It is so hard to retrace your steps.  I can’t tell you the year but I do precisely remember visiting some relatives.  They were both artists.  And for the first time someone did not tell me what to do, what to believe.  I felt accepted and listened to for the first time.

When you are a child, whatever your particular reality, it is yours.  My parents were dysfunctional (and I know every family is) but I was used to being told how I should be.  All the time.  To them, there was only one way to do something–their way.

My visit was a turning point.  There was another way.  I was not even aware of it.  Later, I only felt free walking Greenwich Village.  Then later still –the journey took years– I felt free every where but I still remember that first time.  It was a turning point.  There was another way to be.  It became okay to be me and different.

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