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who am I?

The most memorable year of my life, to date, was 1968. The deaths of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Bobby Kennedy were tragic enough, but it was also the year I lost my best friend. My brother Bill died in Viet Nam. It was a year that dragged me into reality, not kicking and screaming, but numb and confused. I stayed that way for longer than I care to remember. As you can imagine, all of that worldliness was a heavy load for my non-athletic teenage shoulders, but I muddled through.

The word that best summarizes my first fifty years is creativity. I created art, music, poetry, an occasional relationship, and as much kindness as I could muster because I've been given so much. Despite my sparse social life, I love people. I love our resilience, our promise, our innate kindness, and the fact that no matter how many times we get it wrong, we keep trying to get it right. We hold on and survive. There is a lot to be said for surviving, especially if you happen to run into your passion along the way.

This is not a standard bio. My accomplishments in the grand scheme would not generate much text, but I am not my accomplishments. I am a person who struggles to live and learn, and I laugh. Actually, I laugh quite a bit. My legacy is the list of un-extraordinary things I’ve done and an even longer list of those I intend to do. I am a woman who discovered that the first half century was preparation for the real work, or more accurately, the real joy. I am a storyteller with many stories to tell, and I have begun.