We already have a baby in the house since a Polish woman moved in with her one month old son. An unexpected pregnancy left her a little short on planning, yet how gracefully lucky for both of us since we can support each other through those first few months. The newborn is a fragile person. He needs constant, consistent and detailed love. Tonight this newborn, call him Juan, nibbled on his first pacifier. Reviews are in and he likes it. I had a swinging crib from the previous time I prepared to bring babies home and Juan swiftly settled down in this one and stopped crying when snugly tucked in there, swinging away.

Lots of laughter in the house now. Random guests from all over the world stay here as I creatively earn extra income by renting one of the rooms. Flow. Living in the stream of life is where I am at. No worries. No anxieties. Only luxury problems. Of course the little twinge in my heart over absences, yet I can only live in what is real and that is who sits beside me right now–a loving God, my own present body, and the chance at a good night’s sleep. More than enough company for this moment. Let’s see what tomorrow brings too. Good night.

I am on a three year trajectory right now. Past behavior has been to wrap my life around a woman. For the first time I am choosing two directions that are purely my dreams not hers. Soon a little baby will arrive into my life and I will become a mama. And by circuitous route I am finding my way into the world of film. Not to say that I don’t have room in my heart and life for my favorite petite woman, but, alas, she never calls. I did receive one e-mail, which sent me into bliss for two hours or so. I just continue to dance into the days single and clear-eyed. Each one is a treat and I live a life of complete luxury that sometimes embarrasses me for how much material comfort I enjoy from day to day.

Yesterday, for example, on a beautiful Saturday I woke up early to finish writing discovery work (usually focused on just how selfish I can be) as we constantly do in sobriety. Driving a sturdy Volvo a few blocks down the road I wander into a neighborhood cafe where I meet the woman who is my sponsor. We talk for an hour or so; leaving this cafe I drive to a different one–also close by–and begin another conversation. This time I am the sponsor. After I venture to a local electronics store to bring back home a $29 bright orange radio for my roomie. Then I need a hot bath to shift the day’s energy. Plunging in I feel more grounded. My monthly cycle began today and the few days before are always a little sketchy emotionally. Just are. Welcome to being a woman.

A short commute to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting and I feel lucky to listen while my sobriety sisters honestly admit how they live good sober lives. An AA friend and I grab tea after; then I race out to drive to Santa Cruz. I don’t want to be late.

This is the afternoon to go kayaking! At the last minute on a long work day, I receive an e-mail from Kim Powell, founder of Bluewater Adventures on a women’s listserv that I am on for Bay Area events. This is the short venture in the Monterey Bay for three hours from a Santa Cruz harbor. I arrive on time and find a buddy in the group of 20 women who proceed to put life jackets and long-sleeved rain jackets on. I brought my own, so I am already set.

In we go to the long kayak and for the next two hours I am in a little slice of heaven. The water is not Hawai’i warm of course, but the weather is gorgeous. A beautiful sunset is in front of us while the moon rises up and over the fog bank horizon behind us. Stunning. We paddle out to the kelp beds where otters are hanging out a few feet away. Daylight recedes completely on the way back, but I park a small hand flashlight in a plastic bag on the front of the kayak. We all do. We have a posse of 10 kayaks including a talkative guide. From our kayaks way out in the ocean we can watch and hear the action on the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk.

Staring into the moon reminded me that I was on Hawai’i for New Year’s Eve 2010 back in January. Now for this full moon in July much has changed. The months in between were tricky ones for me. I stayed with a friend who I feel connected to but who has trouble in many ways. This weighed on me. My mind felt trapped in some recycled strange thinking that would not let go.

As always though, it was I who had to let go and stop trying to control everything. In any given day I can laugh, cry, open up, remain neutral, take charge, let go, reflect, pray, breathe, love, worry, and enjoy all on a spectrum of this is simply ordinary life–no more and no less. Celebrating this July’s full moon in this way felt great. Life is changing because I am willing to let it. Who knew? My kayak friend passed me a piece of fresh kelp from the sea because I forgot to eat and whined that I was hungry. Damn if that fresh vegetable didn’t taste super good–similar to the kind of seaweed I buy at the Korean store near where I teach. Natural surprises all around me these days, organic and all.

Arms go up and I stretch into another day. I talk to God some, hoping my behavior is helpful to others and not selfish. I need this chant every morning. Why? Still a little sore over my closing down when in relationship fear these first two years in sobriety, but at least I can help others. Even I am not that self-absorbed. I can always help.

After a few of those prayers that plaintively request help-me God so I can help others, I go to make coffee. One of the many gratis furnishings I snagged from my Mom’s house is a stove-top coffee maker that hisses and gurgles when done. My first attempts were undrinkable. Before I would have blamed the pot since Mom gave it to me; mothers are often to blame and all that. But now I checked to see if I had the lid on accurately and after a few tries–voila, amazingly delicious coffee.

What I enjoy is the morning sun that goes with this cup of Joe. In my little over-priced bungalow rental without any equity earning potential, the sunshine is amazing. I’m a low-maintenance girl who tends to find my opposite high-maintenance chick when I fall; my requisite details to move in, should the u-haul moment occur, are does the place have good natural light and is the washer/dryer plugged in? That’s all. Her story is usually much more complicated and detailed with me running around hoping to satisfy; people pleaser is what I am especially when it comes to her.

Until then sitting in my living room today, a kaleidoscope of reflected color shines brightly onto the wood laminate floor. Where does this light originate from? Thelma and Louie’s red-necked-eared slider turtle tank, of course. I bought the giant swimming pool for $20 from the fish store a few blocks from where I now live. This is the biggest tank my turtles have enjoyed. This morning the refracted bright sunshine splayed on the wall so the tall gangly purple flowers on the living room table made a shadow in the rainbow of light–nature’s way of displaying fireworks early in the day. These moments are beautiful.

But what troubled me was the feeder fish I bought from the pet fish store a short while later. I toss them in the bathtub for Thelma and Louie to dine on. Sure, these are simply feeder fish–decent size ones at 6 for $1. But they are so feisty to prevent the inevitable. Do they know? Are they alive like you and I? Even after disassembled, their eyes and gils operate as if the rest of the body were still attached. This stuns me. Good news is that I bought a large container of the healthy pellet food for my turtles, which means I can avoid the live-fish dilemma for a while. Karma and all.

Love works that way too I suppose. Random life might pinch the body of the relationship off but your head keeps moving from the reflex of routinely loving so many days in a row. Sometimes love goes away and we don’t notice our tail falling off, so the mouth keeps wagging.

Or random sounds can remind you of love lost. This 4th of July I remember a dog named Tigger who I spent a good deal of time with and who died recently. The fireworks would scare the bejeezus out of him and he would hide under the bed shivering. Miss that dog something fierce.

Yet light lasts no matter what. Tomorrow when I wake up–perhaps even at 6:38 a.m. again and brew amazingly spoily coffee–the sunshine will whisper good morning. Yes, light can talk. She never leaves. While sitting on the sofa tomorrow morning and finishing my last cinema studies paper before the fall semester begins, the light will dance everywhere even on the ceiling in bright white water reflections. Beautiful. Present. Fearless. Lasting.

This is July 4th weekend and I’m joyfully in the flow of life. I sleep by 11 p.m. and wake without an alarm clock around 6:30 a.m. That’s my natural rhythm once I’m on a healthy run. I used the 12 steps to quit smoking and that feels awesome. Smokes played a significant negative role these first two years of my recovery. And the best reward is that I exercise daily. This heavy belly I have carried around almost four years running is starting to disappear. Grateful! Pockets of joy during the day for sure. Yet I am not actually happy.

I just thought for sure I would get together with this one woman. But we have not. We simply are vexed to begin. And now I am at a loss. Breaks my heart a little and I wish she would simply call. But she does not. I completely understand why she is reluctant to call but I sure as hell wish a burst of that wind called the irrational would rush through her window and she would simply call me. But she does not. I live every day fully so I’m not waiting or anything; I will focus on other life events then and let the relationship wishes gather dust on a shelf somewhere. I guess I wasn’t ready and so a messed up missed opportunity ran through my life.

On a less frustrating note I met a potential roomie who brought her 16 day old son. She is Polish with a green card and now her son has American citizenship. The little baby is adorable and plum healthy. We brainstormed that we could share this little urban bungalow–pinch hitting for each other to provide childcare. Let’s see how she and I connect this week. We had a practical conversation today that seemed smart and helpful. Parenting is so much about paying attention to simple details. Even if she settles in here, I always keep an open home for anyone to join. That’s my free spirit at play–always has been, always will be.

So a mixed day then activating service by helping a sponsee this morning move into a new recovery home where her children can live with her again, attending a special aa meeting, enjoying a leisurely swim in the pool in such warm weather, meeting a potential new roomie, and hearing the silence in a phone call that did not arrive. Acceptance. That is all. And tomorrow is another start, too, each day a chance.

At a hipster cafe across the street from her office I ordered a hazelnut pancake. Just one. The dinner plate sized pancake arrived with powdered sugar sprinkled on top, a tumbler of heated syrup, and dollop of butter. Did I mention the diet starts Monday? Lathered the pancake up, I dug into my $2.50 breakfast. Divine and a surprise because real hazelnuts were embedded. Chunky, chewy, sweet–foodie heaven. The professional meeting after went smooth, of course.

Taking the bus back into town, I hopped off when I saw a Payless shoe store. The shoes I bought to cheer myself up, when experiencing the tail end of the surrogacy fraud in 2008, had a hole in the bottom, so I need a new pair. A few bucks later, I briskly walked out of the store in a soft pair of men’s sneakers that make me actually want to exercise. No worries. I’ll just sit down on the sofa until the feeling goes away. I have to buy the men’s version because I have wide feet. The exertion of thinking about maybe exercising left me hungry.

Walking a few blocks in the swanky downtown Portland area, I spied a small Bistro that seemed enchanting. I walked in to grab a stool at the bistro bar and ordered the vegetable soup. The menu described the ingredients as all veggies green coming together in a spicy puree. The words were apt; a small bowl calmed and buoyed me. Can you feel the stress in the day so far? Two slices of soft crunchy french bread warmed up appeared on my plate, too, with more fresh butter all for $3. I left a $2 tip. The mantra is clear. Monday diet. Monday diet.

I’d researched a movie theater the night before playing Babies and discovered it just a few blocks from the Bistro. In I went for an amazing visual feast of 80 minutes just watching babies arriving from day one until one year old. Amazing film for how simply the camera narrates the first years of four babies living in radically different geographies: Namibia, Mongolia, Tokyo, and San Francisco. The heartening insight is that despite the miles apart each baby reflected such similar habits. All babies are similar; all parenting is not. That’s the kink.

Watching film takes work and can make you hungry. So I walked the few blocks to the street cart corner on 10th Avenue and found a dozen different choices in front of me. I carefully eyed each one determined to make a smart choice since it had been, well, at least an hour since I ate last. I went with the Somtum Gai Yang choice–Thai papaya salad with barbecued pork and sticky rice. Surprise, but I could only eat one third of the healthy $7 portion. Probably because I forgot to mention the spicy and crispy set of Vietnamese egg rolls for $3 I ate a short while before. No worries. I packed up the leftovers and will now have a scrumptious breakfast.

For sure I needed to walk back to the hostel. I did and then grabbed an afternoon coffee to ground me so I did not tip over. Sneaking in one hour of work on a vacation day, I then meandered out to catch an aa meeting. A small group gathered and we worked to reflect on sobriety in our lives. An hour later, I scooted out and began to make my way home.

Danger loomed, though, when I saw a Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich food cart. I am a pretty big fan of peanut butter since I can feel the instant rush of something-something whenever I eat this sandwich.

Hesitantly, I approached the cart at my own peril. In seconds it was all over. I ordered the Hot Hood and happily watched the cook slab two thick slices of challah bread with organic peanut butter, blackberry jam, apple smoked bacon, and jalapenos. She toasted the creation to perfection making sure to paint each side with European butter for that grilled perfection. Heaven underestimates the flavor reward on this one.

My aa colleagues spied me, extending an invitation to join them and dine on Mexican food. Even I couldn’t eat more, so I simply sat down at the table to chew the fat for an hour or so while eating my sandwich. Life is good. Next to me sat an interesting artist fellow, Tabor Porter, whose work I hope to visit on my next voyage here. All I need to prepare is a 60-pound weight loss program, so I can return to street cart heaven. Someone’s gotta volunteer to explore these treacherous culinary terrains and that bold soul is me. And you.

So, I made staccato movements towards the shower at 5:30 a.m. then plunged forward to driving a car, eventually finding a place to park my car in downtown SF. (Still kept my sticker from SOMA living days and a PO Box that will allow me to buy another annual sticker. Here’s hoping meter maids and parking ticket administrators don’t peruse the Blog too often.) From here I stumbled the few blocks to BART. A few swigs of coffe and I’m alive plus well. Shuttling from BART to the airport and I sit comfy on a seat waiting to board the Portland, Oregon bound plane.

Me? I like visiting this city for a mini-vacation that jumpstarts my culinary adventure in street food eating. Landing by 10:15 a.m. in Portland, I worked online in the airport for an hour then propped open the umbrella to protect myself against the storming rain. Grey, overcast, and ugly–I knew this good ‘ol Dorothy wasn’t in Kansas anymore. The MAX train is easy to catch from the airport and on my way I was to the wonderful hostel I stay while galavanting around this city.

Challenge was that I had three phone calls to make and a timeline to meet. Still learning how to buy a phone card, where I can call Europe affordably on my cell phone, today was a trial-and-error day. The card cost $10 and I had a 4-minute spree. That’s right–four minutes. The Global Phone Card is probably a misnomer. But I did reach my older brother in Germany, which comforted me because I followed through on a promise to call him. Amazing that on my little cell phone I can easily call 12,000 miles away.

Then I reached a contact in San Francisco for a while as I rode the train. But I thought I missed my stop, and instead of worrying about the next street to reach by train, I called my aa sponsor to connect and discuss a life moment. I am using lower case aa instead of shouting the double aa logo–going ee cummings on you. Standing as rain drenched the sidewalk, I had a conversation. Then I found the first street cart.

Never before did I eat a No Fish! Go Fish! The name is nonsensical, but the food makes all the sense in the world. Thick savory soups arrive to your palate spiced and ready. Tomorrow I shall return for that, but in the meantime I ordered two of the little corn fritters in the shape of fish. Good! One had crispy edges with cheddar cheese softly melted inside. Two of them set me back $3.

Snack in hand, I could face the storming rain much easier. Stepping on the free street car (yes, that is accurate and not a typo) I again missed my stop and trudged the road to happy destiny, which in today’s case was a warm and safe hostel. I arrived soaked through and through, blending a mix of happy and grumpy by the time I walked up the stairs.

Spent a few hours taking care of some professional detail and back to the ‘hood I came, which is in downtown Portland North West. Grabbing an afternoon cup of Joe from across the street, I hit the sidewalk to exercise on a walk.

Looking up I saw lights shining through stained church glass, and my cold feet (wore sneakers with a hole in the bottom) needed a rest so in I went. The African American priest spoke in a Jamaican accent as he led mass. He read from the Bible and urged the twenty or so people sprinkled over the rows and rows of church pews to say I am sorry more often because to apologize is to forgive–and these moments always take humility. Forgiveness is what he spoke on for several minutes. Then we said the “Our Father” prayer, which we often say in aa. The church is call St. Mary’s Cathedral of Our Immaculate Conception; powerful art work in glass, tile, painting, and wood throughout the sacred spot.

And for twenty minutes I sat there watching mass. I have no idea what this is, but the ritual looked intricate. The priest prepared everything at the altar and then folks lined up. After the priest sat down in a tall regal wood chair and seemed to swoon with his eyes closed. Is that real wine? He eventually stood up and led us all in a closing prayer. Just the sort of mellow I needed, I walked a few blocks for a bowl of steamy miso soup and two small plates of sushi. Lovely reward at the end of a slightly adventurous day. Life is good and now I might choose a radical move, which is grabbing an early bed-time.

But not before I treat myself to another chapter in Po Bronson’s Nurture Shock, New Thinking About Children, an insightful book on how we raise kids. Buy a copy. Read it and share a comment here. Awesome stuff! Bronson’s thesis is simply that common sense science has disappeared in the face of so much new fangled evidence. In the preface, Bronson tells the story of Cary Grant working as a doorman for a magic house in downtown Los Angeles, but people believed this man was a look-alike rather than the authentic Grant. Such is the power of context identifying the truth–wonderful segue into the book’s science made more honest and obvious in the context of Bronson’s writing.

Tomorrow I venture onto the street in search of more food delectables. That elusive diet starts Monday! For now I am committed to the hard work of vacation time. And the rain finally eased up for an evening walk that I am about to finish since daylight still remains a few minutes before 9 p.m. Aaaah, summer.

Later the guy learned that hummingbird’s flash this color to protect their territory. The story remains intact though because this man’s perspective was enough to bring him into sobriety. That’s the strange insight I am living right now is how radical a life can change simply from a different perspective. For example, I made one of my next-to-last impulse decisions on choosing roomies out of fear, but I chose acceptance for the mistake right away. I did not blame. I did not dwell. I did not go negative. I went for forgiveness. Humans make mistakes. This is a radically new perspective for me.

Now I’m happily bunkered down in a cozy little cabin of a home here in Ingleside. The roomie fit is still off, but I’m joyful no matter where I go. This relaxed perspective leaves room for change on my side and theirs. Shifts happen, so we’ll see. And so I have enjoyed a few days of watching the hummingbird fly in front of my face. I’m looking for the signals, but only a few inches from my immediate experience.

And that makes for one rich day after another even when the tears continue to fall as they have for several days now. Sometimes tears and sometimes laughs–all in the flow of life, and I welcome having the chance to express any emotion since I’ve been a touch challenged at doing so. Plus, I found a chilled Trader Joe’s classic root beer hanging out in the cheese section of their fridge today. Sweet treat that made my entire day. Hope yours was flavorful too.

But now I wish to carpe diem and make every day a masterpiece–the advise from John Wooden, a favorite basketball coach at UCLA, who passed away today at 99 years old. Starting at my age now that would give me an entirely new life the length of the one I have lived so far. Who knew? Rascally therapist reminded me this morning that time is elastic and shortens in sobriety as honesty closes the gaps we create by living lies. Between 8:10 a.m. when I woke up and 9:05 when I called her, I had run three or four different scenarios in my mind as to what story I could tell her. My appointment is for 8:30 a.m. Finally, while sipping a cup of coffee at the cafe, I simply told her that I over slept. Truth is swift and easy. And we could reschedule for this morning. I see now how life can change in a moment. Truly I see.

In one of my life scenarios, this entire last year I have been missing, absent from one potential connecting moment after another and the loss made me cry hard this morning. Just did. Makes me sad now. Pains us when we know how incongruous an action is from a feeling inside. By narrowing this gap inside me–the one that splits behavior from emotion–I also shorten time. That’s the change in my life. When you become present, all time arrives to specific moments and just hangs there. I feel that in my days now. Took losing someone again to spike that pain and remind me how responsible I am to others by acting truly and not in secret.

My Chinese animal the snake is extremely secretive and in this way I sometimes live a double life. An alkie like me cannot afford that. The dragon is also my sign because we leap back one year when born so early in the Chinese calendar. This animal’s characteristics are far less secret and more gregarious. Enjoyed a fun dinner with friends tonight!

In tears, life expands. I can see my days fill now without much effort or stress as I experience the stream of life. For example, feels so great to write from home! How many, many evenings I traveled to the computer lab late at night to write. Significant time and effort spent this way because of one simple detail in a sequence of hidden choices on how to find a new place to live.

Good news is that the movie camera came home with me from work tonight. I will shoot some scenes this weekend. Curious how much you can capture in just a few minutes, such a short period of time and yet so lasting.

Then I had enough leisure time to drive to Oakland, where I bought two chairs that fit nicely into a Mariott Hotel decor type of thing I have going on right now. Quirky is the operative word for this cabin in the San Francisco woods. We have a small bungalow working here in the Ingleside district, a ‘hood I have never lived in but feel wonderfully safe as I discover new churches on my evening strolls. Three are within a few blocks and one gongs church bells on Sunday morning. I am not a church lady but I respect the ritual of worship and better a church than a pool hall I suppose.

The chairs took up all the space in the Volvo, so I will return tomorrow for the free firewood I spotted in the Oakland hills. Mid-afternoon a sponsee stopped by my house to work. This woman heard me speak at a meeting a few months ago and then sent an e-mail asking for a sponsor. She connects to the details in my life so well, I am surprised that I keep just showing up and something will happen. Always. We sat on the couch and I hoped the Internet guy would show at his appointment time. But no.

So, I drove to Redwood City to snag a glass table that fits exactly into the kitchen. For $250 I have furnished the new place. Of course everything is always in the details, so those small items will appear over the next few weeks. The daily joy is there and still my heart sags like a balloon half full of air. Yet at the AA meeting I caught early in the evening, I had a good talk about relationships. The same sponsee went to this meeting and after we chatted for a while. So blessed to recognize how I can work towards a low hum of gratitude if I continue to follow through, which feels simple now. This week I spoke at two meetings and felt comfortable there.

This house is a safe one and, in contrast, I reflect on how challenging these last few months have been. Not having your own place is stressful. The relationship conversation is simply that I no longer have to worry I will use somebody else. I said that to a mentor in this conversation and he asked me to stop and reflect on what I just said. This morning I wanted to tell a white lie about why I missed the appointment and simply could not. I value the relationship too much and know what price a small dishonesty costs me. Those days are over.

I guess I sorta planned today, but mostly the focus was to stay present. I am watching a woman go through day by day a spiritual awakening. I can absolutely see the results of the work. We met three times this week and the results have nothing to do with me. I remain calm and focus on someone besides myself. By doing so all kinds of serendipity kicks in. So, wobbly heart and all, I enjoy the moments. And I am writing at home on the Internet–a first in five months! The luxury of my life feels so amazing right now. I won’t even try to predict tomorrow’s events, guessing at what serendipity might appear.

The film is pure spectacle and reminds us why cinema is such a unique art medium. How else can you experience such a rush of color and sound in a dark space? And with other people? The theater I attended was crowded and their reaction was absolutely part of the experience. Why? Hundreds of women dressed in brightly sequined Carrie-like outfits sprinkled themselves throughout the theater. We watched the performance on the screen which elicited audience theatrics, too.

Truly, the film proposes no real plot, but is instead a character study of elite white people reflecting on their lives, however neurotic and obsessive this activity becomes. The film opens showing Manhattan as a jeweled slice of an island since geography is as much a character to analyze as the real people. Later in the film, the dynamic four friends–Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda, and Samantha–fly to Abu Dhabi on the mother of all road trips. These are incredibly ethnocentric privileged women trying to make sense of their lives. Seems like to me that just the art of questioning a life purpose seems to qualify as worthy cinema material. But I have not read the reviews yet so what do I know?

What I am clear on are all the small moments in the film that told me quite a poignant story chock full of mini life-lessons. At first we participate visually in a gay wedding as Carrie’s husband, Big Preston, keeps naming the event. Glamor everywhere including swimming white swans and a cameo appearance by Liza Minnelli cannot disguise that love has happened. Two men as unlikely as any two to fall for each other have done just that. And this is the rub in life, right? Staying open to the unknown means the unpredictable can happen routinely–if that is not too paradoxical. I recently fell for a woman who seems an unlikely match but does not make my feelings any less real; they are and I respect them, that’s all.

This leads to the movie’s driving question–what makes for a real marriage? The gay male couple appears to present one example since friends, parents, and family witness their declaration to commit. In contrast, what floats around in the film’s subtext is oggling and flirting–two ways not to commit but instead to engage in frolicking on the playground of adult fun. Charlotte has a nanny who goes braless, much to the delight of the male husbands, who can smile happily as she jumps up and down while playing with the children on the lawn. Those breasts are secretly fun to look at from a male perspective within the film and in the audience. Yet, in the end, this nanny and her beautiful looks belong to another woman since she is lesbian. Surprise. What you see is not what you get for some. From my perspective, as a lesbian woman, this seems like the most natural resolution for this character. Gay characters, then, highlight how uncertain relationships can appear on the surface until depth develops. The pivotal moment is simply to commit. After that all else is simply life unfolding in its emotional vagaries every day.

And these women are searching for that–a way to commit to authenticity while emotions flare. Miranda works for a boss in her law firm who raises his hand to indicate she stop speaking. He repeatedly cuts her off mid-sentence with this single gesture. Here is a whippet-smart sophisticated woman reduced to silence. And in this invisibility she begins to lose sight of what is most important to her–a son and husband. Finally, she has enough and quits just in time to see he son win first prize in the science fair. By not listening to the popular career culture around her, she finds her voice as a mother and lawyer. Later in the film she will use this strength to encourage her friend Charlotte to speak more honestly about the stresses of mothering.

Turns out that Charlotte needs a room of her own. In one parentally imploding scene, she retreats into the closet to cry harsh tears finally venting her frustrations. Leave it to the empathy gay people often have to save the day and open Charlotte’s closet door, rescued by the gay nanny and off she goes with the children, so mother can take a break. Charlotte is also locked in by her jealousy as to just what her husband might do with the braless nanny while she is across the world or away for the day. These are familiar relationship fears. Our partner will run after the next best physical thing. Or that he or she might perceive time off from physical proximity as a weakening passion for the emotional connection. But the film clearly provides an inspiring story in its context to inspire couples to design their own intimacy.

And the women must travel half way around the world to finally learn how to hear their own voices; when they stop listening to predictable relationship tips from Western culture in Manhattan, a new language is heard. Although the film grossly stereotypes Middle Eastern culture, two quiet moments help the fearsome four understand themselves more deeply. Each woman is appointed her own butler upon arriving to Abu Dhabi. And Carrie’s softly discloses to her at 3 a.m. one morning when she cannot sleep and warms milk to help her that he sees his wife every three months. He simply tells her that time is less relevant because when they are together he is a very lucky man. From this insight Carrie now sees Big’s request to spend two days a week in a separate apartment as less a threat than an invitation to increase intimacy between them.

Or take the scene when Samantha enjoys a night out with her date, a Danish business man. Her character is known for blatant sexual come-ons with her many, many sexual partners. This night is no different. Except that she is dining in a restaurant in a culture where all forms of physical affection are prohibited. This confuses her. But her date tells her that he is more aroused in the Middle East than any other country he travels to because the restraint leaves so much to the imagination. In a strange twist, Samantha discovers her sexual self when she is not getting any. And this is not to say that the oppression of women is not a serious life challenge for the women living in this geography of the world. Yet the film does toy with the idea that under the cloak of misogyny are women dressed in the latest fashion lines from Manhattan. And they read the same book Samantha does on how to physically navigate menopause.

Surprisingly these two worlds share far more in common than most would predict. Sitting in a modern movie theater in San Francisco, California on a Saturday night, I listened as the audience erupted into applause when Miranda dropped this line. She declares that women in the United States don’t wear a headdress, pulling up the veil each time to chew a french fry, but other ways of silencing women are just as effective. The movie theater crowd clapped instantly and loudly in recognition of this truth.

For sure the film is a gaudy visual feast of ridiculous stereotypes and extremes. In many ways, this is film’s purpose–not the stereotypes but the visual extremes; easy to understand then why the movie ends presenting different colors and its meaning. The film closes on Cyndi Lauper singing True Colors while we watch Carrie and Big snuggle on the sofa during a quiet night together at home enjoying a black and white classic film. The sofa is a vibrant blue, one they waited a year and a half for. Yet Carrie complains that because Big nestles on it night after night their relationship has lost its sparkle. Yet he gives Carrie a black diamond to reignite their passion after she has a ten-second kissing only fling with her ex-boyfriend Aiden. Yes, the film is an entire visual feast of amazing colors to show how each character works to find his or her place in relationships. By not listening to bland descriptions of what a relationship should be like, all the characters–male or female, gay or straight–find a voice, a clear way to articulate what is valuable and colorful in their lives.

This is a film I would show at home to a teenage daughter, providing room for lots of discussion. Or not. Perhaps she would absorb the story in her own way through drawing or another creative medium. A teenage son might also feel connected to the storyline if we could see beyond the glam-glam details. Or maybe he would enjoy just that spectacle, Liza Minnelli and all. In a silly and fun way, the story provides many, many small moments that make you think–always a welcome activity. Now, finally, I am ready to read the critics response. Probably won’t listen too closely though!