Sweet Reunion 

Last year Marilyn and I met up for a weekend at a reunion in Colorado. Our time was special but shared with others dear and precious. This year I’ve come to Marilyn. And I’ve brought my tribe.

Marilyn reached out to me seven years ago. She heard my flounderings and she intentionally initiated a conversation. We’ve been talking ever since. Marilyn understands me. She accepts me without judgment. We laugh together. We weep together. We share a similar silliness and a quick seriousness. I love Marilyn deeply.

Thank you Marilyn (and your marvelous man!) for letting us bombard your New England space. Thank you for treating us to time with your family. Thank you for welcoming us and loving us all.


Note from Marilyn: The words from Robynn are kind and express the best kind of third culture kid friendship, when hearts connect a mere second after seeing or hearing each other again. Robynn has come with her amazing children, all unique personalities of their own right, and they have filled our house with laughter, fun, and bodies. We ate curry together at our favorite Pakistani restaurant, shared smoothies on our porch at night to escape the internal humidity and heat, and got blisters walking along the Freedom Trail. Mutual understanding in a disconnected, fragmented world is a gift, and with Robynn there is understanding.

It’s also one of the reasons why Communicating Across Boundaries is important to us – a safe space in a world of division. A place where we can learn more about understanding the one who is other. Thanks for being a part of this small, shared space on the internet.

About the pictures….Bronwynn, Robynn’s delightful, youngest child, was telling us how to pose. It took us a few tries before we got it right and we thought we’d share the results!

I Am Full

As I sleepily make my way through security at Chicago’s Midway Airport I am barely aware of those around me. I left Illinois Beach Resort early this morning and I am full.

Full of appreciation for the reminder of my heritage, a heritage that spans the globe but emphasizes Pakistan. Full of laughter and conversation, full of thoughts and hope, full of food.

It was that kind of weekend – one that is not easily replicated. I roomed with a high school friend and we talked so long into the night that we fell asleep on our words. I was reminded of a silly adolescence by some high school teachers who, even as they reminded affirmed me in who I am today. I broke bread with some of my favorite people on ever earth. I ate Pakistani food until my eyes popped and I indulged in that oh so favorite childhood activity of midnight feasts. Yes. At 52 I had midnight feasts.

So I am full. And also a bit frightened, because returning to my world does not hold a fraction of the connection I felt this weekend. I feel a bit like the disciples on the Mount of Transfiguration when they longed to cling to the moment, to build a memorial and live within. But to be full means you can go out nourished and able to move forward.

So as I board my flight I cling to the heritage I have, the people who have modeled and loved and walked beside me and the recognition that memorials are made of stone or steel or granite and real life is made of flesh and blood, tears and smiles, sorrow and joy.

I am indeed full.