Return Policy

Maybe there is no way to return. You can't ever go back. You turn instead but never re-turn. A shirt or an appliance you can return. Get your money back. But life. You can't. There is no return policy.

We left the United States to find balance. To turn toward life, away from death, to turn toward hope, away from despair. To remember that life is more than just fighting. It is also living just for living's sake, for the adventure of being alive with all of your senses and maybe even one extra - if you were so lucky.

I arrived "back home" three days ago and I thought about who I wanted to see but no one came to mind at first. The people I wanted to see were not my closest relations. I wanted to be with people that were kind. That was all. Kindness. I didn't want to talk about where I had been or what I had done or what I will do.

I wanted to keep existing off the political grid, not hijacked by an oligarch's chaos. Of course, I wanted to talk about the shit show of American politics but I wanted to talk about it in a way that wasn't full of fear or hatred or shame or a downward spiral. I wanted to to talk about where we are through the lens of humility, history, even a sense of wonder: why were these animals behaving in a way that would condemn them and everyone else to death? And what the hell are we to do with so much out of our control? What is our's to do?

So I chose my relations carefully and walked and talked - mostly with older women. I played scrabble earlier today with a friend and discussed the joys of aging, of becoming more ourselves. I went on a long walk with a friend and talked about anticipatory loss: how to maintain a sense of joy and wonder in the moment when you know the end is near. And the end could be anything: death of a spouse, your own death, death of democracy, death of the planet.

But tonight something happened that shook me. The thing I was most afraid of - that I didn't realize I had any concern about - until it happened. I bumped into a woman (at a community concert) I worked closely with to fight for immigrant families. We organized and funded safety planning and legal services for vulnerable students. I only spoke in Spanish and after the small talk of, "Are you back?" "No, not yet, we are staying for another year and will be back next June" she said something fast that included "saliamos", which more or less meant, "We were just leaving."

The connection faded.

I could sense judgment.

A deep suffering.

I was looked at as "the other".

We both ended up leaving the concert at the same time and walking in the exact same direction. So we started talking again. I shared what I had learned about Galicia - about a people who had suffered the oppression of a dictator for 40 years - whose language, music, dance, way of life had been taken from them. Yet, it was flourishing again. How strange and beautiful it was to learn about Gallego culture, one I never knew existed before I boarded the flight to Madrid.

[Side note: I usually learn about a culture before traveling but when we decided to move, it was a decision based on fleeing. "How fast can we get the hell out of here before I or someone I love is harmed?" That was the math.]

And when this wonderful old friend and colleague looked at me with distain and judgment on her face, it hurt. I took it personally. It was that look of, "How wonderful that you can escape the fucking fire I have to battle everyday to stay alive."

I started to question everything I had done. Yes, I had abandoned my community. It was true. But I was abandoning my own health and also my role as a mother by working in a constant state of emergency.

People say the only way out is through but for me the only way through was out.

I don't know if all of me will return here.

My body might.

My mind might.

But my spirit longs to feel safe, loved, accepted, for all I am. Unconditional.

And the thing is, I get the armor. I get the judgment. I get the distain. I understand why everyone is weaponized and no one trusts one another.

The day before we arrived there was a mass shooting in Seattle.

I get it.

But I am free now. And I no longer hold the burden I once did. My burden is lighter. And I put it down often. And I am in good relations with my ancestors. I am no longer doing their work. Work that I learned this past year they never asked me to do. I am doing my own. And it is liberating. Slower. Gentler. Wiser.

No longer susceptible to the American illnesses of isolation, fear, competition, profit, greed, depression, anxiety, dopamine hits.

Freedom is not free. James Baldwin taught me that in my youth. He also chose to flee - to Paris. It's the price of the ticket. I bought a roundtrip. I will soon turn and migrate like the birds to create a new home. Our nest may only last 10 months but every minute will be in peace and safety - and I will sleep soundly.