Birthing a movement was never part of my plan. I was a happy nomad, following my whims all over the world.
For twenty-three years I’d been wandering the world, living among other cultures, sharing meals and laughter and songs in Bali, in Argentina, in Suriname, in Guatemala, in New Guinea. My life was rich and filled with the joy of connecting. As I traveled, I wrote children’s books, collected modest royalties on the ones I’d written before, and lived happily, eating and hanging out with native villagers. It was a life I loved.
In 2000 and 2001 I took two years off to write and promote my adult book, Tales of a Female Nomad. I wrote it in New York City, and when the book was published, I bought a car and promoted all over the U.S. for nine months. Most of the people and kids I talked to had never left the country.
When I talk to school kids, I tell them that I’ve learned two things in these twenty-three globe-trotting years.The first is that we’re all different: different smiles, different languages, different skin color, different religions, different eyes, different clothes, different foods. And the second thing I’ve learned is that we’re all the same. It confuses them…but only for a few minutes. Those second graders get it.
The tribal people in New Guinea, I tell them, like to sing; so do I. The women in Bali love their children, just like we do. People cook and laugh and cry and die all over the world. If you stay in one place long enough, you stop noticing the differences. The people you are living with in Thailand or Nicaragua or Tanzania become family. You walk, pray, cry, eat, and sleep with them……….and they become family. The whole concept of “foreigner” pretty much disappears if you’ve ever had a chance to live in another culture.
Then came December, 2009, and my life changed, dramatically. I was dog-sitting for Roxy, my grand-dog in Seattle, and we were snowed in. The whole city was. So, stuck in the house, Roxy and I decided to watch some TV. We chose Christiane Amanpour’s special, SCREAM BLOODY MURDER, a history of genocide….in Germany, in Cambodia, in Iraq, in Bosnia, in Rwanda, and more. It was the visuals that haunted me for days. Bodies on the streets, in holes, in fields. Piles, piles of bodies all over the world. And there were people trying to help, screaming to the world for help, but the world wasn’t listening.
I couldn’t get it out of my mind. I was–still am–that world. Then a few days later I watched another CNN program about ordinary people who were doing extraordinary things in the world. Reaching out, caring, helping, sharing. Bringing skills and love and passion to people all over the world. After watching the two CNN specials about people who did and didn’t reach out, I knew….
