This collaborative book is dedicated to all the women everywhere, embracing their fierce awakenings and stepping forward with courage, confidence, and creative chutzpah. May our spiral paths intertwine, and we walk onward together in sisterhood.

With hands on our hearts, we thank our mentors, guides, and teachers, alive and in spirit, who helped us see our next steps as visionaries and way-makers. We are, in part, who we are now because of your grace, patience, and wisdom.

I become increasingly angry and agitated in the theater’s darkness.
“Is this the American dream, being forced to choose between the comforts of home or living in a van?”

Still, though, I do empathize with their plight. I could have been one of those houseless nomads if I hadn’t driven through a red light one day in 2004.

It was a typical, muggy Oklahoma summer day, with the mercury exceeding a hundred degrees Fahrenheit and heat waves bouncing off the pavement. Driving down Tulsa’s Yale Avenue, there are two traffic lights, one right after the other, a block apart. The first light was green, but I went through the second, a red light, without stopping. To my horror, I drove smack into the driver’s side of a police vehicle, wrecking it but hurting no one.

What I remember most about hitting the police car was not the utter shock and stupidity of the crash. Or the annoying man, adrenaline pumping, yelling at me about how fast I was going. Or the local news crews who arrived at the scene to spread images of the wreck. What I told the policeman when he asked me what had happened is forged in my mind. Aware of the utter ridiculousness of my situation, I muttered, looking him squarely in the eyes without hesitating, “I am upset about the U.S. war in Iraq.” The policeman walked away, noting my name in his little pad and not raising an eyebrow or questioning my response.

The crash pushed me to my limits. My poverty was stifling. I felt ashamed because I couldn’t lift myself by my bootstraps, the American way of advancement. The 9/11 climate of “hate” toward the Middle East further ignited my anger and within me brewed a furious contempt for U.S. policies.

I was stuck.
I don’t belong here!
How had I gotten to this point?
What was wrong with me?
I needed a different view.