When people tell me that things cannot change, that life just goes on and history only repeats itself, I call upon their attention to a day like today. Today may be an ordinary Tuesday for many people, but to another great many, those who have served our country with the steadfastness our U.S. military is known for, but who have had to keep a large part of themselves hidden from the world; today is anything but ordinary. As we watch history in the making, and the ushering of a new face of America continues to become more apparent, we see the chains of old fall away with the repeal of  “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” (DADT).

We are the world’s oldest democracy, and an equal society, and yet there are those among us who cannot claim rights of their own to the same institution we ourselves created as humanity to express the everlasting bond of human love both inside this life and beyond the infinite boundaries of our own grasp of life? It harkens our own Civil Rights battle, which threatened to tear this nation apart, forcing every one of us to take a good, hard look at ourselves. And we have honored and consecrated the spirit of that movement in the newest monument on the National Mall in the Martin Luther King, Jr. monument who stands tall between Thomas Jefferson and Abraham Lincoln, his progressive ancestors who also had such a vision as he held. In such moments, we are able to see the tangible come into the light from the darkness. But this battle was swept under the rug, and it waged itself quietly, though it was not ignored by those at the mercy of discrimination.

Today we recognize that we are all human, regardless of skin color, sexual orientation, religion, creed, and we all have those same inalienable rights established long ago in our Declaration of Independence. The path will continue as I hope in my lifetime I will live to see everyone have the opportunity to marry the person of their choice, something still denied in places such as where I grew up in Florida. These too, will come to be known as times of hardship, as growth, and periods of self-reflection. But today, we celebrate a first step towards that greater imagined goal already cemented that “all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”

And today, there are many who have lived half a life, who will be made whole.

“For we are not a nation that says, ‘don’t ask, don’t tell.’ We are a nation that says, ‘Out of many, we are one.’” – President Barack Obama 

Sample of my new Virginia plates

DMV, can seem like a mind-altering experience. After my own internal hemming and hawing, while I made subsequent trips to have my vehicle inspected, then emissions tested – which demanded almost $500 in car repairs – then having to obtain a copy of my lease; I was finally ready to make the transition to my new statehood.

I thought the transition was a simple five-mile car trip to the DMV on a Saturday morning. Irrespective of the posted 7 minute wait time on line, I was greeted with a line snaking its way out the door in the early thaw of the crisp, fall morning. While waiting, I listened to a young man gripe about his three jobs as he spit tobacco into a used soda bottle; I tried to avert my eyes while still nodding attentively. I could understand his panic – I have been there – working three jobs to make ends meet. I wanted to say that we do what we can when we have to do it and the most important thing is our attitude about the situation, but it was clear that his bleary outlook might have made my pep talk rendered as useless as a tank top in the 55 degree weather.

Once I was at the information desk, I found out that as prepared as I thought I was, I’d still made only a C- in this life class; I had to go back home and find the title to my SUV, as well as my passport to prove my U.S. citizenship. Of course, I felt like slapping my forehead in my own personal “coulda had a V8″ moment. Not wanting to show my own personal disappointment, I thanked her and quietly made way out the doors and back to my apartment, as I wracked my mind to think where the title might be; my passport was always in its holster at the ready in case an international trip beckoned me away.

An hour later, I was back at the DMV with the intent to make it out of there as fast as possible, but it was not to be. I waited in anguish, watching all the numbers except mine be called. The minutes turned into an hour, and just as I’d managed to drown out the screaming of the children running through the lobby, chasing one another with the kind of energy that only a five year old can summon, my number was called. There are many differences from Florida I’ve found – for one, you have a separate tag agency and driver’s license agency in Florida, whereas they are both under one roof in Virginia. But perhaps the biggest difference, is that you are not allowed to smile in your driver’s license photo. Not smile in my photo? You might as well tell me not to bring hiking shoes on a big mountain hike.

I smile against my own will for any camera that crosses my path – having been trained into me from  my younger, leadership days. As my face struggled to keep the smile from sneaking across the corners of my mouth, I then watched in horror as the man punched holes into my Florida license and handed it back to me with a smile that might have paralleled my own before the start of my DMV adventure. It  could not have felt more official. I wasn’t a Florida resident anymore – and my truck which had been originally purchased in Virginia and then taken to Florida by the previous owner, had returned back home with a new passenger.

Stopping for a quick snapshot amidst an 80 hour work week

One day I was planning the launch of a national campaign and working long days, rapidly firing off emails on my Blackberry as the Metro coasted to each stop on my way home, and then suddenly I looked up and the sun was shining through the glimmering buildings of the Golden Triangle in our nation’s Capital. I was running through the center of it all, with the scent of grass and optimism mingling in the air laid heavy with the promise of autumn. In one evening’s 4 mile loop, I took in the Lincoln Memorial, the MLK Memorial, the Washington Monument, the Jefferson Memorial, and the White House – and just like that, I was refreshed and knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

The past months – nearly three had elapsed since I called DC home – had found me running as fast as I could at work, in my life, to keep up with the surmounting task of transitioning life, career, friends, and all that one finds necessary to daily survival. As a self-sufficient person, the task seemed so natural to me, I’d almost forgotten that I’d left any semblance of a social life in those days before grad school – and even then, they were spent with people I rubbed shoulders with in volunteer leadership running grassroots groups and spearheading advocacy and mentoring in urban schools. I didn’t know what relaxing was unless I was hiking on a far-off mountain – something many might confess is the least tranquil of all activities, but is food to my soul.

So, on a cool day in September, I wandered into a church tucked into the northwest corner of the city and there in the church basement, threw my second soprano voice in with 35 other sopranos, altos, tenors and bass voices that comprised the church choir. I hadn’t sung regularly with a choir in many years, and even then, there were only a handful of people, which benefited from an uptick of a few more near the holidays for special services. I was tentative, until we began to try out new pieces and I realized that I was likely one of the better sight readers in the room. Still, I kept my voice timid and small, except on a few higher notes, where it couldn’t help but to fly out, touching the row of sopranos in front of me, lifting up their voices like a hawk in a summer sky.  We held hands in a prayer circle afterward in the room sweaty and humid from a rebellious air conditioner; and they shared the people in their lives to pray for and my heart was glad. As I walked out of the room, the music director, a legend in his own right, pulled me aside and told me to practice the solo for He’s Worthy, as he’d like to introduce my voice to the congregation this fall. A tall order – but an opportunity to reinvent my own vocal stylings.

I put on my scarf, because it was 70 degrees outside and in Florida, it would be well into the 80s even this late at night, even at this time of year, and I could do it here. I walked around the corner, past the home where Duke Ellington lived, and breathed in the air that he and so many greats had breathed in the time long before I came. I thought of the steps they must have all walked – both the short, skeptical ones, and the great, self-assured ones…and I was comforted that I was never alone, that the world wasn’t flat, and though I felt I’d been transported into a new world, I was still me.

Hordes of workers pack the DC sidewalks in the business district following a 5.9 magnitude earthquake

Several hours ago, I was on a client conference call when what felt like a truck rumbling by, disturbed the otherwise serious conversation. We looked at each other, disregarding the event until the entire room began to shake and several people exclaimed, “Earthquake!” A veritable Florida native, I’d survived many a hurricane over the years and was impervious about natural disasters of this sort – but an earthquake had not been on my calling card, and I had no clue of the next step to take.

I followed several of my co-workers in diving underneath the conference table, asking all the while if this was the right thing to do. They nodded, wide-eyed, as we waited for the tremors to stop. I covered my ears for some reason as I watched my life pass before my eyes. There were so many things I still wanted to do in my life, and hunkering under this conference table was not one of them. “Was this how it was all going to end?” I thought to myself.  I felt completely unprepared and committed to the moment.

Flash forward 20 minutes, and I am huddled with co-workers on the sidewalk of the downtown business district of Washington, D.C, along with hundreds of others as we nervously chat and quietly wonder if everything will be alright. I think about my loosely hung pictures at home where I recently moved.  It seems trivial to even think of these things considering all that is going on in the world – smoke rising from the rooftops of Tripoli and Assad trying to keep his family’s 40 year imposed reign over the Syrian people.  And, I’m quivering from an earthquake that at most, will likely cause me great trouble getting home with slow-moving Metro trains.

The aftershocks are barely felt after the 5.9 magnitude earthquake, the largest on record on the East Coast. After the shaking, reports would come forth, stating that tremors were felt as far as New York City and the Carolinas. As for me, other than a hunger in my belly likely programmed into my human DNA to store up for survival, I remain, unshaken by the quake.

A wise cat stays cool inside on a sweltering DC day

I had been warned that the hot, sticky DC summers can drive even the most patient and well-meaning person to the brink. But, I didn’t listen. I had been a Florida resident for 25 years, after all…and summer lasts nine months there. To DC’s credit, the air quality is not quite as good as I enjoyed in the Florida peninsula; and because you walk everywhere, you have to endure the heat for much longer periods of time. Nonetheless, I couldn’t rouse myself to become unglued by the old wives’ tales. Leave it to me to move to DC in the summer, right in time for the first heat wave.

If the newspapers shoved at you by the paper handlers outside metro stations with bold headlines of “99 degrees and climbing,” weren’t enough to make you pay attention, then the assortment of “I hear it’s supposed to be 116 degrees with the heat index tomorrow,” around the water cooler at work, kept me apprised of the moment-by-moment weather updates.

Shawn was planning to run the Crystal City Twilighter in the midst of the sweaty summer and recruited me to join him – and like any good best friend, I did.  After I found a parking spot on race day with Brian, we had to

Temperature at the Crystal City Twilighter 5K race start

jog to the start of the race, only to find the crowd had already taken off and we were the last ones. This was a first. It was also my first race outside of Florida and thus, first in the DC area. It was also 100 degrees (without counting the 70 percent humidity).

Last place start at the 5K race

I spent the next 3.1 miles dodging runners and walkers alike, getting caught in the narrow thoroughfares and drenched in the process. Brian took off to finish in a very respectable 27.5 minutes while I focused on finishing the race without stopping. I wouldn’t have normally even worried, since I’ve trained through the past two hot, Florida summers and survived many a race. But, I’d taken a month off after an achilles injury and then after a triathlon, took after a couple more weeks while I attempted to adjust to the new job and city.  I was woefully in shape.

Being the “twilighter” race, it was one of the few night offerings around. Typically this would be pleasant, but in the heat of the night the steam poured off the cement like the remnants of a hot shower. I watched as countless people slowed down to a walk, heaving from the heat; or altogether gave up. Race volunteers threw soaked, cold sponges at one point. I continued to press forward, barely faster than a trot, but well-hydrated and feeling good.

And so I completed my first DC race in 30:26 – not my finest hour, but not bad for a sauna spectacle. Afterwards, I tossed a bottle of cold water over my head and stood in line for pineapple-mango smoothie samples as I thought to myself; if I can survive the 100 degree Crystal City Twilighter, then I can make it through the summer in the city.

“Run with patience the race that is set before us …”
- Heb. 12:1-3 , from the Bible

With Brian and Shawn at the race finish

Homework accompanied with locally-grown coffee and goat cheese, fresh basil and tomato omelette from Firefly Farms

heat had given way for a brief respite in the morning. Even so, I stuck to the shady areas, still managing to work up a sweat. I then did something I enjoy on the weekend but hardly ever do – took myself to breakfast. This time, I checked out a restaurant that was completely new to me – The Silver Diner. I had perused their site the night before and was surprised to find this 50s-style throwback was locally owned, utilized local farms and fresh ingredients, and had many vegetarian options. I enjoyed a goat cheese, fresh basil and tomato omelette, complemented by fresh berries with cinnamon sour cream and whole wheat toast. Even the coffee beans in my coffee were local.

Later, I decided to look for a movie and typed cinema into my GPS, which first took me to a dead end. As it turns out, there used to be a movie theater there but it had since closed. Alas, the GPS wasn’t able to keep up with the times. I tried the next nearest cinema, which turned out to only play Bollywood movies. While I was impressed with the cultural cache of the area, I wasn’t in the mood for singing and dancing. I decided to tap the professionals and queried my Fandango app on the phone, driving to the next theater with more trepidation.

Bollywood Cinema

It was in my journey, driving cautiously through new streets and looking for the cinema that I saw the sign, glowing and bright like the promised land, and it said two delicious words…Trader Joes’s. I walked excitedly, nearly tripping over my own feet, to the place where dreams were cooked (or at least the ingredients). Knowing I wouldn’t see a fridge for hours, I steered clear of the infamous frozen foods aisle, spilling over with spinach-infused tortellini, basil and mozzarella pizza and palak paneer. I tripped over every point of sale, over boxes of Trader O’s stacked waist high, my jaw agasp with the wonder that is this specialty grocery store. I filled my basket with a $1.39 eggplant, an $.89 red onion, and more fresh veggies.

$38 and much bliss later, I looked for a place to eat prior to my solo movie and spied a “Blue Ocean Japanese Cuisine” sign. The server was polite and quick, bringing me hojicha/genmaicha blended green tea on the house, the dark aroma balancing the spicyness of my meal of plum and shiso and avocado and cream cheese sushi rolls. As I enjoyed my meal, I eavesdropped on the conversation behind me of a young man and his former teacher, as he spoke of his plans to make it big in New York. I mused to myself about finally living here in the DC area, a lifelong dream fulfilled. Perhaps he might think my dream too small. Daring to chase dreams though, that’s the stuff that keeps your soul alive.

His teacher began to reveal her own saga of her emigration to the U.S., leaving Japan through a winding story of chance. I felt the satisfaction of a day well spent, basking in the knowledge that dreaming never gets old.

“All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible. ” -T. E. Lawrence

The mountain also has had its share of history, not surprising with its location. The commander of the British troops marched his men past the mountain in 1755 during the French and Indian War. 256 years later, my best friend, Shawn, and I arrived the area and unsure of which way to turn, we ended up on a road heading through the woods. After several miles, we realized we were headed in the wrong direction and turned back. After finally locating the trail head after walking through the paved lot, we put our backpacks on and began to follow the Northern Peaks Trail. We started on the white trail, mulched and grassy underfoot, checking the trees for the blue blazes to signify the trail which would take us to the summit. We ended up turning left when we should have turned right, an error we realized when we walked back off the trail after only a mile right into the west parking lot (we had parked in the east lot).

After connecting with the correct trail, I pulled out the map I’d gleaned from a post at the start to check our markers. We were headed to a non-descript place called White Rocks. Unsure of what to look for, when we came upon a large pile of White Rocks, I thought we might have declared a triumph. However, as I looked around at the visual cues, I could tell that we weren’t yet at the summit. Several miles in and no sign of how much further we had to go. Just around the corner, we came upon the last crossroads before the summit. Making our way up to the north face of the summit, we saw the whole valley spilled out before us. At the other face, I scrambled up to a high rock and dangled my legs over the 1,200 foot drop-off, feeling the exhilaration of the height. Before today, I hadn’t even known there was a mountain in Maryland. The only Sugarloaf Mountain I’d known was the highest point in Florida and little more than a hill; this was a very different Sugarloaf Mountain. I felt the fulfillment of being able to complete a mountain hike and drive back to sleep in my bed the same day. Welcome to Virginia.

I am learning words like COTR (Contracting Officer’s Technical Representative, or the person managing the purse strings for a vendor from a government office) and embedding myself in a deep way into the U.S. health care system, talking to community organizations from east coast to west coast and loving every minute of it.

I was just beginning to think I was getting a hang of things, when the smoke alarm went off, literally. I finally went to bed at a decent hour on Monday evening, when someone indescribable in my dream hit an alarm right in front of me and sneered in my face. I looked at them, asking them why they would do that and they just laughed. The sound was so loud I could not focus. Suddenly, I realized I wasn’t dreaming anymore, I was awake, and an alarm was going off. My best friend, Shawn, and I both stumbled from our respective rooms into the hallway, practically bumping into each other in a sleepy stupor.

As we ran around the apartment at 3:40 AM looking for the location of the source, I pinpointed the culprit, a white box on the wall – the smoke alarm. He quickly disassembled it, realizing a candle had been left burning by accident in the bathroom (thankfully, no fire). By the time the 6:40 AM alarm went off, I was exhausted – it had taken me an hour just to get back to sleep from my middle-of-the-night emergency.

We got to the Metro only to find the trains were packed and running slower than usual. Two stops away from our exit, they informed us we all had to exit the train. I smelled a burning odor in the air, mixed with exhaust. As we exited with the piles of people making their morning commute into an underground station, smoke was billowing out the back of the train. You could hear the groans mixed with the gasps echoing through the concrete walls of the station while we all simultaneously coughed, choking on the smoke. I looked at Shawn and asked if this happens often. “Maintenance happens sometimes, but I’ve never seen this,” he answered.

I pointed to the ceiling, towards the sky and nodded my head with the knowing that there were forces at work greater than we could comprehend at work here. There was only one thing left to say…”smoke alarm.”

I’m settling into the new position as a person might hesitantly drive around a brand new car – you want to push the gas because you know you have good pick-up, but you don’t want to push it. It’s brand new, after all. So, you drive everywhere, enjoying the new car smell and putting on more miles than you even care to keep track of. I’m very busy and taking on new tasks everyday with great enthusiasm. The feeling that I have nothing to do, but work, is still alarmingly new for me. There is no one to see, no plans to be made, no appointments (beyond the work day) to get to – all in all, it’s a paradigm shift. Over 25 years, you get used to the busy schedule and a full plate of important commitments. I’m still waking up to the realization that I get to set the pace to my life, and decide what to put on my plate.

Though work is my primary focus, there is still a list of to-do’s commanding my attention even after work as I gradually make the transition to D.C. area resident. The search for a permanent place to live, has provided more than its share of stress to my days. It is very expensive to live in D.C., even when you commute in. Of course, amenities can drive up prices, but the primary variable is distance to the metro – D.C.’s clean, safe and reliable public transit. The place I have my eye on, that I can actually afford, is three miles from the closest metro station. You sacrifice distance for cost, or vice versa. The commute can take its toll and with only work and more work waiting at home, I have slipped into a bizarre, sedentary routine (beyond the mile roundtrip I walk everyday to and from the metro). This was not helped along by the hardship of the move itself, the disarray of my belongings in a temporary setting, my running shoes getting ruined in the move and the fact that I came down with a cold my first week here.

After purchasing new running shoes with one of the gift cards from a friend, I laced them up yesterday and after some serious self-talk to tap my willpower, went for my first run. My usual sense of adventure steered me down a road not far from the house following another runner (hoping for a good route), and suddenly I went from a busy highway to a serene neighborhood with Americana and lodge-style homes tucked into woods and beautiful gardens. I felt my feet surge with energy and I could hardly contain my happiness as I ran up and down hills, real Virginia hills. It suddenly occurred to me, as I woke from my sleepy, sedentary stupor, that I was not in Kansas (Orlando) anymore. I felt free, truly free, for the first time in a long time. There was nowhere to be, no calls to make, no one expecting me. There was only the moment, and the endless joy that flowed with it.

A collection of photos from my first two weeks, enjoy!

And so, in June 2011, I made the big move. I gave notice

With Angela and Kevin at Farewell Party

at my job of seven years and began the tedious move. Luckily, I’d spent two years purging belongings and preparing myself mentally to leave the community of which I’d served as a spoke on its wheel.

I underestimated the reaction to my move. I thought family and friends would be happy for me and would wave me off as I slipped out the back door in the middle of the night, so to speak. Not so. I was gently removing hands from ankles as I assured them that Washington D.C. was only a plane trip away and they would have a place to stay when they visited. The truth is that I had no idea of the impact I had on the people in my life and this experience left a lasting effect on me. It’s very easy to go through your life day in and day out, being who you know to be, unaware of the perceptions of others. As it turns out, I did make a difference.

I gathered my friends and family together one last time to thank them for the role they had in my life, because I know I would not be who I am without their influence and support. My “goodbye/congrats” party was perfect, except that I needed a clone to spend more time with the 60+ people that I loved and cared for, who showed up on a Tuesday evening to wish me well in my next journey. I was genuinely touched. Thank you Orlando for the wonderful send-off!

And so I am here in my new city, ready for new adventures, or as one of my friends called it, opening “Chapter Two” in the story of my life.