Like It’s Your Last Day Ever

“Didn't he say how he likes to make the holes?
Time melts away while he tries to make the holes
Turn it on, Salvador…”

–Toy Matinee, Turn It On Salvador

Between our two girls asking me where the other suitcase was, and my wife calling me from the fourth floor asking if I got the other suitcase, I suddenly understood: our other big suitcase was still in the apartment where we’d stayed all week.

And now it was locked with the key inside on the table, exactly where the owners had told us to leave the key. To shut the door behind us. To have safe travels home.

It was six in the morning, and we were supposed to have left for the airport by that point. The plan was to move the big bags one at a time down the tiny elevator from the fourth floor to the first, call the Uber and head to the airport, to start the long trek home from Paris.

“Dad, Mom said you brought the suitcase down, where is it?” our oldest Beatrice asked.

That’s when I got the phone call from my wife, Amy.

“You don’t have it? Sweetie, I already shut the door. It’s locked,” she said.

I took the tiny elevator back up to where she was, unable to articulate how horrified I was. I pounded my fists on my legs.

“I’m sorry, I thought you had the bag,” Amy said. “I’ll call and text the owners right now.”

“I told you I could only bring one bag at a time.”

“I’m calling them now.”

Later, I would relate that extreme sick feeling I felt at that very moment to when George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life chastised Uncle Billy for losing the $8,000 that was supposed to be deposited in the bank.

Where's that money, you silly stupid old fool? Where's that money? Do you realize what this means? It means bankruptcy and scandal and prison! That's what it means! One of us is going to jail; well, it's not gonna be me!

Except that we wouldn’t be going to prison. And it wasn’t a scandal. It was stressful, though, and in stress I tend to run on reactive overdramatic steam, and was already running through all possible (worst) scenarios of what would happen and what we’d have to do. The reality was, at worst, the owners would respond and show up too late, and we’d have to rebook our flights home. At best, the owners would respond quickly, come let us in so we could get our suitcase and get to the airport in time for our flight.

And so, we waited to hear back. Amy and the girls were in the lobby with all but the one missing suitcase, and me on the fourth floor waiting and staring at my phone. I could hear Amy talking softly with the girls all the way down on the first floor. It was early and no one else in the building was up yet. Time hung like weights on my face, arms and legs. It pulled me downward like the superheated gravity of a Salvador Dali painting. The horrified anger and frustration I had at that moment reminded me of the day before, when we were on our way to an Eiffel Tower tour, and hit a snag with our Metro subway tickets. We were losing time, something I despise, especially when there’s something scheduled we’re running up against. Traveling as a family works pretty well for us overall – the girls are great travelers and roll with it all, and Amy and I complement each other along the way.

But I really struggle with time, and Amy does not. Time shorts me, bullies me, shames me. Time protects her, loves her, forgives her. I wrestle with time; she dances with it. For our girls? Time is an open green field under blue skies where they can run and play.

A moment of indecision, defunct Metro tickets, an Uber that would’ve taken too long, and I decided we had to go to another Metro station and try again. I just didn’t want to miss the last scheduled tour on our trip, one that wasn’t cheap.

After going back and forth about it for less than a minute, I blurted out something like, “Fine, you can stay here but I’m going!”

Not a great moment for me, and although I handle stress much better in my life these days, I’m still sometimes sucked into the black holes of selfish anger.

“Don’t fight, Mom and Dad,” both girls said.

The fourth floor was eerily quiet as I thought about the day before, waiting to hear the owner had arrived to let us in.

We made it with plenty of time yesterday, I thought. And we took the girls on the Eiffel Tower, for goodness sake. First world problems and all that. So grateful we were able to go on this trip together. First DC, now this. Such an amazing trip and so educational and enlightening for us all. 

Then I remembered that, right before we made it to the tour with time to spare, I had said, “We just have to better build in that nickel and dime time when we travel. I travel a lot more than you now.”

Which, in retrospect, was just a stupid thing to say, because Amy was traveling a lot more than me when we first met, and now that I travel more for work, it’s easier just to plan for me, and yet she’s the one who has to prep travel for two kids and a dad when we all travel together. I help of course, but she’s always been better at the prep and planning than me. So, it was no surprise when she gently but firmly reminded me of that.

Back to the waiting on the fourth floor – only five minutes had gone by. I texted Amy.

Any response?

No, I am so sorry.

Love you. Nothing we can do about it.

And that was it, really. Nothing we could do about it. I sat down in that moment metaphorically as if it were a hammock chair, fully present in whatever was to happen next, and I repeated the brief meditation I practice more often these days.

Breathe in – I am – breathe out – at peace. Over and over. Amen.

Then I thought of the picture I took of Beatrice staring at a line of graffiti along the walls of the Seine River. It read:

Live like it’s your last day ever.

I received another text from Amy: He is coming now. 

Live.

At the airport, before we boarded, Amy said, “You see, everything works out just like it’s supposed to.”

“I know, and you always remind me of that,” I said.

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

And then time melts away.

What Will Remain and Become

I told her to follow me, but she wanted to see and read all the descriptive panels along the way. We were in the National Archives in Washington DC viewing the founding documents of America, something both our girls didn't want to do initially. That's because we were out at lunch across the street and it was raining hard. Over three inches fell that afternoon. Plus, we'd already been hauling the girls to the White House and then a special FBI tour. We're a go-go-go family, so our speed with our girls is always on high.

But, we convinced them to go across the street. Told them we were going actually, and that they didn't have a choice. And so we all trudged through the rain across the street and entered the hallowed halls where the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution and the Bill of Rights are kept. When we entered the rotunda, the girls were in awe. We were in awe. My wife Amy and I had been to DC prior to the girls and seen all this already, but it never gets old for us. No matter where we are the political spectrum, we're proud Americans through and through. And it was exciting to be able to bring the whole family on my work trips again and make a little vacation out of them.

Which is why it was bittersweet for us, just because of where we're at with our country now, more polarized than ever.

I pointed upwards to the murals above us and said, "Those are the founding fathers — and behind them were just as many founding mothers." Amy nodded and I teared up little because we feel there’s so much at stake for us all right now and we wonder what of America will remain and what it will become for our daughters. Beatrice and Bryce both seemed to enjoy it and even asked us a few questions.

I thought to myself, We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union...

The next day we continued our DC trip by going to the Holocaust Museum. We considered not taking them because of the difficult content, and then it was recommended that we go through the children's section called "Daniel's Story." Either way we decided we wanted them to know the story of the Holocaust, which was sadly only one of too many other atrocities some have brought on others because they feel they’re superior to them combined with the irrational fear of the few losing power and control, over and over again. And even in America it happens -- indigenous people, enslaved people and people held captive at our borders. We talked about how we can and should make a difference. When asked how it made them feel, Bea and Bryce said they were sad. We all left quietly and headed back to our hotel.

While Amy and I have no idea what will remain and become of our great country, we still have faith our constitution will persevere, and we'll do whatever we can as citizens to ensure that the democratic republic experiment of America continues. Yes, we're all fallible and we all have our own biases, but we as a family have no room for perpetuating fear or hate. We can't have room for that when there's so much more positive potential that abounds. That's what #BhivePower is all about.

My Birthday Wish

I'm exhausted. I never imagined that community service would take such an emotional toll. Even after serving on the Santa Cruz Commission for the Prevention of Violence Against Women (CPVAW) for nearly three years, and now being its chair, my involvement in the past three weeks has eclipsed anything I ever imagined this work would entail.

Yes, I'm naive. Especially when it comes to the local politics that have now completely consumed the results from an independent investigation into allegations of sexism, bullying and harassment made by five women against two Santa Cruz councilmembers. Two complaints were substantiated, multiple others were unsubstantiated (but not unfounded), which still indicated a pervasive pattern of harassment and disrespectful behavior for all the victims.

I haven't slept much. I'm quick to anger. I've been resistant to nearly every step of this recent journey. Plus, I still have to run my organization day to day with its own set of stressors. I still have to be Dad to our two girls. I still have to be a supportive husband to my wife, who's done nothing but support me the entire time.

And yet, none of that really matters. This is about the victims. This is why I do this work. Those who are brave enough to come forward share their stories and who long for healing and justice. Those who have endured weeks, months and years of all kinds of abuse. How I respond to it all this does matter, but not the fact that I'm tired and stressed about it all, because this isn't about me in the first place. I chose this and took a leadership position to help shepherd corrective change. It's like I've taken a pressure washer to my very soul and blasted away the years of biased emotional rust. Not all the bias, that's tough to do, but enough to understand my current convictions that connect me to my childhood of domestic violence and sexual abuse and back again.

Our president has been accused of rape, sexual assault and sexual harassment by at least 24 women. He's retaliated against many of these women, threatening to sue them or insulting them. The president himself has admitted, on the now infamous “Access Hollywood” tape, that he forces himself on women. And yet, many of his conservative supporters, including Republican congressman and evangelical Christians, are doubling down on his denial. That this is all politically motivated and that the victims are lying.

Our two local city councilmembers referenced above have consistently stated they didn't do anything wrong after 5 women came forward. One of the men, who's white, said he's sorry, that he was misunderstood. The other, who's black, said the reaction of "fragile white women" is one of systemic racism, that their reaction of feeling disrespected and harassed was their fault, not his. And yet, many of their progressively liberal supporters are doubling down on their denial. That this is all politically motivated and that the victims are lying.

Of course, the above two examples aren't the same. They are, however, two sides of the same coin; the same problem we see around the world. That this is about male power and control, patriarchy, and anyone who challenges that status quo, who challenges rape culture -- a society or environment whose prevailing social attitudes have the effect of normalizing or trivializing sexual assault and abuse -- is immediately minimized, trivialized, shamed, blamed and not believed. I was raised in this culture and it's been an eye-opening journey to get to where I'm at today, raising two young girls with my wife.

I cannot speak to what it's like being a person of color and the racism that is still pervasive today, but I can speak to being a victim of sexual abuse and domestic violence, and how they can be shamed and blamed. Which is why, when victims come forward, I have to start by believing, because the research is clear about the prevalence of false allegations around harassment, domestic violence and sexual assault -- it's between 2% and 10%. But even with this small incidence, it's the real victims, those who have actually been harassed and/or assaulted, have the much longer road to healing, if they ever truly can. They're also the ones who are in fear of reporting what happened, due to the way we victimize the victims, like what I witnessed at our last city council meeting. If more came forward, then most likely it would reduce the percentage of false allegations overall. It's takes a lot of courage to come forward and say that you've been harassed or assaulted, for women and men alike.

When victims come forward, we have to believe. Especially when any allegations are proven, those who have abused need to be held accountable. To not do so perpetuates patriarchy, power and control, and victims will not come forward, and harassment, disrespectful workplace behavior, domestic violence, sexual assault, rape and yes, murder, will go on and on.

Societal change is hard. We just finished our second annual awareness and prevention symposium called Transforming Together where we invited the entire Santa Cruz community -- women, men, and gender non-conforming citizens -- to come together in a collective effort to generate awareness and help prevent sexual harassment, domestic and intimate partner violence, sexual assault and rape, and respond more effectively when they do occur.

There are some amazing people in our community working to end sexual assault, sexual harassment and domestic violence. They are providing support services and healing resources for victims who come forward, and push for accountability of those accused of abuse. And now there's an ever-increasing focus on continuous awareness and primary prevention programs that start with healthy relationships, better communication skills, boundary setting and more. Programs that can also help prevent these issues before they start. This will be a big focus of our commission work going forward.

For those who have been bullied, harassed, abused, assaulted or worse, I hear you, I see you and I start by believing.

We all deserve to be safe. We can all help stop it before it starts. Men have to be part of the solution.

That is my birthday wish. That is what I'm fighting for.