Passion for Change

If you are living, and I am gone---then please feel free to put "Passion for Change" on my memorial service program. I love these words. Passion. For. Change. I first heard them a couple weeks ago. In my inbox. An invitation from Guinevere Stevenson...a talented new film director...and so...

Last Saturday night, the eve of Easter---I had the huge, crazy privilege of seeing, for the first time, a first-cut release private screening of "Passion for Change", a documentary about five national delegates to the 2008 Democratic National Convention. And one of them is me. There we were, tucked in the backroom of the most delicious, surprising Vincenzio's Italian Bakery. Eyes lifted. Hearts remembering. Tears flowing. While the Sicilian singer passionately serenaded diners in the next room we were awash in the screenglow. Mesmerized by the energy, the spirit, the hopefulness, the conviction, the action, the showing up, the jumping up, the dancing, the stepping in, the believing that we shared in this journey---all captured forever on film. There it was. My passion, larger than life. My passion, exposed. My passion, radiating from the screen.

There's always a risk when you show up, isn't there? When you truly put yourself out there. It's a vulnerability---much like what Brene Brown points to in her totally-hit-the-mark TED talk on "Vulnerability". When I said yes to being the film subject of this documentary---to have crew following me right into my home, my refrigerator and kitchen, I knew there was a risk. I knew I was letting go of control and opening myself to impact.  I did it by choice. I believe it is what we are here for. To risk showing up. 100%. Every day. And truly step in with our whole being.

As I watched myself on screen----I saw me. Authentic and true. Even talking with my hands with a big chef's knife waving. Surrounded by family love. Eating sandwiches. Sharing beliefs together. Risking living and loving so the whole world can see...and be a better place. It's an honor to risk oneself fully. Many of us never accept this honor. I choose to risk my significance...and I'm absolutely convinced that it has made all the difference. It's like the wisdom of David Whyte. He said, "If you feel both fear and excitement, great! That means its your own life you're living...and not someone else's." It's an exhilarating mix...and I believe, the ride of a life worth living.

A dedication. I learned this at the feet of my Mom and Dad. Their passion (they wouldn't use this word----they're Norwegian Lutherans, afterall) for showing up and making the world a better place inspires me. One bunny cake at a time. One Habitat home at a time. One volunteering with the "sweet old people" day at a time. One mentored adolescent at time. One "Spit and Shine" day at your church at a time. One "Meals on Wheels" delivery at a time. One heart at a time. I dedicate this to you, Mom and Dad. Without your quiet, selfless example (which continues to this day) I wouldn't know my passion. My fire. My joy.

p.s. Speaking of joy, and since this is my Red Lips Red Boots blog, afterall---I invite you to hold the vision of this film being accepted by Cannes----and me, passionately attending with Guinivere and crew!

Female Nomad in Red Boots

The world reflects us to us. If we look and see. Several years ago people were reading, Tales of a Female Nomad by Rita Golden Gelman...and saying, "Lynn---this makes me think of YOU!" Intrigued, I read it, and could see why! Well, not the divorce part. But the out-there, open, curious, adventuring woman part---oh yeah baby!

At 13, I took my first steps over the Mexican border in Tijuana. Eyes Wide Open. A suburban Minnesota girl seeing beyond my imagining.  Bartering for a leather fringed jacket. I was torn even then--was it good to barter (save money) or bad to barter (these people clearly needed the money)?

At 13, I heard a Japanese foreign exchange student speak. To this day, I can remember the warm afternoon in our sunny, junior high cafeteria. I went home and wrote in my diary, "I'll be a foreign exchange student one day!"

At 16, I saved my waitressing tips from The Crosstown Kitchen,  the Scandinavian cafe where we served lutefisk and lefse in our white dresses and shoes.  These tips funded a 6 week trip with fellow students to Austria, Germany, and even a whiff of Switzerland, Lichtenstein and France! I was the youngest traveler. And I was bit. Truly bit by the adventure travel bug. Bit by the clear knowing that it is in connecting that we find ourselves. I had connections with gasthof proprietors. Bus drivers. Soldiers. Boys. Single mothers. Trees. It is in these reflections of culture and humanity, by likeness or contrast,  that we see who we are. In community, we become more of who we are.

At 17, I applied to be an AFS Foreign Exchange Student. In those days, you didn't pick your country. You were saying yes to anywhere in the world. Which suited me just fine. I pictured the depths of Africa. I was chosen and sent to Tasmania, Australia. And blossomed. And struggled. And communicated. And connected---over cups of tea & bottles of rum. Legs of lamb and mixed grill on the barbie. Over hundreds of kitchen tables. I joined in.  Joined up. Joined the conversation. Joined a family for a year...and for forever. It's really profound now, as I pause and write. As a 17 year old, you're almost by definition, self-centered. (I certainly was--even tho global questions had already begun to burn in me.) Now, I realize what a wildly generous act this was for my host family... to fling open their doors and invite me, a stranger, in!  Risking...and receiving.  Last night they were in my dreams.

At 21, I accepted the job of my dreams. But first, I turned my '67 Chevy Malibu south for an inland Mexican odyssey...of course! Who knew when I'd be free to travel again?? Brass ring, grabbed!

At 24, it was Korea. To follow and check out my love. It landed and lasted. Ben and I just celebrated 31 years!

Honk Kong. Singapore. Japan. Thailand. Cambodia. China. Tibet. Morocco. Senegal. France.

At 55, Italy. Leadership on a rooftop. It was there, in Rome, that Alberto (my colleague) and I created and fired up up the "International Cooking Game." We flung out the invitation to get curious and experiment with strangers...through food, joy and play! Potatoes met fish met apples met chocolate met beans met olive oil.

At 56, I have just finished reading Female Nomad and Friends ~ Tales of Breaking Free and Breaking Bread Around the World.  Real women's stories, compiled by Gelman.  In these pages, I see my reflection. And so, it was last night---over my kitchen table that I pulled out this book, to share this passage by Melanie Ehler from a chapter entitled, Soul Food. "Some hunger can be satisfied with food, but there is also another more intimate type of hunger that can only be appeased by kindness."

I'd intended to just read the quote. But there I was, reading the short story aloud.  It was about fried chicken---and compassion. It took about 5 minutes. Tears flowed, making it almost impossible to read. Tears that told me without a shadow of a doubt that I was right where I belonged. Looking at my true reflection.  A life of curiosity, kindness, adventure, joy, gratitude and deep, deep connection.


Postscript  
AFS still exists. It's a powerful organization uniting young people with host families globally. It was founded by WWII ambulance drivers---who experienced connection on the battlefield, regardless of country or politics. There, they were people saving people...and ideas of "enemy" slipped away. And so, they sought to create these human to human connections, very intentionally.  One student and one family at a time. This is the enduring motto: "Walk together, talk together, all ye peoples of the lands. Then and only then shall ye have peace." 

The Only Real Thing To Leave In The World...

I'm cleaning my desk. It's like an archeological dig. Very interesting. Surprising. And just now, I came across a yellowed newspaper clipping about the life and home of MFK Fisher.  What a sensuous, fully alive food writer she was!  Oh---she lived a juicy life! In this detritus of my life---I find my life, my passion. I'm struck smack dab between the eyes---realizing once again that we DO know what we are drawn to! What calls our name. (Especially if we let go...and let it come!) I remember the very first time I read MFK Fisher. Maybe in my early 30's. Oh---I wanted to eat it up. Inhale it. Drink it! And now---here she is again. Just lying here...even after death, her legacy lights fires in me. Causes my senses to awaken and soul to sing.

Here are MFK Fisher's words, circled by me...

"The only real thing to leave in the world is one's spirit...the leavings of me, murking up the atmosphere, smogging the air, sprinkling a sort of mist over things so perhaps they twinkle a bit."


And there it is. The big bold "Yes"  I'd scrawled next to it! I remember thinking it would make a great memorial quote---from me, after I'd passed on! Funny---I thought I just wanted to share her wisdom when I sat down and began to type. Now, I'm feeling the draw to more...maybe even to visit her home, in Northern California...and deepen into her writings, including "A Welcoming Life." The connection to my own life of juicy immersion and adventure rises in me---including the surprising call to Italy last fall, to create an adventure with my new Italian friend, Alberto. Together, with our eyes twinkling, we created a rooftop communal experience, "The International Cooking Game", which brought people together, across cultures through---you guessed it---the love of food! There, in Rome (in the experience I wanted to call "Eat Play Love" but was assured wouldn't translate to the target audience)---we played, laughed and tasted  the surprising fullness of life....as the sun set and the full moon rose.

 First, I'll finish cleaning---then I'll put my feet up, grab a cuppa tea, a juicy piece of fruit---and deepen back into the article, the life that was MFK Fisher, and the Mystery that is twinkling in me.

You Have A Vacation Face!

One face. One reflection.

Yesterday we drove to Vail to meet dear, dear friends for dinner. Minnesotans, they had a sweet skiing week in the mountains. Busy Coloradans who love them---we drove three hours each way to eat, drink, laugh, be together. After the tastiest meal at Campo Fiore (5 thumbs up!) we slipped into a little market.

Grinning from behind the cash register,  the lanky young clerk asked me, "How's your vacation?" Oh, I demurred, I'm not on vacation, she is! He wouldn't let up. "No--your face looks like you're on vacation!" Quickly I said, "Oh, that must be because I was in Florida last week and have a bit of a tan." Again, the insistence. "No," he said. "It's not that. It's your smile. You Have A Vacation Face!"

Wow. I know I live in joy. I know I look for the divine in everything. But wow. Here was my reflection. That I, the local person who had driven 3 hours---and was about to drive another 3 hours home---was the one with the "Vacation Face." There it is! Evidence... that we all have this option, don't we? Anytime. Anyday. Anywhere. Thank you, Argentian Jose---who is known as 'Pancho'---for helping me see this truth, on a snowy winter night in the mountains.

Celebrate Each Other's Dreams

I'd just left my beloved Sycamore tribe in California. Grounded in love...we became the Seek Amores. Of course! Leaders all, boldly embracing lives of passion on purpose. On fire and deeply present. Blessed.

I noticed the couple in the terminal. Flowing robes, his and hers. A turban. A nose stud. Intriguing. Flying Southwest, I boarded and landed my sweet window seat. Looking up---there they were, choosing the two seats next to me. Full bodied. Arms touching. Surprise companions. They were traveling from Pakistan to visit their children in the U.S. A warmth sprung up between us. Engaged and leaning in. Open---to this experience, in this moment. I was eating it up.

After awhile, we turned to read. I took out "The Poetry of The Sycamores." She said, "Are you a poet?"  "Yes" I claimed. I turned to the page with my poem, "Heart Healthy." And gently offered it to them to share. The container became sacred now. Leaning in together---they each read silently to themselves...lips gently forming each English word and phrase. Taking it in. Truly. He finished first...I could see the full, graceful smile...held and honoring it all. Affirming and connected. Then she---proclaiming the love for these words and pointing to her favorite line. "Celebrate each other's dreams." Yes! We talked about marriage, challenges...of course!

There was something so powerful and grace-filled about our surprise connection. Each open to the Other. Each leaning into this moment with wonder and grace. I'll always remember their soft smiles and gently moving lips. 

Heart Healthy

The menu says 'heart healthy'

Nice

I wonder what it would be like if heart healthy messages were publicly displayed

on the menu of life?

Love yourself

Love your partner

Be gentle

Cherish that which is entrusted to you

Laugh together

Surprise one another

Honor your commitment especially when it's hard

Keep each other safe

Celebrate each other's dreams

Be quick to speak truth with compassion

Let yourself be naked

Dream dreams together and help them grow

Breathe deeply together and feel your hearts beat

Take joy in all you create

If your course needs changing change it

Find a way to share what really matters

Grow community

Unlock each other's code knowing you'll never fully do so

Honor the divine Mystery in each other

Try new things

Open up

Take risks worth taking

Embrace early and often

Believe in the power of love

Rest in each other's arms

Lynn Young

Everything is Possible...Mamma Mia!

I just packed my bag. It is time to return home in the morn. The door flings open---in come my wonderful hosts---whose home I've camped in the middle of for two weeks---singing "Tante Auguri" (Happy Birthday) and bringing a homemade compilation of The Best of Italy soundtrack. It's playing now---and the sounds of love and open hearts surround me. Wow. I always believed everything is possible. The world is my oyster, I said as a young twenty-something. And now, mid-life, I've traveled to Italy to unite with a colleague and celebrate this, literally, from the rooftops. That my journey would fling me right into the arms  of Italy is both unbelievable---and stunningly real. I'm starting to REALLY believe what I've always known! Now---the rain is pouring down. Thunder, too. And big operatic voices. "Mamma Mia!" says Alberto. And I realize how close "Everything is Possible" is to "Yes We Can!"

The beat is gypsy now. With accordian and clarinet. Deep dance music. I realize how blissful it is to sometimes be outside of understanding. I don't know the words...I just feel the music!! Andiamo! (Let's go!)

Yes...I Inhale

There's a light rain this Sunday morn as I stroll down the street in my Rome neighborhood. The air full-bodied post-rain. Carrying the scent of still-blooming flowers. Growing up in Minnesota, I remember the smell of fresh dirt, awakened by the rain. Smells---evocative and immediate, release a Roman story...

• I was surprised when Alberto said, "I love the smell of the dust." Yet, it makes sense. A city rising up out of ancient, crumbling ruins. We love what we know and have come to love. 
• As I stand on the balcony. I lean out to retrieve the clothes from the line. The clothespin releases. I inhale---and there it is. A sweet surprise. My nose is smack dab in the middle of a pot of fresh basil. 
• I emerge from the Metro in an old part of town, but new to me. Need to get my bearings. The older woman in the sweater speaks no English, simply takes my arm and off we go.  Peaceful. Together, we walk under a collonade in the heart of Rome. Suddenly, she looks down and says, "Sparco!" with intensity. I have no idea. Is she referring to the gorgeous mosaic tiles underfoot...or the cigarette butts that lay there? Later, I learn, she's saying, "Dirty!" That's true. Rome has its share of trash for sure. Kind of adds to the earthiness of the place. Lots of smokers, too...now familiar and no longer off-putting.
• This morn I'm in Eva Oro---the Sicilian"Bar" nearby which is now like my "Cheers".  Luigi would love an American bride. Pino is the proud owner. Today---Sunday morning, it's a visual pastry feast. Croissant oozing with green fresh pistachio filling. These are every bit the masterpiece. Casual and magnificent. A giant croissant---at least 18 inches. They joke with a young man that he should buy for his "Tiamo" (lover). Large round pastries hang from the necks of bottles, like prizes. A young woman orders pistachio and hazelnut caffe. I follow her lead. Those who know me know I'm not a flavored coffee girl. This, however, was entirely different. Luigi takes a pitcher of the thick syrup (homemade)...and puts it under my nose. "Smell this!" Then he reaches in with a long spoon, takes some and smears it on the inside of a shot glass, the rim too. Next he pours in the espresso. I reach for the sugar (which this surely calls for), and he says no. And produces a packet of hazelnut sugar, opens it...and places it under my nose for a whiff. I'm soooooooo going to miss this place! Would I like to go dancing tomorrow night? Latin...Samba....Lots of Smiling, they say. Alas, I must pass as I'll board my plane early the next morn. An older gentleman appears. Former champion boxer, his wife now very ill with cancer. "Wait," I say---and place joy in his soft hands.  
• The lingering smell of rosewater in the bagno (bathroom).
• Sniffing homemade grappa.
• The tantalizing smells of Alessia's home cooking. Each day something new and more delicious. I feel like I've hit the jackpot.

It's midday now. Time for traditional Sunday dinner at home, round the table. There's a bustle in the kitchen. We gather. Antipasto course of soft cheese, (stracchino), cooked proscuitto and sundried tomatoes. Primo course of baked pastas (paccheri) with tomato sauce, bread crumbs and grated pecorino romano. More! Secundo course...a melange of roasted vegetables. Dolce course? I hear singing, look up...and see a cake with candles burning ("auguri"=good wishes). Surrounded by pastries. For me...my 56th birthday in three days. My eyes tear up. We hug. I cut. Alberto pours. Fresh caffe...robust and full and deep and dark and wonderful. This, my life. Me, so blessed, These, my friends. I inhale with gratitude.