Today, my husband Picasso turns 40. There was a time in his life that he thought he wouldn’t make it to 30.
So today, on some levels, is still a lovely surprise, 10 years later.
There was also the time where he made peace with the fact that he was never going to see the Untied States again.
Specifically, New York City. Over the years, deep in his bones, he began the process of accepting what was then his truth – strolling down the streets of Manhattan was only possible in his mind and with Googlemaps.
Due to a travel opportunity, Picasso was in New York City yesterday for a few hours, en route to a new and temporary adventure.
I was not with him when he walked down New York City’s streets for the first time in 13 years.
But if we had been in Manhattan together, the photo above is how would have felt. We took that photo in Oakland last week.
People, don’t lose hope. Don’t ever fucking give up on hope.