When I was 21 years old, I came out to my parents. From my miniature apartment. In a converted parking lot structure. That used to be a YMCA. In New Zealand. Via Skype.

“Mom, dad . . . I’m a lesbian.”

I was crying. I’d never actually said it out loud.

What I didn’t tell them . . . was that I was also dressing almost exclusively in men’s clothing, compressing my breasts with sports bras, and generally making my way about town as a dapper Victorian dandy. Wrong century? Maybe. Wrong body? Perhaps. Or maybe it was just . . . supreme self-expression. Completely whole and true. In that moment.

I spent the next five years falling in love with beautiful & fascinating women. Artists. Psychiatrists. Aerospace engineers. One asked me to marry her. I said “yes.” And then didn’t. She told me to keep the ring — as a gift. I still wear it, sometimes.

A few months before my 26th birthday, I started to notice something. Men.
For years, they’d been friends, sometimes colleagues, or gray & uninteresting blobs on the public metro system. And suddenly, they were . . . mesmerizing.

I went through three in six weeks. Ahem.

Then I found . . . one more. A black metal cherub who dumpster-dived for computer parts and built servers from scratch — in between mastering the art of low-sodium pizza dough and composing electronica albums about radical socialism. He taught my sister how to play Metallica on her mandolin.
I was just . . . done. Bonkers. Smitten. In loooooove.

Still am.

So, how did a hedonist lesbian from Los Angeles by way of New Zealand fall in love with a Marxist metalhead (with distinctly male genitalia) from Minnesota?

It should have been impossible. Maybe it was.

But . . . I yielded to my impossibles. Yielded as in, surrendered all power, presuppositions or supposed authority.

I’ve discovered that Love is all in the yielding . . .
more so than the contracts.

And that often, the most deliriously joyful thing to yield to . . .
is the ultimate impossibility.

xo.

‘Luminous earth grid’ by David Bowen, via :: I like this art

And now, a brief word from our sponSOAR . . .

Lisa Claudia Briggs is a veritable treasure trove of healing wisdom. She’s a Harvard-trained psychotherapist, eating disorder specialist and sacred streetfighter for gifted, sensitive & empathetic women. With her medical-meets-mystical approach, she guides women through highly-individual rites of passage — over the coals of their own personal FireWalks.

If you’re facing a creative blockage, a relationship crux, or a seemingly-unsolvable business dilemma, Lisa’s 100-minute FireWalk experiences act as a multi-dimensional makeover for the mind, body, heart, and soul. The FireWalk is not about freedom from disordered eating or fractured self-care — though Lisa has offerings for those needs, too — but rather an invigorating creative brainstorming session, with a healing afterglow.

If you’re new to Lisa’s world & way of working, I implore you: spend some time with her gorgeous writing. Find yourself mirrored in her manifesto. Read her radiant client reviews.

And when you’re ready, your FireWalk begins with a simple, cost-free conversation.

Happy Valentine’s Day. And as Lisa would say, “walk with beauty.”