Walk in the Glow of Each Other's Majestic Presence

What are your favorite plays?

In general, my favorite plays are very wordy and witty, with the humor arising from the cleverness of the lines. I enjoy creative staging—not necessarily spectacle—and engaging characters are a must. I tend to prefer comedies, or dramas with a good balance of humor, to serious dramas, mostly because I hate to see people making stupid choices, or being mean to one another, but some of my favorites are not comedies and I don’t generally like broad humor. I like a happy ending and a clear statement of purpose. Perhaps unsurprisingly, many of my favorites are shows that I’ve directed.

Possibly my favorite show of all time is Mary Zimmerman’s “Metamorphoses”. I first saw it at Berkeley Rep in 1999 and it haunted me for years. I saw a student production at Harvard in 2007, which rekindled my dream of directing it with Theatre@First, but it was not until I saw a revival at Arena Stage in Washington, DC in 2013 that I began to really pursue that dream. The biggest challenge is that the show was conceived to be staged in and around a large, shallow pool of water—not something feasible in any of the spaces Theatre@First regularly uses. I began to think that the water could be represented by fabric and from there was able to come up with a dry staging that still makes me very proud. 

The play is a set of Greek myths excerpted from Ovid and woven together to create a lyrical exploration of love and its positive and negative expressions. To quote a review of the Berkeley Rep revival in 2019, “‘Metamorphoses’ has a breathtaking aesthetic, with beauty, grace, poetry, and humor. It is a rare and unforgettable theatrical experience that should not be missed.” Even as a director, I was unable to watch a run of the show without laughing out loud and weeping quietly. That kind of connection, on the emotional, intellectual, and aesthetic levels, is a rare joy.

Another of the plays I first saw at Berkeley Rep and later brought to Theatre@First is Lillian Groag’s sadly overlooked play, “The Magic Fire”. A lyrical tapestry of history, memory, and music, the play tells the story of one family’s decision to leave Argentina as fascism overtook their country. When I proposed the play I was mostly interested in the main character, presented simultaneously at age 8 (though we stretched it to 10 so that Alice could play the role) and 30, sorting through her memories of a confusing, tumultuous time. But by the time we staged it in 2017 it had become sadly relevant. Looking back at photos of that production makes me proud and wistful for a show that in many ways could only have worked the way that it did just at that moment in time, which seems fitting for the play itself.


My favorite Shakespearean play is “Much Ado About Nothing”. It includes one of my all-time favorite couples—Beatrice and Benedick—and uses some of the same plot twists as “Romeo and Juliet” to a much more satisfying conclusion. I love the language and the festive nature of the show and the questions of appearances and disguise that run throughout the script. Directing the show in 2008 is one of my favorite memories from the early years of Theatre@First. 

One of my favorites that I have not yet had the opportunity to direct is “The Importance of Being Earnest”. That one makes me giggle no matter how many times I’ve heard its jokes. It is overly long and somewhat over-complicated, but in the right hands it is a charming trifle with profound undertones that miraculously transcends the very specific nature of its setting and targets. I can’t decide if I’m more interested in directing it, or in playing Lady Bracknell, but either way I hope someday to do it.

I was very surprised to find that I love “Noises Off”. I am not usually a fan of broad farce and this is one of the broadest. The way that playwright Michael Frayn builds his gags from plausible to over-the-top absurdity is genius and the backstage drama is hilarious from start to finish. When Jason and I saw it in London, a critic’s verdict “Life threateningly funny!” hung from the marquee outside and Jason commented that it seemed excessive, particularly for a British reviewer. At one point during the show (I believe it was the cactus-needle extraction bit) Jason was laughing so hard that he curled up in his seat beside me and I was pounding on his back like a table as I guffawed. Once the moment had passed, I whispered an apology. “Sorry about that.” “About what?” “For hitting you!” “You hit me?” We agreed that dying of laughter was well within the risks of that show.

Even more surprising is that the same playwright, Michael Frayn, wrote “Copenhagen,” a beautiful puzzle box of a show about Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle. It’s a very serious three-hander about an unknowable conversation between Heisenberg and Niels Bohr during World War II. With the right actors in the roles what could be a dry philosophical debate becomes a gripping, passionately intellectual wrestling match for the soul of a great mind. That the ending is uncertain without leaving the audience unsatisfied is a triumph of playwrighting.

Another candidate for my favorite play is Tom Stoppard’s “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead,” which I’ve now directed twice. The playfulness of the script is a joy and the existential comedy appeals to my sense of humor. No matter how many times I see it, or read it, I always find something new, and directing it has taught me a great deal of what I know about that process. I’m also deeply fond of his “Arcadia,” though I find it harder to communicate to an audience, but I hope someday to direct that, as well. Stoppard’s essential thesis, that history and meaning are unknowable to those who come after, is very attractive to me and a thread I enjoy tracking through all of his work. 

One of the most personally resonant plays for me is “The Margaret Ghost,” by Carole Braverman, based on the life of Margaret Fuller. I first saw it performed at Radcliff in 1985, when a friend of my sister was stage managing. For a sixteen year old girl, the story of a woman who was too smart to be attractive to the men of her milieu, yet finds love and makes her mark on history, was deeply moving and inspiring. Twenty years later, having recently founded a theatre company of my own, I was able to track down the playwright and the never-published script and had the joy of bringing it to audiences not once, but twice, as we were invited to revive our 2006 production in 2010 for the bicentennial of Fuller’s birth. The characters and language are fantastic and the arguments over how to live fully as a woman are still gripping today. During the pandemic the cast reunited to do an online reading and I found myself enchanted by it once more and wishing that it could find a wider audience. 

Looking back at this list, what ties them together for me is the theme of self-awareness and the struggle to figure out the purpose and pattern of one's life. Having the opportunity to live within them, teasing out their nuances and determining the meanings that matter most, is both a pleasure and a source of many of my most treasured memories. The play really is the thing!

How do you prefer to travel?

I like an balance of luxury and discovery that is sometimes hard to pin down.

I love trains, don’t mind planes, and don’t get seasick. I prefer to drive my own car, but am thankful to bus drivers who know how to navigate particularly tricky terrain. I like to walk. I don’t mind public transportation, but I don’t especially enjoy working out schedules and finding bus stops, and I hate making connections and figuring out ticketing machines.

I’m interested in authentic local experiences, but I’m distrustful of anyone who offers to provide them. I would rather map out my own itinerary and move at my own pace, though I recognize the value an experienced guide can often bring to a new place. I love to hear the stories of a place, to wander with someone who can explain the history and inhabitants and bring a seemingly featureless alley to vivid life.

I’m not interested in shopping, particularly not in stores I can find in any major city. I am interested in the craft of local goods, but rarely in owning them. I do not bargain well and there is nothing less likely to part me from my money than being harangued by a crowd of vendors. I resent being served up to a shopkeeper as a captive audience by a tour guide.

I’m more interested in cities than wilderness, though I quite enjoy a scenic drive and don’t mind the occasional walk in the woods. I find cities fascinating in their similarities and differences. I imagine living there, each visit like trying on a different life. I enjoy outdoor spaces—sculpture parks and botanical gardens, and zoos are particularly good places to stave off jetlag while synchronizing my circadian rhythms in the local sunshine. I prefer museums of art to museums of information—science museums, historical sites, museums of industry. I am partial to beautiful architecture, but I’ve seen my fill of churches.

I want to feel safe, my adventures and risks chosen and curated. I am not interested in challenging my endurance, or my digestion, and I’m aware of the target I present as a tourist—I hate to be witnessed reading a map in public, though I have no problem asking for directions.

I like to stay in nice hotels with beautiful bathrooms and a gorgeous view, but not ones built by international chains. I want to be able to picture the lobby, the hallway, and the room years later and remember clearly in which city they belong. I do not like all-inclusive resorts that frown on guests leaving the property unescorted. I especially enjoy holiday rentals, having a house or flat to call home during my visit. I feel awkward staying with friends, or family, almost always feeling like an intruder. I’m not interested in camping—when I was younger I was very susceptible to bug bites and now I worry about my back—but mostly because I’m afraid of being a drag.

I prefer fine dining to street food, but I want to eat local ingredients prepared by a chef interested in creating a conversation between the staff and the diners. As much as I enjoy a good steak, I’m unlikely to choose a steakhouse, knowing that I can turn out my own perfectly rare ribeye or steak au poivre with relatively little effort. Having done the experiment, I know that I can happily eat Italian food every day for two weeks before falling gratefully into the door of the first Asian restaurant I find. I enjoy trying different cuisines and love to taste anything I’ve never tried before.

I get very grouchy about heat and humidity unless there is a pool nearby and I do not sleep well in a warm room. I don’t mind cold, or snow, but I especially like to find a hot tub to soak in at the end of the day.

I haven’t taken a cruise and am not generally attracted to the idea, but I’m looking forward to seeing Alaska by boat and intrigued by the idea of European river cruises.

I was surprised how much I enjoyed Disney when we were there the year Alice was six. So much of it is not my style, but they work incredibly hard to give guests the opportunity to be happy and provide lots of different options to that end. In the moment that we left, I wanted to go back instantly, but it’s been eight years and we’re still waiting for the right moment.

I don’t enjoy travelling alone. I prefer to have someone with whom to share the experience, someone to whom I can point out what I’m seeing, someone who will notice different things and help me to enjoy our surroundings from a different perspective, someone with whom I can remember, years later, the special moments and places. I have enjoyed travelling with friends the couple of times that's been an option. I am sometimes sad that we are not invited to do that more often.

When I was younger I wanted to see everything, to start mornings early and fill the days with different places. Now I like to balance that with opportunities to sleep in, to enjoy the odd pleasures of living in a different space, to simply sit and enjoy a different view. I have learned that I will not see everything, but I have also learned that I am less likely to have a second chance than I once assumed.

What gives you peace of mind?

My mind is most at peace when my thoughts, space, and time are well-ordered.

When my thoughts are jumbled and confused--when I'm having a conflict with someone, or trying to figure out my own feelings on an issue, or not sure what choice to make--the surest way to untangle my ideas and smooth my mind is a conversation with one of my closest friends. In many ways, the ability to communicate at very high bandwidth and to engage with ideas without judgment are the criteria by which people become close friends with me. With insightful questions and patience for examining a question from multiple angles and through many episodes, we build a shared space in which I can unpack my mind, sort out my thoughts, and pack them back up for easier travelling.

I don't subscribe to guilt. In theory, guilt should operate to make one feel bad enough not to do the thing causing guilt, but I rarely see that happening. Instead I see people doing what they want to do, feeling bad, but continuing to act in the same way, only with a greater burden of fear and self-recrimination. I sometimes say "Do better, or don't care," as shorthand for owning one's actions. I worked this out when I was in college and for the most part I am successful in avoiding the pattern of guilt. But emotions will out and sometimes I find myself cringing internally, feeling as though everyone is mad at me for unspecified reasons. When I unpack that feeling, it turns out to be me that's angry and frustrated with myself for not behaving up to my own standards. Instead of directly experiencing this as guilt, I have externalized it as a fictional judgment by others. Even without emending my behavior, just running through a rollcall of people in my life, affirming that no one is angry with me, creates a calmer space in which I can set out to do better.

When my space is cluttered I experience an almost synesthetic phenomenon, where I perceive the mess as noise. I didn't really notice that until we got a cleaning service and one time I happened to be out of the house while they were working. When I returned, the house seemed deeply quiet and peaceful. I realized that when it's messy, it's like walking through a crowded room with each thing out of place calling for my attention.

I really like plans. My life tends to be busy, with many different demands on my time, and when my family's plans are factored into the schedule, our calendar gets very densely packed. Having some sense of what is supposed to happen not only satisfies my own sense of control, but allows me to get a lot done with a minimum of fluster.

Making plans well in advance means that I can do it when it's convenient for me, rather than while I'd hoped to be doing something else. Each Monday we spend a few minutes after dinner crafting a meal plan for the following week, from which I create a list for the weekly grocery run. That means that I'm never scrambling to decide what's for dinner on any given night, or searching through the pantry to see if we have the ingredients on hand for what I'd like to make. When we travel I'm happy to leave deciding how we spend each day up in the air, but I like to know how I'm getting from place to place and where I'll stay each night before I leave home.

I am okay with meta-plans: "we will get together in the afternoon and when we get hungry we'll decide where to go for dinner" is a fine plan, as is "this rehearsal is TBD, with call based on the run the previous night," but "rehearsals for each week will be scheduled by Sunday," or "if I'm free on Saturday I'll give you a call," is not satisfying, because it does not give me any certainty about whether my time is booked, or not. I'm also usually okay with changing plans--reservations were made to be cancelled--although doing that at the last minute, or having someone else throw my plan into touch without an alternative to suggest, is frustrating.

The result of all this planning leaves fairly little opportunity for spontaneity, which is a real loss, but it creates a sense of order and peace in my days that I find deeply satisfying.

Are you a morning person or an evening person?

I am definitely an evening person. I have enormous trouble waking up in the morning--I get used to alarms very quickly and happily sleep right through them, or play what Jason and I like to call “snooze tag,” sometimes for hours if there’s no particular reason to get out of bed.

When I was a child I would read in bed, sometimes long after my mother had come through to check on me on her way to bed. She would marvel at my ability to sleep, coming in on weekends like a town crier to announce “Elizabeth! It’s nine o’clock!” “Elizabeth, it’s ten o’clock!” “Elizabeth, it’s eleven o’clock in the morning!”

When Jason and I were first dating, I was amused to find out that his mother and mine both sang the same little song to annoy us out of bed in the morning: “Good morning to you! Good morning to you! We’re all in our places with bright shining faces. Oh this is the way to start a new day!” Turns out that his mother got it from her mother, who learned it, as mine did, at teachers college.

I have occasionally had to function as a morning person, getting up early for school, or work. When that happens, I tend to sleep in shifts, falling asleep for a few hours as soon as I get home, then being up for several hours in the evening before getting to bed for an additional four or five hours’ rest.

Many morning people I know talk about the hush of the early morning hours and I know exactly what they mean, I just experience them at the other end of the day. My favorite working hours tend to be midnight to 3am, as the rest of the world falls asleep, the distractions dissipate, and the world is still.

I had an argument with a boss once when I was working the 11am-8pm shift and was late to work. I agreed that was wrong and promised to do my best not to make it a habit. And then she said “It’s not as if we were asking you to be here at 8am!” I pointed out that it was exactly like that--that I didn’t get home until 9, still had to make dinner and spend a couple of hours winding down before bed. She seemed absolutely shocked that I didn’t automatically wake up at 6am, like she did.

When left to our own natural schedules, Jason and I tend to fall into a pattern of getting to bed around 2am and rising between ten and eleven. Luckily, Alice is also a natural night owl and was perfectly happy as a baby to stay up until around 10pm and sleep for twelve hours, with an extra three-hour nap in the afternoon. I know many moms who swear their kids wake up at 5:30am no matter what and I’m not sure how we would have coped if Alice had been one of those babies.

Of course, pretty soon she started preschool. That started at 9am her first year and 8:30am her second year, so by the time she had to be at kindergarten by 8:10am, we were more or less resigned to our morning schedule. But we all still enjoy it when circumstances allow us to sleep until we wake up...around noon.

Are you an extrovert or an introvert?

While I don’t think those categories are as rigid, or as useful, as most people seem to think, I’m pretty obviously extroverted. I enjoy social events, can easily make conversation with strangers, make friends comparatively quickly, and don’t find other people’s company exhausting in reasonable doses.

It has been funny to me that most people who identify as introverts feel that they are disadvantaged in the world and often shamed for how they prefer to interact with it. I spent a lot of my life being shamed for talking too much and feeling bad that I often make myself the center of attention in gatherings. I think that my mother’s idea of what it means to be a “lady” didn’t include calling attention to oneself and that idea is embedded pretty deeply. In the last twenty years I’ve worked at being more in control of my talking—not to talk less, necessarily, but to not do it reflexively—and to acknowledge the positives of being extroverted and own those as a valuable part of myself.

At the same time, whenever I see the “Introvert Bingo” memes and lists, I recognize a lot of myself there. I love to read. I spend most of my days alone. I hate meetings. I often feel awkward among strangers. I do most of my shopping online. Many of my friends are people I’ve never met, or rarely see in person. I nap daily. At parties I often need breaks and when I’ve had a lot of social time, I need time alone to recharge.

As with most ways of categorizing people, I don’t fit neatly into either box.

What traits do you share with your father?

Physically, I'm built very much like my father, with his long arms and legs and heavy middle. My face is much more like my mother's, something that wasn't apparent to me until I reached my forties. I did seem to inherit his sinuses, however--we both can sneeze down the house and need a tissue frequently, while I can't remember ever seeing my mother blow her nose, even when she was sick. Our digestive systems seem very similar as well--we'd rather throw up and have it done with, while my mother would prefer to die first.

Intellectually I think we're very similar, loving a good book, or an interesting new idea, wanting to share it with those around us and to discuss what we find in it. I don't know whether my storytelling is inherited, or learned, but people have often remarked that I tell stories like a preacher, though I think I'm much better than he was at coming to the point, or delivering a punchline. Conversation is a central part of both our lives and key to how we experience the world is how we will tell the story of our experiences and observations. We're both natural leaders, with whatever charisma or authority it is that make other people think our ideas are worth following, but I think he was a better teacher than I've ever been, with much more patience for people who don't get our points.

Emotionally I'm very much like him--easily moved to tears and affection, willing to have an argument rather than let issues fester, but generally fairly positive and happy most of the time. I think that if I had known him as a peer I would have liked him very much. I miss talking with him, having his perspective and unconditional love in my life. He and I were a really good match and I feel incredibly lucky to have had him as a father.

A friend posted an image to Facebook with the following text:

Nine Types of Rest

1. time away
2. permission to not be helpful
3. something "unproductive"
4. connection to art and nature
5. solitude to recharge
6. a break from responsibility
7. stillness to decompress
8. safe space
9. alone time at home

It was from a group called Trauma-Informed Practice, but I don't know if the content originated there. I re-posted it and it seemed to resonate with other people--one friend used it for her weekly self-care post and another asked if she could share it with her writing group. I've been coming back to it and finding new thoughts each time.

1. time away
This turns out to be enormously important for me. I need to get away and stay away for long enough to really let go of whatever's going on at home. A few years ago there was a whole year when I never made it out of town for longer than a weekend and that turned out to be crazy-making. On the other hand, I spent two months away last year and that was awesome, but when I came home I got super depressed, even though I love my life here. I'm much better now, but still talking about this in therapy.

2. permission to not be helpful
I've gotten a lot better at this over the past decade, but it can still be hard for me not to try to solve other people's problems. It feels so good to be useful to others, but as my mother once wisely told me, that can be its own form of selfishness. I've learned a lot about letting other people also be helpful and about listening without jumping in to fix things. It's a work in progress, but it's definitely good when I can give myself this permission.

3. something "unproductive"
On the one hand, I do spend a fair amount of non-productive time. On the other hand, I rarely give myself permission to be unproductive. There are days when I struggle to do two or three things that count to me and I will sometimes tell Jason "I did a thing! Not useless!" There is also a double-bind operating in my life: it's essential to me that my work be recognized and validated by others, but more importantly by myself. So I have asserted that all of the following are part of my work: laundry, cooking, errands, family scheduling, travel planning, parenting logistics, relationship maintenance, church committee meetings and tasks, activism efforts, theatre meetings/administration/outreach, the work I do to direct shows, the time I spend strengthening and maintaining my communities, and throwing parties. That leaves very little in my life that doesn't count as "work," and so my life/work balance feels out of whack, which is kind of ironic for someone who hasn't held a fulltime paying job in nearly twenty years.

4. connection to art and nature
I don't prioritize this as much as might be healthy for me. I love art of all kinds and spending time immersed in other people's thoughts and images is important. I don't really get a lot out of nature. Don't get me wrong--I love a good sunset, a walk in the woods is a nice break, a pretty view can be breathtaking. But many of my friends and co-religionists seem to find deep spiritual connection there that eludes me. On the other hand, a good play can break my heart right open and I can happily spend hours wandering an art museum, absorbing meaning and memory from the works there. But I almost never get to a museum or gallery unless I'm travelling and I miss half the shows I might enjoy seeing, because other things fill up my time.

5. solitude to recharge
Most people experience me as extremely extroverted, probably because they only see me when I'm out and about. I'm very comfortable with other people and I need conversation and physical contact regularly. But I think most people would be surprised by how much time I spend alone each day. When my schedule has me out and about more than home and alone I get exhausted pretty quickly. Jason and I share office space and we do chat occasionally through the day--and if he has his door open and I'm not engaged in a project, I'm more likely than he is to initiate conversation--but I do need quality time by myself regularly.

6. a break from responsibility
This one is huge. If I've got a magic power it's the ability to say "Let's do this thing!" and have people follow me. I have leadership roles at the theatre and at First Parish and much of the management load of our family has fallen on me. The best thing for me is when someone else makes the plan and is in charge of seeing it through. That's a pretty rare thing in my life, though I've worked to increase it over the past decade. It's actually easiest to let go of responsibility while travelling, when the plans are relatively simple and easy to hand off, which may be part of why time away feels so vitally important.

7. stillness to decompress
My need for this seems to be satisfied by regular, small doses. I get it mostly during shared silence in worship and in srivasana, the resting pose at the end of most yoga classes. It feels very good to me, but I don't seek out greater opportunities to rest in stillness.

8. safe space
This is the one that I know least about. I'm not sure how I would define it. I know a couple of places in my life that feel unsafe, but I am not called upon to spend much time in those. Of course, these days my country feels pretty unsafe and traumatic, and there are definitely spaces where I rest from that barrage of ugliness and offensiveness. This feels like an area for me to explore more fully.

9. alone time at home
Unlike most moms I know, this is one that I do get pretty regularly. With Jason and I both working at home, it's not a daily occurrence, but Jason and Alice travel together (or, like now, separately at the same time) at least two or three times a year. I have to be mindful not to fill that time with other things, but it is a real treat whenever I get it.

If you have thoughts to share about where you find rest and what kinds of rest you need, I'd love to hear them!

What qualities do you most value in your partner?

I think the single most important quality for me is happiness. Many people seem wired to find the negative in every situation, to worry about what might happen around the corner and down the road, and to rehearse every grievance until it's wrung of every drop of anger and indignation. I can't live with that--when I try, I spend way too much energy trying to cheer the person up, find the bright side, make their life easy in hopes of their finding happiness with me, which many people just aren't going to do. Realizing this was a major breakthrough in my relationship history and made me value Jason's essential good humor enormously.



A deep sense of commitment is also key for me. I was raised by parents who were married for life and being able to make and live that kind of partnership was something that I was always looking for. Jason sometimes says that for him the best thing about being married was letting go of the decision--it was made and he no longer has to wonder whether or not to marry, because he did. This plays out not only in just not separating, but in showing up every day to make our lives together good, in being willing to work on our communication and find ways to enhance our connection and our mutual ease and happiness.



Being openly loving is also very important. We sometimes call it "The Love Game," taking joy in finding ways to say and show that we love each other every day, finding new games to play together, new inside jokes that reinforce our connection. I see other couples who seem to revel in something different, in teasing each other with dislike, and while I get that joking about it might release steam, or disarm the negative potential of the relationship, that's not a comfortable way of interacting for me. Physical affection is an important part of this--we touch each other often, we hug many times throughout the day, and the best part of every day is holding each other as we fall asleep.



I don't think I could be partnered with someone who didn't share a basic curiosity about the world, an eagerness to try new things, travel to other parts of the world, try new foods, or share cool articles about science and interesting insights about the human condition. We can spend hours together talking about everything and nothing, because each of us is interested in how the other sees the world and in sharing what we see with each other.



A willingness to be a full partner is another essential quality. Jason and I have different strengths, but we are working together toward the same goals. We communicate freely about our priorities. We share values. We are here for each other, whether that's maintaining a balance in chores, or figuring out how to parent equitably. We're not using each other to get what we each want, we're cooperating to get what both of us want, and each other's happiness is vitally important. We love working together and are able to spend the bulk of our time in the same space. I've heard it said that in all relationships there is one who loves more, but our love is intense on both sides and very well balanced. I feel incredibly privileged to have found a partner like this.

Lastly, but perhaps most importantly, it matters enormously to me that we enable each other to be our best selves and give each other the freedom to do that. Given what interdependent lives we lead, I think it would be impossible without the counterweight of respect and independence that suffuses our relationship.



In swimming lessons, we always had to have a buddy. It was your responsibility to know where your buddy was, to stick together, and when the whistle blew, to find each other and keep each other safe. That's one of the things that marriage is--a hand to grab in the deep water when the whistle blows. It's good to have a buddy.

I had a unique theatrical experience tonight.

( What role does fear play in your life? )

I think this is the purpose of theatre, distilled: to enter a dark room not knowing what to expect and to find yourself there on the stage.

The Fear Project runs until May 13th.

( *That story...content notes: drug abuse, violence, suicide. )

On Sunday morning I attended services at First Parish, as usual. The sermon was given by Aisha Ansano, a young woman of color who is a member of our congregation, as well as a staff member working with our Youth Group, and also a candidate we're sponsoring for ordination as a minister. Her sermon was excellent: it shared some of her personal history, her excitement at discovering Unitarian Universalism, her deep call to the UU ministry...and how hard it is to be a UU of color. She was very honest, though she did pull some punches (talking about "sitting in UU congregations," rather than specifying ours, for example) but also encouraged us to think more deeply about how our race impacts our relationship with our religion. I hope we will hear her voice from our pulpit often.

On Sunday afternoon I attended the CAIR Massachusetts Rally to protest the new Muslim ban and immigration restrictions. I hadn't thought I could go, but then I was reminded that someone else was spending the afternoon with my daughter, so I could go, but having previously passed on joining various friends and groups, and still having fairly tight timing, I went alone. I ran into a couple of people I know coming out of the T and we marched up Boylston together before splitting up, at which point I immediately ran into my next door neighbor (not the one I saw at the Women's March, the one in the other direction) and we chatted for a few moments before I decided to wade deeper into the crowd, where I quickly found an old friend from MIT and stood with him and his daughter until they had to leave. I kept moving slowly, but steadily toward the center, where I could hear the speakers more clearly. I got to be part of the People's Microphone for the first time and was moved by the inspiring words passing through my voice. I especially loved the MC, Rana Abdelhamid, leading us in various chants, but always returning to "What do we do? STAND UP. FIGHT BACK." While friends on the outskirts reported a majority white crowd, there at the center I found myself surrounded by a sea of different shades of people. The sense of connection and community and common purpose was palpable. When the speeches ended I made a beeline for the street and walking toward the bus passed the Boston Marathon Finish Line, site of the bombing, and thought how beautiful it was that we could gather near that fateful marker without fear of each other, strangers though we are in so many ways.

On Sunday evening I attended an Active Bystander Training workshop hosted by Theatre@First and run by Cassie Luna, a young Asian-American representative from the Boston Area Rape Crisis Center. They and their partner, Nate, led eighteen of us in a discussion of ways to intervene in situations of harassment and attack, laying out a framework for thinking about responses, and putting us through some scenarios. It was great to hear so many people's perspectives and ideas and to get more training on appropriate and useful intervention tools. One of the response categories ("Dedicate") involved thinking of ways to make personal and systemic changes to address the culture of sexual violence around us and one of our participants shared that she has made a commitment this year to attend at least six events led by women of color and I suddenly realized that I had attended three that day.

I feel really fortunate that I live where this is possible, pleased that the spaces where I am putting myself are bringing me these opportunities, and grateful to these people for stepping up and speaking out. At a time when so much feels terrifying, I am lifted by their voices, excited to learn from them and to follow where they lead.