i want to watch the Perseids with you, hours after the sun tumbles over the horizon, and i want to marvel at the starry sky with you, vividly, under the darkness of the new moon.

i want to tell you my hopes and dreams under the wonders of the streaked night sky. i want to listen to your breathing, thankful for your life and your friendship. i want to listen to you share your dreams, blessed by knowing your beautiful heart and mind. i want these moments of wonder to change us, as we are made aware of how infinitesimal we are. i want to know you more as we plot to change our corners of the world by loving everyone. we experience joy and peace in the earth's daily routines and meteoric interruptions.

knowing you has changed me immeasurably, i am a better person because of you. i am so proud of you for your growth and tenacity. i enjoy you and the years of friendship and learning and growing.

i want to watch the Perseids with you, one thousand five hundred sixty-five miles away, and i want to marvel at the starry sky with you, separately, in the quiet solitude of the new moon. i want to tell you, to listen to you, to change with you, to know you more. . .in due time. we experience joy and peace in the life's daily routines and fiery interruptions.

i won't eclipse you, my friend. be authentically you. i love you and i will accept you as you are.

waves

there is a certain kind of solitude in the waves, a quiet breaking through the sounds of crashing, children playing, life going on in everyone's own little individual world. they're better with company but no matter how many people ride them next to me, no one rides them with me. the ocean inspires awe and demands respect, she is relentless and will not be stopped. growing up oceanside meant learning to expect the waves and learning to read them. there is a rhythm, sometimes syncopated, surprises are expected, lulls can mean one of two opposite things coming next, or sometimes nothing changes at all. over, under, through. over, under, or through? decisions made in milliseconds, every single time.

emotions are currents. they bring waves, and i have no control over them, just decisions to make. how do i handle them? can i coast through, do i need to steel myself, take in extra air? no matter how many i have ridden, sometimes there's something so unexpected, rough, chaotic, turning me in crooked somersaults under water, craving air, fighting to control panic, keep my suit in place, remembering where the floor is and rapidly interpreting little changes telling me when i can come up. no one rides it with me.

time and experience is my teacher, and every crash is a lesson, carefully catalogued, studied, something to anticipate next time. each subsequent crash mitigated by new information, better planning, knowing what to expect.

a few years ago i was fucking taken for a ride, and i nearly drowned. but i didn't. every moment underwater terrified me, and i started to panic. coming up for air was sudden, lifesaving, remembered. the time afterward a time of reflection, study.

i just got knocked over by another unexpected wave and momentarily panicked before remembering what to do. i kept track of the floor, ready to spring off it up for air when i found a lull, and i made it. and so i study the sequence, because i'm not going to die next time, either. no one rode it with me, but several rode beside me.



all is well(butrin)

gravity

you pulled me into your orbit and i felt free, hurtling a million miles an hour on a new path but you didn't tell me the weight, the cost, and i was too caught up to ask.

you pulled me into your erratic dance, your momentum, and i loved the chaotic ride. i didn't know you were still a slingshot, and suddenly i am hurtling away from you faster than you pulled me in. you're so icy blue, beautiful but frigid, dangerous, and deadly.

at least your fling was swift and hard, and you sent me so far away you'll never pull me in again. interstellar, void, dark, but peacefully, chaoticly, dangerously outside your reach.

patina

i dream, i dream of everything sparkling and shiny and glimmering golden, knowing it won't always be so new. pure gold is delicate and malleable, but it lacks strength. we're alloys, giving resistance to pressure. we show age and wear, and sometimes we darken and dull. vintage is in. let me wear my marks with you, let me be loved through it all and for it all. i want to be your heirloom and you mine.

patina makes us look aged, unassuming. you need some careful attention to each curve and twist, filigree and crevice. take your time, my love, but don't take forever. come back to me in the same shape with new gleam, refreshed and treasured.

golden

it's both new and familiar because of the years and changes and time and dreams and intimacy and curiosity.

vulnerability has changed us, gradually and suddenly, old and new all at once. old routines, new patterns. old love, new love. we live another day, golden when the sun promises light and warmth and photosynthesis. golden again when the sun is on the verge of tumbling over the horizon to bring us the wonder of the stars and the awareness of how infinitesimal we are. we find joy and peace in the routines, the golden hours that come every day; we also find joy and peace in the interruptions and storms, dark nights and scorching days.

let's be inconsequential to world history together, let's face mortality with a love and a life that promises enduring vitality. it's not lying, or deluded. it's just another perspective, because when i'm with you, i still know i'm nothing and nobody...but not to you. and not to the better world we dream of. we won't change the world, but we will change each other and change little bits of our corners of life. we won't make the history books, but we will make memories together and we'll make memories that outlast us. we won't live forever, but we will live on beyond death because we will love everyone.

my love for you is profound, changing me every day. i'm afraid of my own caducity, but i'm not afraid to get old with you. the way seaside sunsets and early morning wheat fields have changed me, so will our golden years.

chutzpah

noun:

informal

1. shameless audacity; impudence.

   "love him or hate him, you have to admire Cohen's chutzpah"

I meant for this to come so many weeks ago, but life has a way of smothering me at the worst times. 

Every year, starting in the Fall I feel acutely aware of my Judaism. I begin to swear in Yiddish, I talk about the God I don't believe in, I talk about the Hanukkah miracle I believe might have happened because of some Jewish luck less than divine intervention. I consider eating sufganiyot in celebration--and forget--and go another year without lighting a single candle because my menorah, my family, and my traditions are 1,000 miles away.

But I can mutter and swear random Yiddish and Hebrew words I suppose, to feel a little more Jewish.

Chutzpah has been rolling around in my mind for months. It carries a lot of meaning beyond the testicular fortitude we might use it to mean. It's unabashed strength and courage and so much purer (maybe because it doesn't smell like ball sweat). 

As I've become a little bit older and less afraid of the sexism accompanying words like "bossy", I appreciate the tenacity in others and myself when working for positive change. I'm a social worker and we believe in change-making. But I'm also a self-described policy nerd and I will read the heck out of policy books and laws and advocate for changes. The changes I want are ones that serve marginalized communities. They're not always popular, certainly not always easy and sometimes just seem insurmountable.

And that's why I'm hoping one of those little Yiddish words will stick around all year round. I'm here to be bold, and shameless and loud. And when I speak for something, oh boy, let's hope I got some real chutzpah rolling up with me. 

So you want to rescue sex trafficking victims?

Back up a bit.

Do they really need rescuing, and are you really the right person for it?

Trafficking isn't just about sex and it isn't glamorous. Working with survivors is messy. It's scary. And I guarantee you will find your ideals and morals challenged.

Hate to break it to you but unless you're like a SEAL or something, nobody needs your rescuing.* One of the most important things you need to be of any use to survivors is an open mind. Be ready to work with people who look, act, worship, and smell very different from you. Whatever you do, don't flinch. You're gonna hear stuff you can't wrap your pretty little head around. Take it. Empathize. Cry in your car. You're gonna hear how many times they've been raped, and with what objects. You're gonna witness drug use/withdrawals. Say the word Fuck twenty times. Did that hurt? Hope not. How do you feel about lice? Well, we all feel that way... But can you choose to spend time with a stranger who's got it? What about telling a young teen how to treat a yeast infection she got after being raped? Yes, you have to say "vagina." And for the love of Pete don't ever ask anyone about what's in their pants. If you're curious about someone's identity, ask them about their pronouns, not their genitalia.

Do you know what a trauma response is? Ever had someone screaming at you? You fucking bitch. Now add in like unintelligible screaming of random swearing at full volume. Or maybe it's avoiding something perfectly normal. My first client couldn't make a phone call. Like she forgot how to use a phone, and even what to say to request a doctor's appointment.

Hollywood is a bitch. Taken and other captivity narrative type movies have sensationalised, glamorized and diluted the experiences of exploitation, captivity and trafficking that survivors endure. Perfect girls get kidnapped and rescued by perfect saviors. But real life isn't like that. People die, they get beat up. They get fucked up. Just be there. Just meet them where they're at and ask them what they need. Do it together. Learn a little about trauma theory. Understand that behaviours most people identify as bad or harmful can actually be lifesaving to survivors of traumatic events.

It ain't pretty. And you will touch a dildo, or six.

*except abandoned puppies.