It’s like time-lapse photography of their emotional maturity and ability to navigate the world. Niki can bake on their own from start to finish now after a week at baking camp. At the back-to-school open house, they brought cookies they made and gave them out to all the teachers and staff. At film camp they made a silent film–a dark and modern twist on Hansel and Gretel in which they played Gretel. They discovered a previously unknown talent for an interest in being an emcee after performing that role at the end-of-camp presentation at two different camps. They’ve made all kinds of friends at all these camps and are now immersed in various group chats and FaceTime calls. Niki earned their blue solid belt in martial arts after a long stint as a green solid and a final burst of energy and dedication that enabled them to move up. We’ve attended so many martial arts growth ceremonies and they never fail to move me to tears. Always and especially when there are those kids who struggle to break their boards long after their peers have had their new belts tied on by their instructors, I cheer the hardest. We did a bit of rearranging of their room this summer, taking down drawings they’d made during the pandemic (signed with their old name) and hanging photos of them with animals from our trip to the Houston Zoo, and pride posters, and a picture of Megan Rapinoe with the slogan “Be Proud.” And they are. They own their identity and their uniqueness 100% and I am there for it.

Zoe spent a month away from us at Camp Friendship, her home away from home. This was her eighth and final summer as a camper, and her plan is to return next year as a counselor. I remember when she was little and in martial arts and we’d be at the growth ceremony and I would ask her if she could imagine being a black belt, and for a long time she would shake her head, wide-eyed and in awe, and say no. Until one day she nodded and said yes. It’s been the same way at camp. We always asked her if she would be a counselor some day and she couldn’t see herself having that kind of responsibility, until suddenly she could. She said this summer as a camper, she imagined everything she did as if through a counselor’s eyes, and thought about what it would be like to lead little kids in the activities that she has loved learning so much herself. The first week of camp this year, she didn’t know many campers or counselors, as several of her favorite counselors had moved on to other jobs, and many of her camper friends had aged out. She wrote us saying she was homesick, but didn’t let it keep her from making the most of camp life. As more familiar faces arrived each week and she cultivated the relationships with folks she had just met, everything fell into place, as it always does. The camp has a system where parents can write emails through the parent portal and camp will print them out and give them to the campers, and campers can handwrite messages back and camp will scan them and email them to us. It’s much quicker than snail mail but eliminates the need for campers to have their phones with them at camp (which is one of my and Zoe’s favorite things about camp). I loved having the opportunity to update Zoe on the goings on of life at home (mostly boring, without her!) and hear from her about developments at camp. I wish we had some way of continuing that correspondence at home, even though we’re both in the same house. That’s one reason that I am so happy to be taking road trips with her to visit colleges. We’ve toured a bunch of colleges in Maryland and Pennsylvania and New England so far and have several more up and down the east coast on the calendar for this fall and next spring. I love claiming this time in the car with her, to listen to music and books and talk about anything and everything, and notice weird signs and unusual sights along the way, and stop at little bookstores and find cute coffeeshops with resident cats.

This fall, Niki will practice walking to and from school on their own. We’re going to teach them how to take the bus. Zoe is so close to finishing the requirements to earn her driver’s license. Then she will be given a vintage minivan by her grandparents and will be set loose on the world. We’ve discussed curfews and she has gainful employment. This morning at church it gave me so much joy to watch these four-year-old girls dancing around at the front of the sanctuary during the service. I love four-year-olds. But I don’t wish my kids were younger. Or older. I am so excited to be with them at this exact moment in their lives, where they are learning so much about themselves and about the world. Sometimes, that means seeing how people can be awful and the world is kind of a mess. But sometimes we get to fill it with cookies and music and hugs and laughter and forget about the rest of it for a while.

So I will take in a breath and remember to fully and deeply exhale. All the way from my belly up out into the world. I will take it all it, and release. Because I have to let it go so I can take another breath.

If we want to support each other’s inner lives, we must remember a simple truth: the human soul does not want to be fixed, it wants simply to be seen and heard. If we want to see and hear a person’s soul, there is another truth we must remember: the swoul is like a wild animal — tough, resilient, and yet shy. When we go crashing through the woods shouting for it to come out so we can help it, the soul will stay in hiding. But if we are willing to sit quietly and wait for a while, the soul may show itself.

~Parker Palmer

This is a talk I shared during a Sunday service at the Unitarian Universalist Church of Arlington as part of the church’s series on the six sources of Unitarian Universalism. My writing was inspired by this source: direct experience of that transcending mystery and wonder, affirmed in all cultures, which moves us to a renewal of the spirit and an openness to the forces which create and uphold life.


For two years I spent a good chunk of my waking hours talking and writing about this church. As a member of the ministerial search committee, I met with my fellow committee members weekly, and we worked doggedly to discern what the congregation needed in a new minister. Surprise–Unitarian Universalists have a lot of opinions! Our committee had to digest, synthesize, and transform what we learned into UUCA’s church profile, an incredibly elaborate version of a job announcement. Then we spent months reviewing applications and sermons of prospective ministers. This role and its attendant responsibilities were heady–and hard–and ultimately richly rewarding. It was a privilege to serve UUCA in this capacity, and if I’m being honest, it made me feel kind of important. It’s easy for me to make the mistake that what I do for a community is more valuable than who I am.

Now, raise your hand if you were part of UUCA in any way in the spring of 2020. You may recall that, just as our committee was preparing to recommend Rev. Amanda as the candidate for our senior minister, the pandemic shut everything down. All of our plans to introduce her to the congregation, celebrate a new beginning, and enjoy the fruits of our committee’s labor were funneled online or simply forgotten in the crush of a worldwide crisis.

I know every one of you here in the sanctuary or watching online has a story like this–or a very different one. There are likely a million variations on the theme of how things changed in 2020. Now, four years later, I am still feeling the effects of those changes, for better or worse. Maybe you are too. Who knows how long the ripples will expand throughout our lives?

Church has always meant community for me. Throughout my life, community often outweighed theology in my choice of a congregation. I feel lucky to have found in UUCA a place where I feel both a sense of belonging and alignment with the tenets of the faith. From the moment I arrived at UUCA, I felt seen. I felt valued. I understood that my being here mattered. 

Unfortunately, for a good portion of the years since 2020, I lost that sense of belonging, not just here, but really anywhere. Does that sound at all familiar to you? The isolation of the pandemic was soul crushing. And I am a big believer in silver linings. I love my family so much, and I am so thankful for the hours we spent playing board games, watching movies, making art, and going on hikes. But the four of us did not a whole community make. I need different kinds of people and multiple communities to nurture various aspects of my personality and my identity. All of us do.

There’s a wonderful graphic novel series called Heartstopper, which is now an amazing Netflix show, that my kids adore and introduced me to and which I love now as well. First of all, Heartstopper creator Alice Oseman does a masterful job portraying the pain and beauty of making your way as a teenager, particularly as you come into your gender identity and sexual orientation. Secondly, in book four of the series, Charlie–one of the main characters–comes face to face with what feels like an insurmountable struggle. His boyfriend, Nick, wants so badly, as all of us do when we love someone, to be able to fix Charlie’s problem, but of course he can’t. And Nick realizes that, no matter how much he loves Charlie, he can’t and shouldn’t be everything to Charlie. Charlie needs a community to help him. As do we all. 

I took baby steps to return to UUCA. I co-facilitated a covenant group for parents of gender-expansive kids. That was an easy one–a way to test the waters by creating a small community. Coming back to church on Sunday mornings, however, was a challenge. The first few times I tried, I felt confused and out of sorts. When we were all masked, I felt embarrassed because I didn’t recognize people who I had known for years. That kept me home for a while longer. When I came back again, I felt like I had somehow forgotten how to interact with other humans. Once after the service ended, I just sat in the back and cried. Holly saw me and sat with me. She didn’t ask me to explain myself. She just kept me company.

When I heard about the LEAD program that Greg and LeeAnn were running, I knew I had found a path back to community. I wasn’t sure what my role was supposed to be in the congregation, but this was an opportunity to meet new people and reconnect with old friends, so I took it.

The irony–or perhaps the true intention–of joining LEAD was being reminded that I didn’t need to have a leadership position or a particular responsibility in the congregation to belong. When I arrived for that first workshop, I was so warmly welcomed back. Wendy and Kristen, among other folks, let me know that they were genuinely delighted to see me again, without asking why I hadn’t come back sooner, or what I was going to be doing for the church now that I was back, or without any other expectations of me whatsoever. After the session, I gave Kristen a ride home and we sat in my car, parked outside her house, for an hour catching up. It was such a relief to renew that connection. I know I’m name dropping a lot this morning. I intentionally want to recognize the people who have shown me so much grace and love in building and rebuilding community here. 

One of my favorite activities during the LEAD workshops was using the World of Experience as a tool to examine where I’ve been and where I want to go. If you’ve never seen it before, you can check out the World of Experience at the LEAD table in the fellowship hall after the service. In the meantime, picture this in your mind. A map that, at first glance, looks like it could be a two-dimensional representation of the Earth. On closer inspection, however, the familiar continents and oceans are replaced by other geographies, named for elements of the human experience. For example, the sea of possibilities, mountains of work, and plains of solitude.

On several occasions we used the World of Experience as a way to articulate the challenges or adventures in our past and present, and where we hoped to navigate in the future. In all of my conversations, my partners shared their journeys with unapologetic honesty, and invited the same vulnerability from me. The guiding principles practiced during the LEAD series were touchstones created by Parker Palmer and the Center for Courage and Renewal. One of these is “no fixing, saving, advising, or correcting each other.” In our type A problem solving culture, that’s a particularly tough one for many of us to follow, but it’s so important. Participating in the LEAD workshops reminded me that this congregation is a safe place for me, where my wild animal soul can show itself. That’s how I experience moments of mystery and wonder–when I feel truly seen and understood. 

This year I attended General Assembly, the Unitarian Universalist Association’s annual gathering, for the first time. I had long wanted to experience GA, but to be honest I was also super anxious about it. When I arrived in Pittsburgh and checked into my airbnb, I texted Gay and Elizabeth. What am I doing here? I asked them. Of course, they were both kind and reassuring. I felt their hugs from 250 miles away. Then I arrived at the convention center, and I found Diane and Bruce and I knew everything would be ok. I had tacos with LeeAnn, and reconnected with folks who I first met at UUCA but who have moved on to other churches, and I made new friends. Knowing I was among so many people who share my UU values and commitment to repairing the world was exactly what I needed and hoped to experience at GA.

Of course, church is far from the only community that can nurture the soul. Some communities are intimate and some are vast but both can offer sustenance. My 16-year-old is a member of the seemingly infinite community of Swifties–devotees of pop star Taylor Swift. While her knowledge of Taylor Swift’s catalog and every minute detail of every concert on the Eras Tour may verge on obsessive, it is clear that she and other Swifties find joy and meaning in listening to the music, experiencing the music, and talking about the music with each other. 

The community my 10-year-old thinks of as their second home is SMYAL, a DC-based organization that provides resources, connections, and activities for LGBTQIA+ young people ages 6 to 24. My kid has found kindred spirits, role models, and unwavering and unconditional support for their whole self. Their wild animal soul feels free to lead a dance party whenever they’re with their SMYAL peeps.

As Parker Palmer wrote, “If we want to support each other’s inner lives, we must remember a simple truth: the human soul does not want to be fixed, it wants simply to be seen and heard.” I am thankful to be a member of this and other communities where my soul can be seen and heard. Cultivating that kind of community–something greater than any of us individually, which can only be created with intention and love–is a sacred act. Sometimes we can build community, and other times we just stumble into it. We don’t always know where we will find community, or where we will experience that sensation of truly belonging, but we surely know it when we feel it. Some may call that providence, or divine intervention. To me, that certainty of belonging is a product of the mystery and wonder of the universe. Whatever you call it, I wish for you the comfort, safety, and nourishment of community, wherever you may find it. May it be so. 

The title of this blog comes from the Dolly Parton song “Travelin Thru” and this picture is of my child sitting in a chair under a large plant at the home of some of our favorite relatives who we recently visited.

It’s almost my birthday and I am thinking a lot, as one does when a birthday approaches, about everything. Asking a lot of questions.

I am thinking about why every book I read seems to contain a subtle but unmistakable link to the previous book I read, like a scene set in New Haven, Connecticut, or a young character hospitalized with a serious illness, or a political protest. Why are books about witches and witch trials so popular right now? Perhaps, or probably, because most men (and some women) have always been threatened by women who are strong and independent and powerful, and they still are. I have read a lot of books about the persecution of witches and they never fail to enrage me. Maybe I just want to be a witch. I also want to have to a Scottish accent. Or listen to Scottish accents. All day.

Books consume me these days. Reading always has, but lately novels are my means to escape from our ceaselessly corrosive culture. I can hardly stomach our society and the way it treats people–people of color, women, LGBTQIA+ individuals, people with disabilities. Basically anyone who isn’t Mitch McConnell or similar. Even though books I read have bad guys and characters have bad days and there is trauma and suffering there is also so much joy and redemption and humor and empathy and fascinating and strange and delightful people with whom I can immerse myself. Of course that good stuff exists in my real life too, but it’s not as reliably accessible. Reading is my vice and my virtue. The novels I read also help me understand why people can be such schmucks. But it doesn’t make their cruelty any easier to take.

I am thinking about earwax, and where it comes from, and where those teeny tiny flies that emerge from the drainage holes in the back of our bathroom sink come from. And how you wouldn’t want those flies to encounter your earwax. Why do the flies only appear in that bathroom? Do they have a purpose in life? If so, I am quashing that purpose. Sorry, little guys. Apparently as my birthday approaches, I am inclined to tie together loose threads. Sometimes they come unraveled again.

I am pretty sure I believe that people can change, but how much I am not sure. At the age I’m about to be tomorrow, I feel like what’s left for me to master is infinite and what I don’t understand is vast. Certainly there is plenty for me still to learn. But what’s my capacity to learn it? I played soccer last night, the second game in my 12th (?) season of playing in the Arlington Women’s Soccer League. I am fairly confident I’m never going to get any better at soccer. I would say I’m probably better than most people who have never played the game. But I am not as good as most of the women who play on my team or in our league. Admittedly, I do not practice outside of our games and I have not put time or energy into improving except for the simple fact that I am showing up and doing my best. And after all these years, I still have to remind myself every single Monday that showing up is enough.

Yesterday I was the guest speaker for a class in the school of public affairs at American University. My co-worker and friend teaches the class and invited me to talk about nonprofit communications. I love talking with students about writing and communicating, whether it’s elementary school kids at career day or college students. The crux of the conversation was that communication is all about choices. When you interview someone, you choose what to ask and how to ask it. When you write about the interview, you choose what facts to focus on and what to leave out. Your choices have immense power to influence the reader and their perception of the subject. When you’re doing nonprofit communications, you choose your audiences, and how you’re going to reach them, and what you want them to do. You can’t control what they do, but your choices can push them in one direction or another, if you make good ones. I told the class that usually the choices aren’t right or wrong, but they always matter.

In recent weeks I’ve visited a lot of college campuses. In addition to the class visit at AU, we spent our spring break touring colleges so my high school sophomore daughter can start thinking about what’s possible for her after she graduates. More choices. Big ones. Complicated choices. Seeing these colleges is exciting and also startling. I cannot quite comprehend that it’s been more than 25 years since I was one of those kids, at a point in my life when so many choices lay ahead of me–lavish, abundant possibilities. Even though I am only middle-aged now, I feel like there are so many choices behind me, so many doors closed, that I am unsure about what’s left. I have chosen my husband and we chose to have two children and we chose how to raise them. We chose where to live, and what jobs to have, and even though some of the small details may change, it feels like we’re pretty locked in to our current circumstances, for better or for worse. This is primarily because of bad choices, most of which are around money. My brain does not like to keep track of money, or calculate things, or hold onto numbers of any kind. I can’t even remember my license plate number. I think I have dyscalculia, although I’ve never been diagnosed, and people have made fun of me when I’ve brought it up.

Some part of me has always hoped that my financial foibles would be graciously overlooked because of my decency and tendency toward kindness. That I would be excused from my mistakes by virtue of my virtue. I don’t think it actually works that way.

When I was talking to the AU students, all of whom were taking notes (I hope, and not doing something else entirely) on their laptops, I kept thinking how I had to take notes by hand in college. And I went to college before ordinary people even had the internet! Not that it’s a good thing or a bad thing. It’s just a thing. Making choices was a whole different ball of wax before the Internet. I don’t know that we make any better choices now, we just make choices while information floods our brains. What did my brain used to be full of? Song lyrics? Hormones? Possibilities? Questions, for sure. That hasn’t changed.

What do I want from the rest of my life? More chocolate cake? Bigger muscles? The chance to hold more babies. Last week I interviewed four young women for a project for work. When I asked one of them–Patrese–to sign a consent form acknowledging that our interview would be recorded and excerpts from it posted online, she asked me to hold her baby. I was glad to. I hoisted the little girl onto my hip and talked with her about what her mom was doing. She played with the laminated card on which interview questions were printed and listened to the noise it made when she moved it around. She dropped it. I picked it up and handed it back to her. Several times. I continued to hold the little girl, who was wearing a denim jumper over her diaper, while we set up the camera and the lights and got Patrese set up with her mic. I bounced the baby while I interviewed her mom about how the pandemic affected her life and what she’s had to do as a result. I held her baby while I asked her about safety, and family, and the kind of world she would like to see her baby grow up in. By the time we finished talking, that little girl was fast asleep on my chest. I wondered if Patrese was going to take her back or if she was simply too relieved to have someone else holding her baby for a little while. I would’ve kept holding her too. But I handed her back, trying not to wake her up. I was thinking about all the ways the pandemic changed my life, which were different, but not entirely, from Patrese’s. I don’t know if those feelings– isolation and uncertainty, and that sense of being in survival mode–will ever truly go away, even when we’re surrounded by people and things are theoretically ok. Maybe it’s the uncertainty that haunts me the most. The constant grinding in my brain of questions that have no answers. Choices that may not be right or wrong but simply are. Maybe all I can ask for in the rest of my life is patience and the ability to take a few deep breaths and let the questions float away.

“It’s like they’ve all moved on
and forgotten about everything
that just happened,”

she told me.

I nodded.

On instagram
she said, kids were now
posting notices about
soccer tryouts and
other such ordinary
things

Instead of posting
the fundraiser for
the funeral of the freshman boy

His name is Sergio

who died
from a drug overdose
After being taken
from the school in an ambulance
on Tuesday morning

while my daughter
sat in her psychology class,
wondering, like everyone else
exactly what was going on

I will never forget his goofy grin
His green soccer jersey
in the picture his cousin posted
to ask for help burying him
He was just a kid

I can’t stop thinking about his family
Who I heard were uninsured
about his friends
four of whom were also close
to overdose that day

About what he might have taken
knowingly or not
I’ve read the stories and
I’ve seen the news

Opioids are everywhere

Opioids are everywhere

Opioids are everywhere

I see that someone who suffers from
“opioid use disorder”
hits different than
“drug addict”
And many kids who OD think
they’re taking an advil for their headache
or percocet for their sports injury
or adderall because they forgot their own
ADHD meds that morning

Then on Thursday,

My girl was in the gym
dressed in sweats for PE
when the announcement came
over the PA about another lockdown
“This is not a drill,” they repeated,
but some of her friends still thought it might be
because drills are so commonplace now
where they make kids hide silently
in dark, locked closets and classrooms
left to pray or wonder or wait

As five minutes became thirty became two hours
they knew it wasn’t a drill

That day the instagram posts
taken through the narrow windows
of classroom doors
were of policemen in tactical gear
with long guns
and shields
moving through the school
in search of the “trespasser” who was there
to retaliate for some other act of violence
or perceived slight
I don’t even know

Kids posted tributes
to the principal too
None of us signed up for this
No one

Another face flashing
in my mind is that of
the boy they arrested

Later

Long after I picked up my daughter
and hugged her and exhaled
and tried not to cry
I took her and her friend through
the drive-thru because they’d been held in the gym
and missed lunch

They were giddy at first
relieved to be free
and alive
all the other feelings
came later

The boy they arrested
had three guns
at his house

The boy they arrested
could have opened fire anywhere
in that school
His intended target
could have been in the gym

It is a miracle that he didn’t shoot anyone

At least not on Thursday
not in my daughter’s school

I think about that boy’s family too

They canceled school on Friday
but ran the buses
so kids could eat breakfast and lunch
or talk to someone

I was thankful for that

I don’t know how you move on either
I told my daughter
even though you have to
you have to keep doing
what’s expected of you
what you need to do to get by
Still
I am paralyzed

Stuck

Because I don’t know what to do

You know me, I am a doer.
I solve problems
I come up with a plan
and then a plan b

But these problems are

Too much

Too wide 

Too deep 

too everything

I can help my daughter
or at least try
I can even help her friends
or at least try
I can listen to my parent friends
I can support the teachers

On Wednesday, between the overdose
and the would-be shooter
I got trained in how to save a life
with Narcan
which I will carry with me now

But getting at the roots
saving all the other children
giving the parents what they need 
getting rid of the guns
I can’t do those things

On my own
I can’t solve those problems 
They are staring us all down
So how to move on? 

This is from Seth’s Beautiful Weirdos series and was exactly the hugging image I wanted to share here. Seth is one of my favorite artists and we have his work all over our house. You can learn more at his website: https://theartofseth.com.

I realized today that when friend after friend from church hugged me this weekend and said, “I haven’t seen you for so long! I’ve missed you! I’m so glad to see you!” that not a single one of them was trying to make me feel guilty about not coming to church or accusing me of being a bad friend. Every single hug was accompanied by genuine joy. Every single person made me feel loved and valued just for being me and for appearing right in front of them at that moment. I wasn’t required to do or accomplish or prove anything. They were just happy to see me because I’m me. And I was equally happy to see them. Now why is that so hard to believe? I’ve been letting that sink in all day.

While are long past the “stay in your bubble” phase of the pandemic, collectively and individually we’ve had to retreat into new bubbles, emerge from them, retreat again, and sometimes the bubbles just pop. There’s no more universal wisdom. I assume there is new science but if there is legitimate and agreed-upon public health guidance based on the new science, I sure haven’t heard about it. And so everyone has their own extremely specific ideas about what they should and shouldn’t do, although they might change from day to day or situation to situation, and they remain emotionally fraught. As of January 2023, every time you leave your house you have to take into account your tolerance for risk, the tolerance for risk of anyone you might be interacting with, and the house rules for anywhere you’re going to go. We’ve never been so aware of the fact that our behaviors can seriously affect others, even though we may still be unsure of exactly how.

Ever since I was a teenager, being part of a faith community has mattered to me. And because of my personality, my DNA, my enneagram type (two), or whatever other measure you might use, when I am in any community, I mean to make a difference. When I do not have a specific role to fulfill, I can feel lost and useless. I am not saying this is a good thing or a bad thing. It is simply how I have felt for most of my life. I have spent some amount of energy in recent years reminding myself that I am important not just for what I can do, but for just being me. You would think it would take the pressure off.

Being in a faith community can also be hard as hell. Yesterday I participated in a workshop at church for people who want to be–or already are–leaders in the church, about how leadership in a congregation should not simply be out of duty, but should be about. sharing our gifts with others to make the community better, and should include elements of holiness, joy, and fun. As Rev. Amanda jokingly reminded us, however, the challenge of church is that it’s made up of people. And people are human. And humans make mistakes. And sometimes church (or any other faith community) breaks your heart. She asked how many people had experienced that particular kind of heartbreak when the community you revere disappoints you. Most people raised their hands. I realized that every single congregation I’ve been a part of has broken my heart. I take that back–the church I attended in college did not at any point crush my spirit, but I’m not sure I was involved enough for that to count. I was part of the college ministry of the church for a few years and I don’t recall anything bad happening there. But four other congregations rocked by some kind of scandal or rift or bad behavior is plenty. Rev. Amanda said making the effort to repair and heal from the brokenness matters, and makes the community stronger. But it also requires a lot of courage and commitment to put yourself back into the fray.

In my current congregation, the Unitarian Universalist Church of Arlington, I was asked to be a leader soon after I arrived. I had come to the church warily, certain that I could not find a community where I both agreed with the theology and would be treated like I mattered. Immediately, I felt a sense of belonging. I served as a worship associate, helping craft and lead services. When the minister had to leave (i.e. heartbreaking experience #4), I was asked to help orient the temporary minister to her role until an interim minister was found. I helped the interim minister as a worship associate. Then I was asked to serve on the ministerial search committee to find a permanent minister. This was a two-year obligation that was beyond time-consuming and also incredibly rewarding. And just as we were concluding the search, the pandemic hit. Our new minister (the aforementioned Rev. Amanda) was called to a congregation that largely existed at that point as hundreds of little boxes in a zoom meeting. And then, my job was done. I tried to do zoom church for a while, but it made me too sad, for so many reasons. I did some church classes and workshops and meetings through zoom. Some of them were good. Some were frustrating because I had to do them from my bedroom, propped up in my bed, in an effort to find any semblance of privacy. There is no privacy in my house. I just got tired of it all. I’m an extrovert. Zoom is exhausting. There are no hugs.

At some point church reopened. Then it closed again. And reopened. I hate wearing a mask. I do it, of course, when called upon. But it still makes my face sweat and my glasses fog up unless I go through various machinations to adjust and readjust it. And I realized during the pandemic that I have a hard time understanding people speaking when I can’t see their mouths. I also realized I have a hard time recognizing people who are wearing masks, especially when I haven’t seen them for a couple years. So when I went back to in-person church for the first time in a while sometime last year, I felt so lost and confused. After the service I just sat in the back and cried. I felt like I had completely forgotten who I was or how to be with other people. It was awful.

I had dipped my toe in the church waters in the fall when I volunteered to co-facilitate a covenant group for parents of gender-expansive kids. I’ve remembered how satisfying it is to choose readings and music that make people think and feel. (See quotes sprinkled throughout this post.) Yesterday at the leadership workshop I remembered how, even though I cannot sit still for very long, I love being in a room with other humans who are trying to nurture themselves and use their spiritual gifts to do something good for their community. Tikkun olam! These are my people.

Today I went back to church for the service. I sat near the front where I love to sit. I wore my mask and had to adjust it and got a little sweaty but survived. More importantly, I listened to the wisdom lesson which was one of my all-time favorite children’s stories and beautifully illustrates what Unitarian Universalism is. I geeked out on the sermon about why the history and principles of the UU tradition matter and how we are still evolving and transforming, as individuals and as a faith. I sang hymns, some of which I like and some of which are just ok. And I hugged people. And they welcomed me. It’s been a while, but no one judged. My heart was full and I was home again. AMEN.

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