We will remember you always and forever and miss you completely.

These days I love getting triggered (well, part of me loves it).

I have done this exercise countless times in my writing groups, and what I’ve found is that time and time again the writings sounded, sometimes even more than angry or furious, cleanly honest

I guess I thought you’d live forever.

I have come to suspect that for many adopted people (well, for me), it’s easy to confuse the feeling of being alive in Self energy as anger or rage.

Yesterday I wrote a post on Instagram that said “For many adopted people, concealing how you really feel is a survival skill learned early on in the need to attract love. It later can become virtually impossible to name your feelings. How then can you know what you want or need.”

Two weeks ago I was digging my car out of the snow in Maine. Now I’m digging dirt so I can plant five different kinds of salad greens.

Much to my surprise, instead of writing a book while I was here, I found a way into the vast field of myself.

I had thought I’d come to the East Coast for two reasons I felt were connected: one was to shake myself out of a post-dad-dying torpor and the other was to write You Don’t Look Adopted, Ten Years Later.

I was wondering the other day if you put 1,000 adopted people in a room and 1,000 kept people in another room, what percent of each group would consciously or unconsciously be worried about getting triggered.

One challenge of writing about adoption is that the closer to the truth of the experience I get, the more alienated I feel from culture’s beliefs, and the crazier and more alien I feel when I imagine sharing these ideas with those who weren’t adopted.

I have the feeling the sessions I did the past two years on MDMA taught my brain how to sometimes slow time and to stay with the tangle of a problem, watching it unwind instead of jumping into reaction and tightening it.