My midlife adventure.
That’s how I characterized my move to Washington DC from the Chicago area in January 2015. My kids were grown and mostly on their own. Life was humming along and, suddenly, in December 2014, an opportunity to drop everything and move to the nation’s capital was dangled in front of me.
Working in the city that’s considered the nerve pulse of, well, the universe, really, had always been on my bucket list. As had working at the UN, although I was able to tick that one off after a meeting with the head of an UN agency during the annual General Assembly meeting, (read, in the midst of world leaders), attending some invitation-only high-level UN conferences, and traveling through the Hebron Hills with an official from the UN Relief and Works Agency. I jumped at the chance to move to DC. I found a studio apartment, found a small office near the Archives and Navy Memorial, sold most of my belongings, packed up Atticus Boo Radley Finch (my beloved feline partner in crime), and drove through treacherous winter weather at the end of January to my new home.
And what an adventure it was! I had meetings on Capitol Hill, the State Department, and at the National Press Club, trying to establish relationships that would further the agenda of my organization, which was working to help change U.S. policy in a way that not only would support Palestinian human rights but that actually would be more fair and balanced for everyone living in the Holy Land. International law and human rights. That was our thing and I believed in the mission fully. We worked in broad-based coalitions, with Jewish, Christian, LGBTQ, Black Solidarity and labor groups on a wide array of social justice issues.
Those first few months were a heady time. Then, life rolled in. Amid all the hubbub, I soon found that I had grown inexorably lonely. DC is not the place to be without a strong friendsip network, or, sometimes, a significant other. I had been working so much, I had failed to conjure any sort of extracurricular life. Then, the social justice movement I belonged to began to change. Some sectors became rigid in their rhetoric. Some began to police speech. Others were ostracized for not exactly “toeing the line,” although no one knew what the line was or whose line it was. No one took the time to reflect that the wonderful solidarity coalition we had built over the years was fracturing and turning in on itself. Folks began moving into their own silos. Things started getting harsh, and I began to grow weary.
You start dying slowly
If you become a slave of your habits,
Walking everyday on the same paths…
If you do not change your routine,
If you do not wear different colours
Or you do not speak to those you don’t know.~ Pablo Neruda
I increasingly became aware that I needed to leave, to move aside for younger, fresher ideas. I had been advocating for the unpopular side in a contentious political debate. I wanted – no, I needed – a change, but I didn’t think that would ever be possible. At my age and after this political career, who would hire me? How would I find the strength to go through the metamorphosis that would be necessary to assume a “normal” regular life again? At my age, who would love me?
I started making the effort toward change. Lost weight. Got healthy. Stepped away from my austere way of living and reconnected with my roots. Found a new job. In the process, I found out – you are never too old.
And with a “Hello, there, young lady,” Anthony Alexander Cianfichi waltzed into my life and nothing has been the same since.
We both have found another chance at love, and, we both are going to take the chance to reinvent our lives. We are daring to chase that pie-in-the-sky dream. Just like the ant in the Rubber Tree Plant song, we’ve got High Hopes.
On our first date (the spontaneous one before the official scheduled one that was to take place two days later), I summoned the nerve to tell Tony about my work and all the good and difficulties that came with it and he, without being dismissive, shrugged his shoulders and said it didn’t matter. In fact, he was proud of me for taking a strong stand on human rights. At that moment, I knew I had found my guy, that I was home.
Sometimes, the thought of uprooting everything again to move so far away seems daunting. Then, I think of the words of Pablo Neruda. I’d rather try and miss than languish for the want of trying anything new.
So, in other words, Scranton: Here we come!
Finding Scranton 