Thankfulness, Part Six

Thankfulness, Part Six -- Tag You're It

Dear Angela Lutzi, some years ago, you took a trip with me to Amsterdam, (one of my favorite cities), but I never completely told you why I invited you on that trip. For that explanation, we need to start at the beginning.

My first trip to Amsterdam was a solo expedition back in 2007. I was in a sad and dark space, and wanted to stretch my comfort zone, in hopes that I could find some solace. Traveling to a foreign country, where English was not the first language, (although, most people spoke communicable English), seemed like the perfect conduit towards healing. My assumption was correct. Amsterdam became my destination spot for healing. I knew I would return, and I knew that I wanted to share this city with a special few in my life. Enter you.

I blush thinking about how many hours of phone conversations we had in the past; those late night liaisons, where one of us would fall asleep (usually you) on the other end of the phone line. I get nostalgic when I recall the laughter we shared while sitting in your house with glasses of wine, contemplating all things professional and personal. We must have been possessed or enchanted by beauty and power to speak so freely about relationships, dreams, disappointments, sex, and family. Unhinged, we so unmistakeably relayed our respect and love towards each other. I swear we were immortal in those moments, or perhaps our mortality was the very fodder of our mindfulness.

In 2008, you were going through a tough time. I forget all the details now, but I'm sure bad breakups and annoying boys (we can't call him a man, can we?) were involved. I wanted to help. Enter Amsterdam.

You were deeply moved by my offer to invite you to Amsterdam with me, as I was deeply moved by your gratitude. And what do you know? Amsterdam was healing for you, and you fell in love with a plethora of adventures that the city could hold. Your wide-eyed wonder and thirst for new experiences allowed you to reach out to a variety of people. If it weren't for your pure curiosity and passion for novel experiences, I'm afraid my path would not have intersected with Jeffery Severin. You tagged him with your laughter, and he tagged us with his generosity. Angela, you have made my life more.

Jeffery, you are an extraordinary and giving person. I first met you, with Angela, in your country. I believe we were all sharing conversations and dance moves at the Bulldog in Amsterdam. I was fascinated by two things: your general concern for people, and your profession as a police officer. Being American, being black in America, can, at times, cloud my interactions with Caucasian police officers. In America, there is (a societal engineered) animus between black and police officers that I have worked hard to avoid. Thankfully, I did not let that potential bias leverage my interactions with you. This choice served in my favor.

What could have been a fleeting interaction has turned into a beautiful friendship. Though I do not frequently see nor correspond with you, I cherish this friendship. On a subsequent trip to Amsterdam, while with my friend Cecilia, I reached out to you. You took us to dinner in a neighborhood outside of Amsterdam. That action, in itself, was kind, but you did more than that. You first showed us around your community of Edam, inviting us into your home. I feel honored by your hospitality, and I want you to know, I treasure your existence in this life. In follow-up discussions with Cecilia, we both have referred back to your kindness as one of our life highlights. You tagged her with your generosity, and you tagged me with an enhanced belief in our good.

Cecilia Ramirez (a.k.a. Homie), hey Pisces' woman! I think this may be accurate to say -- every time we have spent time around each other, both of us have grown wiser and more alive. We have so many connection points. We connect on pain: that deep chasm of extraordinary, but sustaining, sadness. We connect on intellect: you have been a great source in helping me reevaluate the muddle in my mind; you quell my paranoia (in mind expanding ways).

We also have found communion in our spiritual thirst. God comes alive in you. I love your questioning madness. You were not raised as I was raised, believing, without ever questioning, the milk and meat that were force fed to me. I was taught to accept, and to swallow my inquiries. You, the outsider to religious control, bring a freshness that foams with all the bewilderment of a giggling child. And in this repetitive cloud of laughter and enlightenment, God exists.

I love the way you stretch me. When we were in Amsterdam we sucked the very marrow from the streets and experiences that were before us. I rejoice that you shared the experience with me; for as you may recall, that trek came on the back of one baby born only five months prior, and a newborn baby was on the way as we sat on the plane. I was in a funky place, winded by life, sweaty and exhausted by thoughts of the potential of what would later become true. And not for a moment did you judge, criticize, or raze me. You allowed my fear to sit between us, holding its arms, so it would not choke me.

Oh, Cecy, the tangled webs we weave. I do love you. We were born to be healers. I mean, hell, what else do you do with all that pain? Thank you for tagging me with your love and life.