Who was that nice man?

Life. It defies any assumptions I might make about it. Have you noticed that? For example, you think the person approaching on the jam-packed sidewalk will go right, so you go right to avoid a collision…but they don’t, they go left while you’re going right, resulting in a near bump, a look in their eyes, a laugh and a buoyant, intimate, connected moment.

These moments offer themselves more frequently than we realize. I think they happen all the time.

I think…

…we ignore them because they’re little and don’t believe they deserve our attention.

…we let them go because we can’t control any situation with another person, and it’s too intimidating to think about what might happen if we tried to connect.

…we tell ourselves we don’t have time to find out why that stranger is standing in our path, our ready partner in an unrehearsed pas de deux of unknowns.

During the two weeks that I’ve been back from Africa, I’ve stood in lots of lines, called numerous customer service lines, returned merchandise and relied on strangers for help. In most cases, these individuals just had to do the job they were being paid to do. But you know how it is…some do those jobs well and others…well…they’re disasters. Each time, I faced a stranger. And each time, I got to choose what sort of stranger I would be to them: aloof, angry, cheerful, forgiving, understanding, demanding, ugly, exasperated, special, humble, light, or…you fill in the blank.

Today I experienced the power of choosing how I greet strangers…And what a day! I left the apartment at 6:15 to drive to JFK and pick up my big old 28 kilo suitcase, which Nathalie and Paul had shipped from Senegal. At 60 + pounds, this bag would not have added anything to my four-country tour of Europe before I returned to New York. I drove over the 59^th Street Bridge as the sky was turning pink, cruised through Corona Park as the sun backlit the trees with golden light. And at 7:15, I was at Delta’s Air Terminal in Cargo Area B. I was first in line talking with Teresa. She processed my waybill and then asked if I knew how to get to Customs, which is the second step of the three step cargo-release process. She pulled out a map with lots of intersections, lights, cryptic marks and one very large note that US Custom is five miles from the Delta facility where I was standing.

I was dismayed and it must have showed. The guy in line behind me stepped into our conversation and offered: “I’m driving to Customs, just follow me.” He not only led the way, but waited in the parking lot, waited while Officer Harris questioned me about what I did in Senegal, investigated me through Google, asked me to translate the inventory of my suitcase, which Nathalie had written in French…and then with a big beautiful smile, dismissed me into the custody of my escort Ronald and a “thank you for being a good American.” Ronald whisked me along the back roads to Delta Air Cargo, waving and shouting “good luck” as he drove away. He’d just given over a half hour of his finite life to help me out…no reward except a smile.

Teresa processed my paperwork, chatted with me about Kansas and New York and Christmas and crowds. She escorted me to the freight area, turned me over to another of her friendly, charming colleagues with whom I shared the next half-hour and stories about getting fired, secret shoppers, federal Customs regulations that will get you a $10,000 fine and six years in prison, and other interesting stuff. Then that big f’n wheelie bag appeared on a forklift. I threw it in the trunk and drove back to New York…no traffic problems, no tickets, no hassles and parked right in front of my own building. This is a lost but significant reference for those of you who have never lived or driven or tried to park an auto on a New York street…NOBODY EVER GETS A SPOT IN FRONT OF THEIR VERY OWN BUILDING AT 10:30 AM!!!

Am I assigning too much importance to these random acts of kindness? Maybe. Except that they all happened to me…and at a certain point, I wonder if repetition diminishes the likelihood that they are random. The simpler message might be that something wonderful could happen when we are trying to avoid a collision with that stranger facing us on the sidewalk. Go ahead and give ‘em a bump. See what happens.

Seeing is not believing

What a joy to wander around in New York! Yesterday, I walked through Union Square en route to a coffee date with a friend. Amazing! Absolutely amazing to see the shapes and sizes and colors and genders and varieties of people there are in this city.

I tell myself—perhaps I delude myself with the belief--that I am alert and awake to life, that I notice people and places and things around me. I can get chills from a beautiful rose, backlit by autumn sunlit. I can tear up when I see a great sunrise or sunset. I don’t think I’m special or different in these reactions. Observation is what drives creativity. But I always marvel at some writers’ abilities to capture the visual aspects of a situation or a person.

So there I was, casually draped over the railing that defines the northern edge of Union Square’s southern plaza. It’s a gathering spot for all sorts…skateboarders, war protesters, musicians, jugglers, vendors of art and CDs, panhandlers, stoners. My favorite yesterday was a guy with a sign that said “Free Face Sitting! Try it!” [By the way, I was tempted.]

I’m watching this milling mass of young humanity, and it is mostly 20-somethings. They have energy and enthusiasm and exuberance about everything…even the stoned ones looked excited to be on Union Square on a beautiful autumn day.

So where’s this going? I’m looking and looking and looking at people. Here comes a guy, dark haired, well built, handsome and my first thought was: “He’s a cute one.” My second thought was: Oh…too bad…he’s cross-eyed.” The good news: He wasn’t. It was just my perception: His eyes were set so deeply in his head and were so close together that it created a false impression.

What’s the point? If I were a writer, I might be able to create a story about false perceptions around that moment of realizing the guy wasn’t cross-eyed. I’m not going to write a story. But I will try to remember that what I see is not necessarily the truth. So certainly what I think…and I am a great one for over thinking things…should be suspect.

And we can all be relieved--me especially--that the cute, tall, dark guy continues to be cute, tall, dark and has no special challenges. At least none that I could see.

There's no place like it.

Sigh.

I am home. I slept in my very own bed last night. I drank coffee from my very own mug this morning.

Returning from JFK via the 59th Street Bridge, the lump in my throat reached unmanageable proportions as I gazed on that unbelievably beautiful New York skyline. Once in my apartment, I stood at my living room window, looking out on 69th Street. The tree that was white with blossoms when I left is now tinged yellow as autumn descends.

My tenant left everything in near perfect condition: No surprises, which is the best way to come home. I had dinner with a dear friend last night. The food was delicious but her company was divine, complete with intense listening, immediate identification and deep intention.

I’m very, very happy to be back.

36 and Counting

A day spent traveling. I can’t say it’s my favorite thing any longer. Leaving Tom's comfy apartment for Amsterdam Schipol at 11:30 am yesterday, I arrived at my destination in Wimbledon at 7:30 pm…9 hours with the time change. And the flight was only 90 minutes. Lots of waiting…and lots of public transport: bus, train, underground, cab.

But I’m here and it is so worth it. Daniel Batt, a philanthropist and entrepreneur here in London invited me to spend a few days here and meet some potential supporters for the Hospital of Hope. We had a delightful dinner with his mother Heidi. Our warm and embracing conversation ranged from gay issues to family issues to health issues. It was wonderful to be with them...a lovely continuation of the friendships in Amsterdam and Basel.

This morning I woke to sunshine and 100 acres of parks and grounds here at Cannizaro House. After my hearty English breakfast, I wandered around, up and down through the woods that are changing colors, over the lawn where I can imagine there have been celebrations of all types and into the gardens that are either completely English in their formality or wild in a tangled brambly sort of way.

It was a wild, tangled, brambly sort of day in London too…had a very successful meeting with a tech entrepreneur who is interested in supporting the hospital’s mobile clinic services. Introduced Daniel to my colleague Ken who is with Lenovo and one of the brightest, funniest guys in this hemisphere, and then we went to “Sister Act,” the musical based on the Whoopi Goldberg film. It’s closing at the end of the month after a very successful two year run…my hard-hearted self almost cried…something about finding community and one’s true self: it’s the universal, archetypal story of self-discovery through the love and acceptance of others. Magical.

London is turning out to be an amazing experience, just like all the rest. And Daniel is a very generous, very attentive and very kind host. Remarkable. And loving.

I AMsterdam

Amsterdam…Barcelona…Basel…London…New York…what makes a city great? A city with history and architecture that reflects the history is important. Walk-ability is critical to my enjoyment. Public transport is also very important. Culture, food, climate…these contribute so much to the experience. But in the final analysis, what has come to mean so much is not what I am looking at but who it is I am talking to.

Basel, my first stop after Dakar, was such a generous experience: staying with Angelo and Stefan, meeting the board of directors of the hospital, spending an evening with our web programmer and her family, enjoying working dinners with friends from the LGBT community with whom I was helping organize a conference…dining on Angelo’s fantastic Sicilian cooking.

And now Amsterdam, where I’ve had the gift of Tom’s hospitality in his cozy apartment overlooking the city, walking the canals of this friendly city, surprising David—along with 22 other friends—for his 50^th birthday celebration at Huzze Frankendael, an estate that has been converted to a conference center with fantastic food and public gardens. It was quite a spectacular location for a surprise…And he was surprised as he turned from greeting his Amsterdam-based friends and found Angelo and Stefan from Basel, Mike (his former Oklahoma University college roommate) who lives in Atlanta, Linda who flew in from Valencia, Spain, and me. He cried. We laughed. We talked and ate and drank until midnight.

This afternoon I rendezvoused briefly with David and Michael, Angelo and Stefan before I took myself to a Netherlands Philharmonic concert at the Concertgebouw. Friendship coupled with Mahler…two compelling, driving, powerful forces. The combination left me completely satisfied and ready for the next leg of this trip. Off to London tomorrow for fundraising on behalf of the hospital. On Thursday, I’m returning to New York and those 20-year friendships…I can hardly wait.

Next Stop

I've had six spectacular days in Basel. Today, Angelo, Stefan and I depart for a weekend in Amsterdam. We’re helping David celebrate his 50^th birthday. SURPRISE!!!

The time here in Basel has been exceptional in so many ways: stunningly beautiful autumn days…the light that spills in at an angle and gives everything a back-lit glow. Trees along the Rhine are beginning to turn, which has made it tempting to sit in the apartment and stare out at the river for hour after hour. I’ve joined gatherings for discussions of social change that always end with big plates of Angelo’s superb Sicilian cuisine. I’ve wandered the historic streets with stops in museums, coffee shops, confiseries, patisseries. I’ve met for dinner with new friends from the Hospital of Hope for conversations enlivened by our common vision. It’s been wonderful to be here… an essential reintroduction to life as it is lived in developed cultures. Two years ago, I knew only one person—so very slightly—in Basel. Today I have a growing community of friends and colleagues, people I have grown to love and trust.

But I am anticipating with great joy the renewal of friendships in Amsterdam. The Dutch are uniquely…well, Dutch…and I’ve not experienced their definitive pragmatism and “yes, we can” approach to life since June. I’m looking forward to celebrating with David…He's simply one of my favoritest people in the world. Boy from Oklahoma and girl from Kansas meet in Amsterdam and have a life-long love affair. We’ve worked hard, laughed hard, fought and throughout have valued each other. I am so fortunate to have an opportunity to be with him for the joyous occasion of his half-century...the beginning of the most amazing decade of life.

This time between Dakar and New York, Seal and Starbucks, Hospital of Hope and GLSEN is critical. I want to return…yes, I am eager to be home on 69^th Street…but I want to retain some the fundamental shifts that living in Senegal involuntarily introduced into my life or that I chose to practice voluntarily. It is never too late to change….and now I know we can.

Based in Basel

I arrived in Basel exhausted by the 24 hours of travel from Dakar, an overnight flight followed by six hours of waiting for my train to Basel, followed by a seven-hour train ride from Brussels. But the immediately joy of Angelo and Stefan’s welcome erased all fatigue…or maybe it was Angelo’s fantastic Sicilian-style dinner. Whatever the source of the renewal, it was delightful. We stayed up talking until 1 a.m.

A restful night, a late rise, a wonderful breakfast of bread and jam and coffee, followed by a long stroll with Stefan on a bright, warm, autumnal Sunday…this was a perfect day that got even better as friends arrived late in the day for conversation and work. Yes, work! We undertook the planning for a business conference that will occur next June in Rome during EuroPride. After three hours of work, we enjoyed another Angelo-inspired Italian feast and and then retired.

Now, I’m sitting and looking out the window at the beautiful Rhine River, thinking about this rich fabric of friendship that connects me to friends in so many parts of the world.