AND JUSTICE FOR ALL

Tonight, with one of my closest friends, I sat to watch "Just Mercy." It isn't uncommon for us to order take-out and binge-watch a show or rent a movie even during life's "normal business hours," but despite being on lockdown for the last five weeks we hadn't done much of that lately. However, in the midst of this pandemic and the heightened emotions that come with it, the conversation in choosing a movie always seems to start with, "Let's just please watch something light and funny. I can't really do anything heavy right now." Yet, here we were, with our club sandwiches, french fries and vats of honey mustard dipping sauce in hand and a movie we had both said on more than several occasions we wanted to see. 

"Heavy" doesn't even begin to describe the weight of this film. 

I want to issue a warning that this film is not for the faint of heart. It's a hard to watch. Harder still because the depictions in this movie are real; real circumstances; real people. It happened then and it is still happening today. And maybe it's because once upon a time I was an attorney and I too went in to law school wide-eyed and passionate about achieving great victories for the wrongfully accused or those who couldn't afford representation; or maybe it's because of the wild times in which we are currently living, confined to our homes and separated from connection; or maybe it's simply because of the density of this film, but this tragic reality is arresting and agonizing. Regardless of the reason, the outcome is the same: I am affected. We both were. 

"Just Mercy" tells the powerful true story of Walter McMillan, a innocent black man condemned to execution for the murder of a white teen-aged girl in the late 80's in Alabama, and Bryan Stevenson, the young lawyer whose pursuit for equality and justice eventually wins his client's exoneration and freedom. 

As my friend here likes to say about me and subjects that I am passionate about, "Uh, oh. You're coming in hot!" And the truth is that he is right! When something resonates deeply with my soul; when something pulls on one of my heart strings; when something really, but really matters to me, (and spoiler alert, inequality and prejudice are two of my hot button issues), I confess that I get quite heated during discussion. I mean next-level heated; the "I can't continue to know you if we disagree on these big topics" type of heated. In fact, I'm feverish just telling you about how very heated this makes me! (Deep breath). . .

The truth is that I have so so very much to say on the many significant and critical subjects this movie contends with. I have so so many thoughts on the prejudices' addressed throughout but I am going to refrain from engaging this one time. I am not going to share or debate any of my opinions or convictions. Instead, I am going to urge you to watch the film for yourself, or read the book, or read Stevenson's memoirs, or watch the HBO Documentary, "True Justice" or simply turn on the daily news and determine for yourself where YOU stand morally. Where do these topics sit with you? In the meantime, I am going to leave you with some borrowed words. 

The following is an excerpt from Stevenson's court argument during his appeal for the dismissal of the charges against McMillan. May they provoke compelling reflection and weigh heavy on your heart as they have on mine. . .

"It's easy to see this case as one man trying to prove his innocence. But when you take a black man and you put him on death row a year before his trial and exclude black people from serving on his jury; when you base your conviction on the coerced testimony of a white felon and ignore the testimony of two dozen law-abiding black witnesses; when any evidence proving innocence is suppressed and anyone who tries to tell the truth is threatened, this case becomes more than the trial of just a single defendant. It becomes a test of whether we are going to be governed by fear and anger or by the rule of law. If the people standing at the back of this courtroom are all presumed guilty when accused; if they have to leave here and live in fear of when this very thing might happen to them; if we're just going to accept the system that treats you better if you're rich and guilty than if you're poor and innocent, then we can't claim to be just. If we say we are committed to equal justice under law; to protecting the rights of every citizen, regardless of wealth, race, or status, then we have to end this nightmare. . .the false construction of desperate people fueled by bigotry and bias, who ignored the truth in exchange for easy solutions. That's not the law. That's not justice. That's not right."

"We all need justice. We all need mercy. And perhaps, we all need some measure of unmerited grace."

- Bryan Stevenson

HAVE PASSPORT, WILL TRAVEL: PART TWO

The four and a half hour train ride from Prague to Vienna, Austria was restless. I voraciously read my travel guide book, highlighting and dog-earing pages; comparing them against the pages I'd printed back home published by bloggers who swore they'd found THE best hole in the wall bistros, local music halls, lesser known museums and the like. The time flew by and the more I read, the more my heart sped with anticipation. By the time I arrived at the station and hopped in an Uber to my hotel (a trendy hipster one I might add), I was overwrought with sensory overload. As a person with deep appreciation for the arts, music and especially architecture and design, I could not believe my eyes! In every direction I looked, I was met with refinement, elegance, symmetry, pristine white Baroque structures and mammoth buildings. I had never seen a city so clean, so devoid of graffiti; so carefully curated. And there was no trash! Anywhere! So immaculate was this city, in fact, that I thought, "You could drop a croissant on the ground and the proverbial rule would go from five seconds to five minutes unaffected." It was utopian.

Grateful English was commonly spoken in Austria, (though in the heaviest of Arnold Schwarzenegger accents), I begged the driver to slow down so I could take it all in, but alas speed is a common hazard on European roads. So, like my arrival in Prague, I arrived at my hotel and I could wait no more. Though my weary body needed rest post-Prague, I was desperately eager to explore. Everything. First and foremost, the famed Belvedere Museum - a former palace, complete with orangery, gardens and stables, it now housed the priceless works of artists like Gustav Klimt, Egon Schiele, Van Gogh, Ferdinand Georg Waldmuller, treasures from the Middle Ages, and multiple levels of contemporary works alongside the classics. It's funny because travel guides provide "itineraries" and according to this particular guide, it would take on average an entire day to tour the Belvedere. I did it in three and a half hours. And here lies one of the perks of traveling alone: you can take as much or as little time in each place as you like. You can see what tickles your fancy or take a passing glimpse at that which does not speak to you and move on; no opinions or permission required. You can stop for lunch or grab and go and be on your merry way to the next stop. The day's schedule always belongs only to you.

A quick aside, it bares to note that prior to visiting the Belvedere, I had never been a Klimt enthusiast until I drank in his most famous piece: The Kiss. I had seen replicas of course, but in person, up close, it was complex. I was mesmerized; lost even. Painted by oil on canvas this masterpiece was adorned with gold leaf, platinum and silver. The entire exhibition was stunning but this particular piece was indescribable. I stared at it for more than fifteen minutes and even after touring multiple other galleries and halls, I found myself in front of The Kiss again and again and again; each time more drawn in by its subtle details. Paralyzed by the talent and finesse of this masterpiece, it defined the museum for me - undoubtedly in my opinion, it was the Belvedere's pies de resistance.

That evening, famished, I phoned my sister-in-law who had visited Vienna with her family recently for a restaurant recommendation. She sang the praises of a subterranean restaurant with live music and traditional Austrian schnitzel. And bonus, it was only 400 yards from my hotel. I arrived, ordered my meal, and as the musicians began to play on accordions and violins in this cavernous place, tears were streaming down my face. I was weeping. Publicly. Then almost as suddenly as the tears came, I burst into jubilant laughter. I called her back and said, "I can't remember the last time I smiled like this. Smiled, FOR REAL! I am so blissfully happy in this moment; I am so grateful for this opportunity. I can't describe it. It is perfect. Thank you." And it was perfect because laughter through tears is my absolute favorite emotion and for me, that was a sure sign that I was exactly where I was meant to be.

The next five days felt like a blur. The evenly paved streets of Vienna, once ruled by the Hapsburg Dynasty, were easy to maneuver. Nothing like the unstable footpaths of Prague. It allowed me to energetically traverse the city in my signature checkered Vans at lightening speed. I checked every box and then some, visitng Shonbrunn Palace (an EPIC experience), the magnificent Opera House, Ringstrasse, the National Library, the reverent Gothic St. Micheal's Cathedral, Parliament, Hofburg Palace, St. Peter's Church, Stadtpark, the Danube River, Stephensplatz, the Natural History Museum, Museum Quartier, Kalskirche, a local jazz festival, the Spanish Riding School, every monument and stature across the entire city, the birthplace of composers such as Beethoven, Strauss and Schoenburg and of course in doing so, savored not only the city’s remarkably unique culture but also the best Turkish meal I have ever tasted. On more than one occasion. Vienna. . .meeting you. Surely this is what it feels like to fall in love.

Without a doubt Vienna has to date been one of THE most wonderful travel experiences of my lifetime. It was arresting; wondrous; emotional at times; hard and lonely at others,. But it was also romantic and full of promise and beauty as well. It was unforgettable to say the least. And because I saw everything on my “list,” in record time, I called an audible and booked a rail to see what else but the home of one of my favorite childhood movies, The Sound of Music. Tomorrow? Salzburg. A quick two hour train ride revealed one of THE quaintest, most charming towns I have ever set eyes upon. . .amid one of the most terrifying fortresses still standing, the most beautiful children's clothing boutiques and ivy-lined streets was also the birthplace of Mozart. Salzburg was quintessentially Austrian. Salzburg was the right call; an unforgettable detour.

But two days, and a short flight later, I arrived at my final destination: Croatia.

HAVE PASSPORT, WILL TRAVEL: PART ONE

In the summer of 2018 I was living in fear. Triggers, both large and small, aroused such anxiety and panic that I became determined to take action. My only recourse was to do something so outside my comfort zone that if accomplished, I would potentially overcome my fears or die trying. A strong dose of bravery and courage was in order so I decided to take a "solo trip" that would entail next level independence. So, I dug deep and traveled to Europe for 16 days. ALONE. This would be my first time to travel unaccompanied and I would be lying to you if I said there weren't moments during the process that gave me pause. I was a novice at planning my own trips and quite frankly convinced (by fear) that I'd screw it up; that I would land in the wrong city, or choose a hotel not centrally located to what I wanted to see, or that I'd somehow end up in a bind. The variety of "what if" scenarios whirled through my head like a tornado. And I had the added bug of a Latin family in my ears panicking over every possible safety snafu. "You're so petite Emily; you could get kidnapped, or mugged or attacked," etc. There I was confronted with the first hurdle in finding the strength to overcome. I wasn't foolish though. I recognized that my family's concerns, coupled with my own, were valid, they too however were based in fear and in "playing it safe." I needed a sanctification from this hold; a cleansing to be replaced with confidence and faith in myself and my capability to do "this thing," and despite every plea from family to stay, my gut told me I had to do this and so I did.
This trip was my Everest.

After getting over all THAT (though the voices in my mind wavered), I straightened up and selected three countries to visit. Within an hour I had booked the entire trip from flights in and out of different countries to hotels, Eurorail transports and even boats for my last country's island hopping. And because I know myself too well, I booked it all as nonrefundable. Now I was committed. And just like that I was three weeks away from an experience I knew I would never forget. I'm pretty sure I closed my laptop that night and thought, "OMG, what am I about to do?"

The next day I purchased a travel guide for each country, surfed Trip Advisor and read blogs about lesser known tourist attractions. I also began wrestling daily with my anxiety and focused on strengthening my resolve little by little until the morning of my departure. I had no idea what to expect.

Fast forward to day one solo trip 2018. My first stop: the Czech Republic. Prague was a city I'd longed to visit since I was a little girl. My parents had vacationed there for an anniversary trip and I remember their photos looking like post cards. I had grown up envisioning this European city with it's iconic cobblestone roads, narrow streets and earthy tones as a "must see." It was everything I expected, full of history and discovery. After arriving early in the morning, checking in to my artsy boutique hotel and setting my bags down, I wasted zero time and hit the ground running. After five days of non-stop site-seeing, hiking up massive hills to see the city from an aerial vantage point, visiting every cathedral, people-watching at plazas and enjoying a cold glass of their world-famous lager, I was wrecked. Those "idyllic cobblestone roads" were hard on the body. Each night as I climbed into bed, I felt every muscle and ache - a direct result of refusing to take even a moment's rest in hopes of soaking up the city and seeing absolutely everything I could. I visited the Jewish Ghetto and wept; I crossed the Charles Bridge multiple times and heard an electronic violinist play one of my favorite Abba songs; I watched the changing of the guard at Prague Castle; I gazed at the Astronomical Clock in Old Town Prague; I finally made it to Petrin Tower at the top the tallest hill in scorching heat; I spent hours searching for the famed Lennon graffiti wall; I went to the Kafka Museum; the Basilica of St. Peter, toured the Schwarzenberg Palace, St. Nicholas Church and so much, so much more. I even randomly bumped into a friend from law school and caught up over oysters and Veuve Cliquot. I soaked in the hotel jacuzzi to combat the effects of the average thirteen miles walked each day and I sat at in Wenceslas Square watching the sunset and journaling the days. It was amazing and unforgettable and everything I thought Prague would be, but it was now time to move on.

Tomorrow, Austria.

PARALYSIS

It's hard to know what to do or say during these uncertain and unprecedented times. "It's going to be okay," "we will weather this storm," "have faith," "wash your hands," "stay inside." Seems like no matter what we feel, it all comes down to fear. I feel it for sure. In more aspects than I can count and more so as the days pass without solution. I fear for the fate of the world; for what and who so many will lose. I fear for the global economy; the loss of human connection; for DEhumanization; the rejection of empathy. I fear loss of normalcy; sanity. But most of all, I fear failure. And saying we mustn't fear feels hypocritical because as a parent the fear of failing to protect what is most beloved to me is all-consuming.

As my youngest child came in to my bedroom tonight for the fifth time since I put him to bed, he said he couldn't fall asleep because when he closed his eyes all he could see were people dying. I want to believe it's a stall tactic; I want to believe it's an unrelated common nightmare; I want to blame video game violence. I want to believe that my children are shielded from this pandemic panic and the wave of fear that is coursing through most of us so all I can say to him is, "Don't worry love. It will all be okay. Mommy will protect you." But the truth is that I can't. Not really. Not when every contact feels like a threat. And for a person who fears next to nothing, that vulnerability is paralyzing.

For now, this seemingly unstoppable virus will be this generation's 9/11. They'll remember it. We all will. So, I don't know what to say or do. All I know to do is to keep fighting for bravery, strength and courage' All I know to say is that together we WILL come out stronger. And all I can offer is my calm, even if within me at times it most often feels dishonest. I can offer prayers for his protection; for the health and safety of my other two children; for my friends and family. . .for everyone.

PRODIGAL RETURN

At the back end of 2014 many of my friends at the time felt strongly that I was meant to write a blog. Basing this "destiny" on the fact that my undergraduate degree was in journalism and that I have always referred to writing as "my first love," I started one. My first post was January 2, 2015.

What my friends wanted me to write about was fashion, and design; interiors, travel, how to "look put together" when traveling; what patterns and textiles go together in your home; whose style was "best" at the Golden Globes and so on and so on. And for a while, I did that. But it didn't take too long for the steam to run out because writing about those things (and I'm not saying that I won't again) isn't what inspired me and for anyone that is a writer, you surely know that when there is no inspiration, there are no words. And so Tenacious E died.

Fast forward to today, March 22, 2020. I still write. A little more privately in my journal, however. Sometimes I write on the back of wrinkled receipts, on scraps of paper; on the palm of my hand or forearm; on the Notes app in my phone. . . Sometimes, in moments of self reflection, I simply record voice notes on what I am feeling, whether it be difficult, sad, or joyful. . .and there in the audios, when I'm processing emotion or pain, that is where I find true inspiration. I find it in hearing my own voice - the trembles and cracks of expression; the pauses and gasps between tears that breaks my own heart. It's raw and real and personal. And it made me wonder: what if I didn't write about who wore what best? What if I didn't write about interiors or fashion? What if I wrote from the heart? What if I allowed myself to be present and vulnerable to experiences that I KNOW are not solely my own? What would happen? The answer was simple: nothing. Perhaps not a single soul would read these words but at least it would be ME. Terrifying. It could open doors not only to my innermost thoughts but also to criticism and judgment but it would be authentic and that has always been my Northstar. So, I don't know what will happen but maybe that's why I'm here again, because you always return and because you never really forget your first love, do you?