Through unknown doors E-Book

Dr. Linda J. Stillman

• Herausgeber: Europa Edizioni
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

THROUGH UNKNOWN DOORS highlights the lifelong journey of Dr. Linda J. Stillman. The intent was to highlight her numerous inter-cultural/global adventures and anecdotes, as experiential episodes, both challenging and rewarding. The key themes emphasize:
Culture & Communication Matter
Life Happens While Making Plans 
New York Minute Decisions 
Zero Tolerance Towards Violence. 
As she discovered her multi-layered destiny through constant opportunities and change, she studied to obtain degrees that would complement her experiences to fulfill emerging passions. Her journey revolved around entering unknown doors that resulted in successes and missteps down unusual paths crisscrosses the immortal poem The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost. The memoirs also illuminate influential people in her life, focusing on their productive and positive impact. 
As she traversed through frequent unknown doors, the myriad of eclectic experiences expanded her horizons far beyond home state New Hampshire. She engaged with vivid cultures and various communities when living amidst Arabic, Communist, Nordic, European, Asian societies, plus unique Manhattan -- before her recent return to reside in New England after half a century.

Dr. Linda J. Stillman is a global mentor and founder/chair of the Young Global Leadership Foundation (YGLF.org) with UN NGO ECOSOC status since 2018. YGLF adheres to the UN Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs). She guides young adult leaders, from refugees to royals, with their ambitious academic~ professional ~ UN civic engagement ~ personal challenges.
Professionally, Dr. Linda has served as a culture & communication educator, professional development expert, writer and speaker. For decades, she also contributed to intercultural/diplomatic relations in Manhattan, Morocco, former Yugoslavia, Iceland, Germany, and China. She was president of the American/ International Women’s Association, Rabat, president of the American Women’s Club, Belgrade, creator/chair of the International Women’s Association, Reykjavik, and vice president of the International Women’s Association, Bonn. In New York, she was president and UN representative of Soroptimist International NYC and much more.
Educationally, Dr. Linda acquired her BS in Communication Arts, Cornell University; learned German at the Goethe Institute; completed her Master of Arts in Teaching (MAT), highest distinction, Webster University; and earned her international PhD in philosophy, honors, from the University of Bonn.
Personally, Dr. Linda passionately shares her Chez L&P (Love & Peace) with family, friends and colleagues to promote peaceful, productive and positive inter-generational relations in the 21st Century. 

Leseprobe

Dr. Linda J. Stillman

THROUGH

UNKNOWN DOORS

© 2024Europe Books | London

www.europebooks.co.uk | [email protected]

ISBN 9791220148634

First Edition March 2024

Illustration cover by Michael Bastianelli

Edited by Veronica Parise

THROUGH UNKNOWN DOORS

Deep gratitude to

Parents~Diplomat Lothar~Mentors Charles & Helen

Learn from the Past

Heartfelt appreciation towards Family ~Friends ~Dr. Patrik

Live in the Present

Courage & compassion for aspiring Young Global Leaders

Look to the Future

Foreword

Through Unknown Doorshighlights the lifelong journey of Dr. Linda J. Stillman, Global Mentor and Founder/Chair of the Young Global Leadership Foundation (YGLF). It has been written to inspire young adult leaders, worldwide, to pursue passionate life choices and to cope with life’s one guarantee - CHANGE - to realize dreams and achieve global goals. I hope these select memoirs prove insightful through illuminating lessons learned towards peaceful - productive - positive global relations in the 21st Century. My inter-cultural adventures mostly transpired through entering unknown doors, both challenging and rewarding to achieve the ultimate essence of life through love blessed from above. The adventures and anecdotes are meant to illuminate poignant themes that emerged and permeated throughout my journey to achieve lofty goals and dreams:

Culture & Communication Matter

Life Happens while Making Plans

New York Minute Decisions

Zero Tolerance towards Violence

Throughout my life, I often discovered destiny through unexpected opportunities and then studied for matching degrees to expand those passions to full capacity. My global destiny was neither classically chronological nor particularly logical, rather it revolved around entering unknown doors that resulted in successes and missteps down unusual paths that made all the difference. Nevertheless, these memoirs are neither an unabridged autobiographical rendition nor a me too/tell all story. Instead, I selected the relevant elements that led to multiple destinies, lessons learned and fulfilled dreams.

These memoirs also illuminate highly influential people in my life. However, I intentionally did not expound upon interspersed personal relationships, but for Diplomat Lothar of 45 years, perennial mentors Commander Helen and Colonel Charles, His Highness Prince my global son, and quintessential Dr. Patrik who has been involved with my life journey in unique ways for decades. There were certainly other strong personalities that I encountered for a reason or season, not mentioned, butchose to focus on sustaining relationships and their positive lifelong impact. It is one’s right to maintain private aspects of our lives, as I equally respect others and their personal space. Still, I sought to present numerous, candid and compassionate episodes that mattered most on the journey to become a global mentor and to create The Young Global Leadership Foundation destined to join the United Nations in 2018. I sincerely hope that these adventures and anecdotes contribute to the decisions of ensuing generations to embrace their own life journey to become effective and ethical global leaders much needed in the 21st Century.

Preface

January 1st, 2020, the global community exuberantly embraced the new decade deemed the golden era for social advancement at the United Nations. Suddenly, such magnanimous optimism was dashed with the Covid-19 crisis that relentlessly ravished every element of a world that we once knew to be replaced with the new normal “uncertainty” approach to life today. Celebration turned to devastation in a shocking New York Minute moment! Glorious global cities and impoverished communities, alike, became combat zones with humanity waging war against the invisible enemy attacking civilization.

I, too, suffered covid symptoms in my cozy Manhattan co-op in March 2020 while New York City became the epicenter of the scourge that required strong leadership action. While in self-imposed quarantine, I focused on damage control of the Young Global Leadership Foundation (YGLF), our long-planned derailed programs, together with everybody else’s worldwide, that all came to a screeching stand-still. Many of our young leaders in New York City were forced to leave, so we started virtually to communicate through multiple venues. Suddenly, we New Yorkers encountered too much time and a phenomenon unknown to us, while isolated in high-rises in bustling Manhattan that turned into a ghastly ghost town.

Against resistance of city friends but insistence of my European circle, I left for my country home located in a mountain village nestled in the Swabian Alps of Southern Germany. Most borders were closing, and the dire situation meant a now or never decision. My German friends constantly called and clamored to leave The City that never Sleeps immediately. Fortunately, I managed to board the last Lufthansa flight, before mandatory quarantine conditions for travelers became official. On Friday, April 3rd, I departed from Newark to Frankfurt while the normally pulsating airport stood eerily silent with every locale in lockdown mode. Upon arrival in the precious village Pappelau, we were blessed with picture - perfect, spring weather that calmed lingering symptoms while absorbing the sun’s healing powers on my balcony with its beautiful view.

Having barely recovered from fatal family losses all winter, I finally started to write my memoirs while serenely watching a majestic sunrise and enjoying my favorite German breakfast, herring in yoghurt and strong coffee, that early May morning. Moments later, a little blue bird flew through my balcony door, quizzically perched on the dining room table and started to chirp. Observing the sweet scene, I actually smiled for the first time that year and noted the need to be more inter-connected with nature to live in peace and harmony with humanity. The pandemic challenged humankind and changed the lives of billions in a harsh Manhattan Minute. Still, it also enabled restored opportunities of care and compassion, innovation and patience, tenacity and perseverance to overcome the global crisis, together. The calamities and casualties of 2020-2022 discerned a defining time for current civilization, as I witnessed the contributions of millions to cope with monumental problems through creative solutions.

My journey ultimately illuminates the way to self- actualization to make resolute decisions when life happens while making plans, sometimes in New York Minute mentality, mostly in my case, while on other occasions through contemplations, when we walk Through Unknown Doors. Hopefully, future young leaders will find the content meaningful and helpful in their quests to achieve their own dreams and goals, highlighted by the Young Global Leadership Foundation motto that was composed by the founder long-long ago:

Learn from the Past ~ Live in the Present ~ Look to the Future

Author’s Notes

These compassionately selected memoirs have been written as inspirationally, descriptive prose with the intent to create lasting impressions of the adventures and anecdotes candidly shared in each ensuing chapter. There are intentionally no photographs to enable readers to create their own unique perceptions through their vivid imaginations. The manuscript was mostly written in Deutschland as my parallel home and second language for decades, so please have patience if occasional syntax constructions appear in both English and German throughout the book. Hometown Blaubeuren and its UNESCO Blautopf cultural site enabled me to remain balanced for 13 blessed years brimming with love and tears during the extraordinary era that ended on May 30, 2023, when destined to pass Through Unknown Doors, once more.

The opening chapter establishes my life foundation fundamentally developed in one’s formative years and underscores my directions and decisions that unfolded in my adolescence and throughout adulthood. I also wrote with a lyrical flow that often transcended into poetic rhythm that permeates throughout the memoirs with sustaining passion till the end. Once adjusted to the literary style, I most sincerely hope that you enjoy Through Unknown Doorsas much as I have enjoyed writing it in my German sanctuary serenely situated “auf der Schwaebischen Alb”, while finished in the Austrian Alps.

Then, I also very much appreciate the expert input of my close cousin Sara, highly literary, and her eloquent comments as the first person to read the manuscript before completed.

German friend Martin, also an author, provided numerous intellectual comments that were also inserted with appreciation. Finally, graphic artist, and YGLF chief communication technical director Michael, visually captured the book’s essence to create the ideal cover illustration, that the viewers adored, to illuminate the memoirs of his longtime mentor. A heart-felt thank you to all of you and many more, too, that I have met on my life journey.

Through Youthful Doors

My first life recollections appeared as a curious three-year old little girl who had discovered fairytales in colorfully illustrated storybooks, especially the German versions. As the only female family child, I had a little room at the far end of the house and often felt forlorn at night, so I would delve into my fairytale world for comfort. Still, not all the characters were my friends, and I often sought to fight the evil people in the tales, separated from my unsuspecting family located at the other end of the home. Moreover, I constantly worried that my parents were fine and often slipped from my bed to check, scared that the invisible black holes in the hallway would swallow me into the dungeon of darkness where wicked people would throw bags over my head if captured and take away my sight. Fortunately, I overcame those daunting fears by four, but the eerie sensation of isolation haunted me for half a century. Isolation led to loneliness that needed creative solutions to overcome both issues. Yes, our formative imaginary years strongly impact our behavior that influence our life journey choices. My frightening early memories were no exception, and influence on my sojourn till 2020 that finally changed in an auspicious New York Minute, or so I thought.

My memoirs officially begin with the family heritage and its profound impact on the child we all once were: my mother, a first-generation American stemmed from Greek and English parents who met in Canada before they migrated to America and ultimately New England. Both maternal cultures strongly contributed to my formative socialization. My mother early recognized that her daughter did not “belong” to her own Baby Boomer Generation mentality, as I preferred to read about faraway places under bed covers by flashlight at night, even prior to starting kindergarten. She secured my rounded upbringing from traditional piano and dance lessons to scouting and swim team practice; from household chores, handwork skills and good grooming all around, by ten years old. Her own trademark, she taught by example, to dress the occasion with individual flair to be one’s own person. She even started my hope chest as a young miss, a lost practice, post her generation, and mine was filled with marvelous treasures by my eighteenth birthday – the pine hope chest contents kept on giving and giving enhancing my love of hospitality in festive settings for decades till today.

From my father, an original Mayflower family that landed in Westerly at the Sea in the early 16th Century, I inherited his love of family gatherings, Puritan ethics, community service (also my mother), academic fortitude, sports competitor, plus his passion for reading, especially history. I affectionately recall our walks after early suppers in summer, enjoying delicious ice cream cones as we strolled for miles around town. He reveled in sharing his World War 2 adventures from the Landing of D-Day, emancipating France, enduring the Battle of the Bulge, before crossing Remagen Bridge 1945 into German territory, and liberating concentration camps, all while accompanying legendary General Omar Bradley in strategic planning headquarters. Still, he always spoke highly of the German folk during his role in the brief occupation period before sent home when the War with Japan ended, too. His inspiring stories ignited my fascination to travel, limited to the western world in the mid-20th century.

My three brothers, with varied interests and quite competitive, provided little time during my upbringing, and I often felt dismissed by my siblings during childhood. My oldest brother Kenn was an academic encyclopedia, with his genius memory for knowledge; he ultimately became a high school teacher of social studies and mathematics and coached youth sports. My older brother Wake was the adored family athlete and achieved sport distinctions on multiple occasions. After a successful banking career emanating my father, he became a beloved coach of successful high school and college women’s teams and mentored female athletes for decades. My younger brother Peter was a free spirit, with his feisty independent thinking and alternative living. He loved the culinary arts, inherited from our Greek grandfather and his Armenian godmother, both extraordinary cuisine experts. He aspired to be an excellent executive chef, who also provide delectable specialties for our family gatherings, adjacent to his creative professional endeavors as chief chef in restaurants and private clubs. As adults, we became much more connected with each relationship unique, derived from our diverse personalities, professions and personal belief.

We were raised to adhere Protestant work ethics, a foundation that fortified my journey as an ultimate globalist. The family conversed in Yankee decorum with articulate grammar while use of cursory words was never permitted. Communication expression was often ensconced in metaphor, even if our mentality constantly stressed: Say what you mean and mean what you say that is core to New England communicative thinking. We would exchange resolute responses that reflected our actions with “no “nonsense” intentions. New Hampshire was steeped in the American Revolution and the ninth state to ratify the US Constitution, so I was also tethered to our historical heritage that was revered by my family, while the state motto: “Live Free or Die” succinctly says it all in our mentality.

However, patience and tolerance were not characteristics readily practiced at home and in the resolute thinking community. In fact, a little wooden plaque hung on our kitchen wall: God, give us patience, and please hurry up!

The message also reflected subtle Yankee humor, and if one did not concentrate, the meaning of a comical comment would be missed in the blink of an unassuming New York Minute. Punctuality was expected from everybody with military precision, and every morning after a brief breakfast– my parents’ last words were always: Hurry up or you will be late – as I scurried to my Webster Grammar School, a mere five-minute walk on foot! To this day, these formative practices shaped my personality through strong socialization of family and community. It required decades of diverse world experiences to achieve the art of patience, flexibility, tolerance and other distinctly different behavioral patterns that contrasted my early upbringing. Today, I am grateful for the rich influences of various cultures that supported my global adventures for half a century.

Hard work was a prevalent part of growing up that started at six with a household mix. I was first responsible for dusting, a delicate, painstaking undertaking not to break any artifacts. Next, my mother added ironing every Tuesday, and the awaiting clothes resembled a mountain in the wicker basket through the prisms of a seven-year-old. Back then, one meticulously ironed every clothing article, especially for my father, as the family patriarch with his precision perfection life approach. Then, I adored helping my dad maintain the yard, responsible for eliminating dandelions and trimming the street curb, while he always inspected that every blade of grasswas eliminated with precise execution. In fall, we briskly raked the crisp autumn leaves rustling under our feet as sundown descended. In the brisk evening air with the harvest moon looming, we torched the piles into bursting bonfires that surely reached the heavens. Can you imagine such freedom of action on one’s own property, today, in the USA?

Inside, the fireplace was roaring in the cozy living room as my mother prepared hot chocolate and homemade whoopee pies to warm us. After the yard was winterized, we anxiously awaited the first deep freeze, impatient to go ice skating on the natural pond surrounded by woods located just two-miles way, resembling a serene Robert Frost poem backdrop.

By eight years old, my mother would drop me at the municipal swimming pool, again alone, during the entire summer season, and I swam and swam and swam all afternoon nearly every day. I played alone in stately Stark Park, named after a famous revolutionary General, that was situated five minutes from home. My first best friend Sandyand I used to play there together, till just six years old, and I cried for weeks when she left Manchester unable to replace her friendship for years. In the winter, I skated solo on the naturally formed ice of picturesque Dorr’s Pond ensconced in the woods. I was no ice ballerina, but the sport built physical strength and stamina, balance and rhythm. Plus, my father was my inspiration as a Cornell hockey player, and on weekends, we enthusiastically skated together. For several years, I also attended strenuous swim city team practice several times evenings, and returned to my bedroom exhausted and with chlorine bloodshot eyes for the rest of the night. Piano lessons lasted four seasons and simply not my forte, but do read and have highly appreciate many forms of music as a result. My passion was ballroom dancing, first learned from my Fred Astaire father, excelled by eleven, but as a result I would lead the boys at formal events, who were not always pleased with me, in retrospect.

By ten, I was babysitting little ones in the neighborhood and started to earn money, beyond a stipend allowance for the arduous housework chores. The funds were painstakingly saved to purchase family Christmas and birthday presents, that fueled my independent financial pride and learned micro-finance skills. My father was an effective and ethical senior bank officer, admired and trusted by the entire city, who volunteered as treasurer for community organizations and our classical New England Congregational Church. He taught me the value of money and how judiciously to manage. Those early lessons learned immensely helped during flourishing and daunting financial moments when life happened while making plans, that often impacted monetary decisions.

Holidays were holy, and all family members made extraordinary efforts to celebrate birthdays, always with champagne toasts, story sharing and delicious dinners, especially the traditional New England Thanksgiving replete with my paternal Grandmother’s homemade pies, that cheerfully ushered in the holiday season. My brothers and I were not raised with relatives all around us, and I yearned to be connected so created extended family for decades. Our only Stillman cousins were the children of my dad’s twin brother who visited usually once a year. The sibling fathers were called Donald and Ronald, and each summer there was a robustly competitive baseball game between the D’s and the R’s during the blitz family gathering trip.

Now, back to chronological style, during the yuletide season, we intently wrote Christmas card greetings by hand, immensely enjoyed trimming the tree together, and enthusiastically decorated the house inside and out. We participated in house-to-house caroling, performed in the church pageantry, prepared food baskets for the less fortunate, attended neighborhood gatherings Christmas Eve, that are all deeply imbedded memories of childhood holidays. On Christmas morning, we expressed love for each other through the thoughtfulness of our gift giving choices. Menus were carefully considered for weeks, served at festive table settings, and if we were aware of anyone alone, then they were invited to our home. For five decades, I have passionately continued these hospitality practices worldwide, fully residing again in the USA after half a century. Holiday traditions stem from family, community and culture, and each of us carries our upbringing forward, that also shapes our core outlook of family, friends and culture intertwined. Blessed, my family festively celebrated all holidays, honored traditions, generously gave and shared, that also symbolized care and compassionate for one another.

Yet, from a gender perspective, I lived in a powerfully patriarchal environment as the only daughter/sister among four dominant males. Competition often consumed our interaction in that era, and my family was exceptionally All American in that factor. My brothers played most important national team sports, not yet readily available to girls. So, I participated in the informal baseball and football games with the boys, determined equally to compete with them. However, my mother put a halt to my extreme behavior for her, and at twelve, she started to attire me in dresses instead. I wore my first evening skirt at thirteen and never owned a pair of jeans with no regrets, if pragmatic for outdoor activity.

My famous athlete-father founded and devotedly coached Little League Baseball and Pop Warner Football in our state, and his teams were revered and feared for their high sportsmanship and discipline that delivered endless victories sans a loss for his football teams seven straight years. Consequently, I was the littlest cheerleader at eight and captain at eleven for the North Warriors Pop Warner era, and we proudly wore our custom-made, Indian outfits and handmade moccasins purchased from our integrated indigenous Indian shop up the road. Nobody ever imagined that it would become politically incorrect, one day, to honor their culture with our nickname: The Warriors. To the contrary, our local Indian community was pleased to provide the authentic accents for our colorful outfits. Consequently, I firmly believe that the current razing of cultural heritage, rampant and thoughtless, is a major mistake that future generations will lament. Such irresponsible actions dismiss our history for freedom, tolerance and justice, that is far from perfect, yet, still a beacon for humanity since centuries.

Eventually, I gravitated towards individual sports competition in my teen years and especially tennis, although few cared about female athletics in the 1960s. One summer when still a girl, I won a gold ribbon in backstroke at the city junior championships, but nobody in my family even attended. Worse yet, so intent to win, I misjudged my last stroke and cracked my head on the edge of the cement pool, rapidly sank to the bottom before resurfacing, sputtering and profusely bleeding. It marked my first and last major swim meet, for the intensive head injury psychologically hindered my capacity to reach the finish line in full throttle that ended my fleeting swimming career in a crashing New York Minute.

We all encounter defining moments and remember the life-altering ones, that are interspersed throughout these intended motivational memoirs. My early education and experiences strongly influenced my defining life choices to walk Through Unknown Doors. I remember my first compelling fear for my country, as a fiercely loyal patriot, that occasionally resurfaces as a political centrist during times of extreme national dissension and division in the nation. As a child, the chilling assassination of President John F. Kennedy, November 22, 1963, rattled my unconditional pride and sense of security in my country already at eleven years old. The Berlin Wall had been built just two years prior – and the gripping scenes on still black and white TV screens dramatically depicted the devastation of the divided city in my faraway land of fairytales, charming princes and castles. Both world events impacted my ever-elusive, romantic vision of love, loyalty and security, steeped in the US Constitutional Right to the Pursuit of Happiness in our profound preamble, that I once could recite by heart as a school girl. The 1960s were riddled with unsettling and destabilizing events that caused constant rifts and unrest from coast to coast. One could rarely watch the news and relax, for the broadcasts relentlessly portrayed unnerving footage of the raucous state of the USA nearly every evening.

The following Spring, barely twelve, I spent a life-altering rainy Easter weekend with my best friend Candy and her rogue father in fabled New York City. It was my first travel venture without my family and, in retrospect, rather extraordinary that my parents gave permission. The energy and excitement dazzled as only the Big Apple could exude. Candy’s father took us to “unusual neighborhoods” for two female adolescents from puritanical New Hampshire. Still, he also introduced us to legendary sites and nightlife jazz clubs, while we wore appropriate attire for adolescent females. I distinctly remember two life-altering activities that forever impacted my global destiny: the first entailed an enthralling historical tour of the famed United Nations and the other a mesmerizing performance of the Radio City Rockettes Easter Spectacular in the elegant if enormous Art Deco auditorium. Upon my return to conservative Manchester, I clamored and declared for days: “When I grow up, I WILL BECOME either a diplomat or a dancer, and live in the heart of New York City, one day! A decade later, both dreams became reality that shaped my early adulthood’s chosen destiny for the ensuing near half of a century. One must never underestimate the power of travel and adventure that influence young people, while they also expand and elevate “culture and communication” understanding that enhance relational development in every dimension.

Concurrently, political and civic engagement focus polarized intergenerational ideologies that ignited the counter-cultural revolution in the ‘60s and early ‘70s. The Baby Boomers (1946-1964) became an angry and boisterous young adult generation that vehemently asserted its positions on explosive topics. Rebellion often turned to violence, multiple political assassinations, divisive Viet Nam War demonstrations, and massive movements for civil and women’s rights that challenged and changed traditional social agendas for decades. Those turbulent times also unleashed the Battle of the Sexes, as feminists ignited the modern-era women’s mandate for the rest of the century. Militant women leaders often stoked male-bashing mentality, that I did not particularly respect, while incensed male counterparts retaliated by shifting social protocol norms to their gender advantage.

The continued 21st Century gender equality campaign, especially at the United Nations till today, is a direct result of those formidable feminists from the USA and Europe. Whereby, I related to the civil rights/women’s rights Baby Boomer goals, still their often mean-spirited, even brutal behavior, were both demeaning and denigrating from my youthful point of view. My New England values to respect and honor one another, and so much more, were under constant attack. The ideological division led to isolation from my youth peers as many joined the counter revolution across the nation. Nevertheless, that volatile era further expanded my passion to forge egalitarian measures toward “the less fortunate” in every social arena. I fervently hoped that my fledgling goals would be in step with my upbringing values and the UN mandate, my destined future decades later.

Our environment overwhelmingly influences the prisms of our perception, through our educational and experiential encounters. My hometown, Manchester, New Hampshire was no exception and rather to the contrary, it actually launched my global journey. The historical, industrial little city was officially established in 1772 on the banks of the Merrimack River, first called Amoskeag Falls, and where the Penacook Indian tribe peacefully resided with early settlers. Manchester, the state’s largest city, was the most important textile industrial site in the young USA of the 1800s. From the onset, it attracted immigrant workers from multiple ethnic backgrounds that resulted in establishing French Canadian, Greek, Polish, and Irish neighborhoods. They complemented the then called white-collared community that was compromised of classically Protestant and Jewish leaders in the North End.

In retrospect, Manchester actually represented a miniature cross-section of New York City ethnicity. It was also a proud place of 100,00 residents, and American-style egalitarian record, that lauded its sister partnership with formidably industrial Manchester, England of two million. The distinctive neighborhoods peacefully resided adjacent to one another, while retaining their own distinctive cultural values and traditions. Most residents were independently minded, tolerant of cultural diversity, played on the same sports teams, served together on community boards, all for the great good of Manchester, often ranked among the ten best communities to live in the country for decades. In short, the hard-working residents were neither rich nor poor for the most part, and rather a wealthy community that offered life quality. The state revered the White Mountains to the north, the Atlantic coast to the south, numerous glacier lakes and forestlands in the center, while the Boston metropolis was located just an hour away. Manchester exuded its own free and feisty slice of paradise in my youthful era, that fundamentally contributed to my core character and ultimate global career.

Concurrently, as a student, I was an over-achiever, also seeking family acknowledgement, rarely forthcoming under the auspices: Nobody is allowed a “big head” in this family, so compliments were rare and NOT BAD was the highest achievement praise. We were also raised to excel as community leaders, and my parents were exemplary role models.

So, determined to make adolescent contributions and to emulate my parents, I became a scout, Candy Striper hospital volunteer, student council representative, high school newspaper journalist, National Honor Society member, etc., to mention a few traditional activities in my youth. Still, I never felt intellectually confident, for my parents always countered my academic achievements and community contributions with: Linda works hard for her youthful successes that did not necessarily reflect intelligence, or so I believed at sixteen.

The outcome of the repetitive message proved debilitating, for I was actually 35 before recognizing my own intellectual capacity in a cathartic moment that is illuminated later in the book.

In resolutely independent New Hampshire, peer relations could prove challenging, especially when one did not believe in or belong to “clicks”, as we called them back then. So, I first encountered physical violence at merely fifteen, one of several ensuing episodes throughout trying and tumultuous relational encounters a lifelong. One nice summer night, I attended a congenial weekend gathering with high school classmates. Suddenly, mid-evening, leather-clad, female bikers, a few years our senior and reeking of beer, interrupted the convivial scenario. Tension instantly fomented in an icy New York Minute atmosphere as they demanded entrance, our refreshments and pocket money or suffer the consequences. Livid, I retaliated, although they were twice my size, responding with the verbal strength of a cheerleader: NEVER and now KINDLY LEAVE our party! The groupie leader viscerally reacted with a violent blow, broke my nose and “knocked me out cold.” Furthermore, her brutality equally scared her scattering posse, fearing a police arrival, that we unfortunately did not manifest with any sos phone call.

In New Hampshire, we were culturally raised to solve our own problems, not to rely on others, and we desperately sought to avoid a public scandal, parental intervention and ensuing reprisals.

Minutes later, I awoke to a cold, coca cola can pressed against my face, as a make-shift remedy to stop the swelling. Clearly, I did not return home that evening and rather remained at my girlfriend’s place in recovery for two days. If my parents noticed that Sunday evening, then I will never know, as they stonily stared at me slowly walking to the dinner table. One brother had already learned about the conflict scene through the high school grapevine and could have conceivably mentioned it to my parents, but nothing was ever said. The violent incident was never discussed and difficult to process with no support from family or friends. Then again, I never told anyone, my error, for silence is not always golden, as Simon and Garfunkel proclaimed in their popular ballad of that era.

Spring semester sophomore year, I tried out for the cheerleading squad, the highest female acknowledgement in the sports arena before women’s teams became popular in the 1980s. I was ecstatic when the call finally came late one excruciatingly, long evening, following contentious competition among my peers to be one of the five chosen cheerleaders for the ensuing two years. However, that crowning youthful moment, a childhood dream since seven was compromised in a bittersweet New York Minute. The ultimate choice for a coveted position was between my best friend Debbie and me through an emotionally irrational senior squad vote. We were both athletically talented and frankly more qualified than the rest of the chosen cheerleaders who were cultural cousins. The blatant unfairness influenced my future perception of fair elections based on merit, and not subjective relational connections, jealousy and envy. “Be fair” is core to my ethical composition until today, and the cheerleader selection was anything but the case in 1968. In fact, it took years to understand the audacious expression: All is fair in love and war as actually a contrarian expression, for there was certainly conflict among the voting cheerleader team in charge of choosing the new members that night.

In a contrasting impromptu decision that same spring, I entered the New Hampshire Junior Tennis Competition as an unseeded doubles team player. My older brother, Wake, a senior, was ranked No. 1 in state singles, and his competition took place the following weekend. Light-hearted and munching Dunkin doughnuts to start the morning, my partner Lillian, a year older, and I had no expectations entering the competition, beyond doing our best, have fun and did. At the end of several matches, giving our best all weekend, we actually won the competition to the shock of the New Hampshire youth tennis association. However, our unexpected victory surely increased the pressure on my brother to win his own trophy as the famous family tennis player. So, my success was not acknowledged until he also brought home the male first place singles victory, fortunately.

Indeed, my family adhered to the motto of famed Green Bay Packer football coach Vincent Lombardi: Winning isn’t everything: it’s the only thing. This rigid mentality of many Americans often smothered earned celebration of other achievements, for if not number one, no other ranking mattered much. Competition slowly became more foreboding than exciting, so, I shifted my perspective and chose to champion life through connection and collaboration, encouragement and support, while empathetic towards others’ defeats. Still, I continued to enjoy attending thrilling matches of my favorite teams and enthusiastically to watch extraordinary athletes, especially the Olympic Games till today. However, competition was never again a driving force to succeed, following early painful experiences.

That turbulent youthful era did, indeed, unleash the ferocious Battle of the Sexes, as feminists ignited the modern-era women’s movement in the 20th Century. Militant females stoked male-bashing rhetoric, that I did not respect, while male counterparts retaliated by breaking traditional relationship rules. The ongoing matured women’s movement still actively focuses on fundamental gender equality, especially at the United Nations, if with more temperance, 50 years hence. Whereas, I understood the basic Baby Boomer civic engagement ideology, their often mean-spirited demeanor towards my parents’ generation was denigrating and infuriating. Therefore, I often felt isolated from most of my peers as the throngs joined the aggressive and argumentative movements surging across the nation. That unsettling youth chapter greatly influenced my goals to forge forward to work intergenerational through interconnected and collaborative activities to contribute to humanity. I highly honored my parents era dubbed the Greatest Generation, and at times lamented that the Baby Boomers behaved as the Worst Generation sans dignity and decorum for decades.

Nevertheless, adjacent to the nation’s trials and tribulations, life happily happened one monumental moment while making hefty college plans to study at Cornell University.

An opportunity arose Through Unknown Doors that resulted in my first enthralling foreign travels. At seventeen, I embarked on my inaugural adventure to partake in an exhilarating summer program to study history and culture that traversed several Western European countries. It was an extraordinary life revelation and a watershed moment that emphatically influenced an aspiring young adult journey and thereby the rest of my life.

A step back, at a tender thirteen, I was struck by a car erroneously careening down a sidewalk, after attending a high school football game in neighboring state Massachusetts. The egregious episode ended with a modest $1,000 compensation that today would translate to a million… but neither the point nor important. In the interim, the injury stopped sports and other enjoyable physical activities for a year while dealing with daily therapy to move normally again. Consequently, reading became a primary pastime that deepened my fascination for history and culture, especially American/European and their intertwined connection. Plus, a positive aftermath from the miserable mishap meant available funds for that future European summer. As I was legally still a minor, my parents petitioned the court to finance my own trip. That painful youthful episode of an excruciating New York Minute accident forever changed my destiny four years later. At that pivotal movement I read Robert Frost poetry and my favorite verse The Road Not Taken again and again to quell any anxiousness that may interfere with my first international adventure. Meanwhile, the political world remained embroiled in the Cold War/Iron Curtain divide as my generation continued to fuel the counter-cultural, trans-continental revolution movement.

The robust American Foreign Studies itinerary Summer 1969 focused on five culturally diverse European countries during the comprehensive 7-week program: Italy, Germany, France, the Netherlands and England. The traveling troupe was comprised of circa 100 American high school seniors and recent graduates from coast to coast. We easily connected during that first plane trip, while creating friendly clusters with common interests. My closest companion was a lanky laid-back peer named Bill, recently accepted at my beloved Cornell and my 10-year academic goal. We first met while flying across the Atlantic, leisurely chatted, and I rather liked this handsome, intelligent young man. We were constantly together for the entire summer semester, as we bonded and became a steady couple, youth style.

Our touch-down destination was intoxicating Italy where we excitedly explored its Roman and Christian civilizations. In Rome, we were enthralled by the grandeur of the ancient sites and architectural giants while residing in my first student hostel operated by strict nuns. Raised a Protestant, we introspectively prayed while taught to be responsible for our actions quite young. So, I was certainly not accustomed to unison prayer at breakfast and to partake in multiple manifestations of Catholicism – much a mystery for a young Congregationalist. Mornings, we attended expert lectures, afternoons embarked on adventuresome excursions to the same sites presented earlier in the day, and evenings enjoyed cultural activities, interspersed with an occasional reprieve to explore independently within limited parameters.

Although most of us pulsated with exuberance and energy, we were still a well-behaved group and respected the reasonable regulations, with rare exceptions. My fondest memories included tours of the Vatican, the Coliseum and a mesmerizing evening at enchanting Trevi Fountain that was a sweet scene for a comedy movie. While visiting the Coliseum Wonder of the World, I innocently pocketed a loose red clay rock as a personal keepsake. Months later, I remorsefully regretted the act and lamented, if every tourist “took” a piece of the “Wonder”, after 50 years of “plunder” the Coliseum may no longer exist as we knew it. I still have my treasure in my new American home, a half century later but plan to return the clay rock to its rightful place, one day.

As American students, we were ambitious, aspiring young leaders, in retrospect, seeking to develop our own identity beyond the USA and bonded through those common goals.

After nine glorious days exploring intriguing Italy, we also solidified amenable group relations, in contrast to the demonic demonstrations in the USA, a world away, with no Internet and social media to tether us – and actually quite fortunate. I do not recall any real contention, certainly no conflict, among the students the entire time while engaging harmoniously together. It was illuminating to be with those peers while embracing our mutual passions for history and culture in that coveted atmosphere at the height of our youth. Eventually, I realized my role as the only New England representative and secretly welcomed the anonymity and autonomy that were catalysts towards my emerging young adult independence. In retrospect, I felt free to be me and to undertake adventure as a risk taker while still within the realm of a perceived right and wrong mind set.

Finished with fascinating Italy, we eagerly departed by train for an 18 - hour trip through the colorful Italian countryside and mountainous Austrian terrain, to arrive in beautiful Bavaria the next morning. Although Europe had no open borders, our country crossings always smoothly proceeded. I also observed that the pleasant response to our group was connected to the impeccable reputation of the American Foreign Studies leaders and students. We were constantly instructed to be especially courteous towards the border guards as well as other authorities interacting with us, that became an invaluable lesson that I continue to practice five decades later.

Finally, we arrived in my fairytale land since three years old, and my first impressions immediately affirmed my love affair with Deutschland forever. We resided in the picture-perfect medieval town called Dinkelsbuehl with its cobble streets, copious little shops and cozy restaurants, surrounded by the original fortress walls and gateways to the outer world. We were the first American students to be hosted by private residents and were responsible to establish a positive impression for future student groups to be welcomed. I took this earnest task to heart, even learned to sprinkle a little German vocabulary in my quest to communicate to make a positive difference in the era of the Ugly American Tourist. My hosts did not speak English, but we managed to converse through my limited German phrases supplemented with expressive non-verbal language. My early efforts, as a foreign guest, were appreciated by the host family, so, it became my signature approach toward all foreigners, as an aspiring young adult leader. Those early European experiences and lessons learned were both vehicles to direct my imminent global journey.

My three roommates and I were quartered under the eves of our “Hansel/Gretel” fairytale house, and we slept under fluffy feather bedding that deflected the night chill. We discovered the Bavarian cuisine was wholesome and hardy and started each morning with freshly baked “Brotchen” generously smeared with Leberwurst, homemade jams combined with ample cheese and schinken platters. Afternoons, we indulged in the traditional Kaffee/Kuchen hour at precisely 3 PM, with mountains of “Sahne” (whipped cream) to top the delicious desserts. Evenings, we dined in the local “Stuben” (taverns), and my favorite meal became “Zwiebelrostbraten”, a must dish when in southern Deutschland. Consequently, I gained 10 lbs. in those two weeks, and for one brief moment, did not care what the scale said!

We gladly adhered to the daily routine: morning classes, study afternoon excursions, with ample free-time evenings, especially since our enjoyable German environment was deepsafe compared to the cosmopolitan night life of the labyrinth streets of Rome intrigue. We also undertook several day trips to historical destinations of significant consequence. Of course, Neuschwanstein, the fairytale castle of the Bavarian King “Mad” Ludwig II, was the pinnacle of architecturally cultural beauty and perfection. Then, our marvelous day in Munich was so memorable, it remains my favorite German city, that I have frequently visited, since 2010. The countryside was a vision of majestically rolling meadows, pristinely organized farmlands, and the breathtaking Bavarian Woods dazzled with its beautiful villages, brimming with amazing artisans and their creative handcrafts found in the charming markets. In one of the homey hamlets, I purchased my first darling dirndl, one of several in years to come. Still, I affectionately wore my “red” original to a recent summer fest near my German country home in the Swabian Alps; the traditional, quality attire proved timeless and designed to last a lifetime. Southern Germany became the beacon of my destiny, affirmed at 17, for eternity! Consequently, it was so difficult to depart Deutschland, for I could not imagine the other countries could begin to compare to my beloved fairytale settings. Therefore, I was resolutely determined to return to delightful Dinkelsbuehl, one future day, that actually occurred just seven years later.

Mid-July, my study continued our travels to France, a nation still harboring love/hate relations towards the USA, that we immediately witnessed and experienced in contrast to hospitable Bavaria. We reverted to humble hostel living in Paris, amidst extreme contention in the purported city of love. The French were embroiled in their own explosive counter-cultural revolution, that we encountered among the many thousand boisterous protestors on July 14th, Bastille Day, their national holiday. We attempted to attend their traditionally regal military parade down the preeminent Champs Elysees. However, the unruly crowds became dangerous with their deafening chants for Civil Liberate. We were confronted with caustic remarks and contempt as Americans, much to my mounting consternation, for we arrived as unofficial young diplomats seeking positively to represent the USA. Their distasteful rebuke was rather insulting and repulsive, so, I stood my ground with Yankee pride to counter the disrespect expressed towards my country. My peers were astonished at my challenging remarks that were simply truthful, not hurtful, as I asserted my NH Live Fee or Die motto in feisty exchanges and retorted they were not the only ones allowed to voice their rhetoric.

While the USA traversed the troubling 1960s era, I neither engaged nor embroiled in violent movement episodes during my youth. Therefore, the first French impressions, especially in Paris, proved less than positive, as an enthusiastic teenager, learning the art of positive inter-cultural communication. It was a sobering moment that underscored the still fractured relations between France and the USA. For my father, the animosity against our country was duly distressing, as he was part of the French liberation – starting with D-Day crossing to Normandy and across the country till the French were freed from tyranny. So, the then French behavior felt thankless and reckless to the heroic response of those military achievements 25 years hence.

Moreover, although we resided in a culture famous for its culinary cuisine, such refined dining was certainly prohibitive for the program budget. We ate rather meager meals and walked endless kilometers, as the public transportation workers were on strike in their counter-culture fight. The “Liebespek” (love bacon fat in German) gained in Deutschland rapidly vanished in the sweltering summer heat of the legendary City of Love. However, that summer, it did not radiate with its reputation at all towards us. Still, we were in awe of the grandeur of the regal city steeped in its own revolutionary history, as we strolled down elegant boulevards and discovered tucked away treasures in the little winding side streets.

Due to the tumultuous civil unrest, our activities were curtailed as a result. However, we did manage to visit the Louvre and view the mystique of the Mona Lisa; to tour the famed Notre Dame, now in monumental restoration after the recent fire; and to go to the top of the Eiffel Tower and its spectacular view. Surely, we visited other historical sites, I no longer recall, but for our one special excursion to Versailles, half an hour away and instantly recognized its influence on Neuschwanstein back in Bavaria. The curbed experiences still left lasting impressions of the breadth and depth of French history and culture, if not feeling particularly welcome, safe or secure amidst the revolutionary uproar of Summer 1969. Meanwhile, in the USA, San Francisco became the destination for “Love Ins”, while rock and roll musicians prepared for legendary Woodstock in Upstate New York. Still, I remained disconnected to both events that felt so remote, whereby they had a watershed impact on my generation back home. The disparate events of Summer 1969 resulted in my rare connection to the Baby Boomer Era, until recent years with peers who also view life through global - dimension prisms.

Following a week of rather unfriendly encounters, we were ready to depart for the fourth destination - The Netherlands. After a several - hour bus trip, we entered a significantly calmer environment. That time we stayed in quaint countryside quarters in a pretty provincial town called Apeldoorn in the province of Holland. The temperatures were considerably cooler, that were welcomed after the stifling Paris conditions. Each country contributed memorable accounts for our journals, and The Netherlands proved no exception. In Amsterdam, we marveled at the city’s infrastructure of pedestrian bridge crossings over the intricate waterways filled with a vast variety of transportation means. We were equally impressed by the bustling bicycle system employed by all generations. We visited numerous museums featuring the great Renaissance artists that inspired me to take art history courses in college. On the banks of the busy canals, I swallowed raw eel on a dare – one time – and never again. We enjoyed an all-day excursion to The Hague, the governmental center, and home to the UN International Court of Justice. Our visit was a reminder of the childhood tour at UN Main Headquarters in New York, as I started to connect the worldwide divisions of the United Nations.

Another day, we traveled to the lush-green mid-lands to visit their marvelous cheese makers and the precious Delft porcelain factory, both traditions culturally ensconced in the country for centuries. They exuded subtle pride in their crafts, similar to elements of New England behavior. As sea voyageurs at the peak of discovering the Western Hemisphere, the Dutch culture influenced the early American settlements, still prevalent in pockets of the Northeast. Indeed, New York City was originally called New Amsterdam until the British strong-hold assumed control of the then colonies in the 18th Century and changed the name to fabled New York.

Just before our next departure, we witnessed world history in the making that occurred above planet earth! From our cozy living quarters, we watched the landing of the moon on an antiquated black and white television as we tightly gathered together in the middle of the night. We were spellbound by the once unthinkable achievement at pre-dawn, that starry northern night, July 20th, 1969. Ecstatically, we danced on the tree-lined, quiet street, freely celebrating as proud Americans. The compassionate neighbors stoically observed our exuberance, and responded with friendly waves and warm smiles. We had witnessed an historical happening, and for a few days, a fleeting feeling of national unity superseded the strife-ridden American society since the early 1960s. The western world cordially congratulated our extraordinary space achievement, the dream of President Kennedy since the start of his administration, preceding his riveting assassination, November 22, 1963.

Shortly thereafter, the group packed for the final stop of our five-country journey: England, my dominant heritage, having been raised in New England, as the name indicates.

It felt thrilling to cross the same English Channel that my father traversed on D-Day, exactly 25 years later. The morning started with typically gray skies and choppy waters for the several-hour trip, decades before the tunnel connecting England and France was constructed. We finally arrived at the famed Cliffs of Dover, boarded buses for the short distance to the last residential location at the University of Surrey. In the acclaimed academic setting, we stayed in amenable student dorms, dined in the cafeteria, sat for sessions in classical lecture halls, and all the amenities contributed to a comfortable student environment.

England was truly “everything” that travel books poignantly portray, and we spent most days visiting the special sites in and around London that provided such insight to the majesty of their culture and history. Their thousand-year royal heritage and constitutional monarchy for centuries silhouetted the city. Throughout London, fragrant floral parks were perfectly manicured featuring their hallmark vast variety of roses. In New Hampshire, the summer season was so short and the earth so rocky, the conditions did not warrant much attention for flowers and gardening. It was enchanting to stroll through the romantic pathways, designed for pedestrians to enjoy the colorful beauty and to protect the architectural intricacy of each park’s floral paradise presentation.

My ultimate adventure revolved around a clandestine personal quest that derived from a Yankee whim at home that spring. Born in Manchester, New Hampshire, Manchester, England was our sister city, and I was intent to visit our counterpart, although not a place to visit on our agenda. With the innocence of youth, I penned a hand-written note on stationary decorated with a coy little kitty holding a red rose in its mouth to their Lord Mayor and his city of millions. I was totally oblivious that he was one of the most powerful political leaders in Great Britain.

In my most mannered English articulation, I kindly requested a visit to present the key from my Manchester hometown of a mere 100,000 in retrospective comparison. My family knew our mayor, and he graciously gave me our city key with amusement, while sending well wishes to the Lord Mayor if I would meet him per chance. It was my inaugural attempt to be a global diplomat to extend good-will wishes between our sister cities. However, there was no response from the Lord Mayor’s office for months, till my arrival in England. The long silence was disappointing and often wondered throughout the summer if the meeting would ever occur. So, I was so relieved and naively pleased to be contacted by his office while at the University of Surrey. It came as an invitation to a tea-time meeting at the Lord Mayor’s office August 1st, shortly before our return to Boston.

It was indeed a rare opportunity and my first encounter in which adventure and passion superseded my usual adherence to law and regulation. I was about to break the most important student rule of the American Foreign study stipulations. We were absolutely forbidden to detour from the group to travel on our own, without strict written permission supported by proper credentials to be presented to our overseers.

Regardless, I tossed reason to the wind, adorned my Sunday best white suit, and securely tucked the treasured Manchester city key, together with a little camera, into my little purse. With my last few pounds, I purchased the train ticket to Manchester, telling nobody, but my boyfriend, Bill, about my secret mission to the Lord Mayor. He frowned upon the daring antics but promised his allegiance, after he witnessed my resolute look that allowed no room for discussion. Of course, I fervently hoped that my day-long disappearance would not be detected amidst the 100 students, and my intent was unassumingly to return just as deftly for dinner mid-evening with the rest.

Coincidentally and then again perhaps not -- I rather recently pondered — while boarding an enormous train, a formidably dignified British gentleman approached, eloquently querying the purpose of my trip. As a trusting teenager, I shared my secret mission to visit the Lord Mayor and prayed for no trouble upon my return at the end of the day. With merriment twinkling in his kind eyes, he warmly responded that the Lord Mayor was his friend, and upon arrival in Manchester, he would gladly drive me to the palace. Grateful, I innocently agreed as he boarded a first class wagon with such elegant grace, as I entered second class in a bewildered state. I suppressed tinges of panic as the massive industrial city came into view and appeared overwhelming at first. True to his word, the “gentleman” escorted me to his Rolls Royce with his waiting chauffeur donned in white gloves, and off we went to the palace gates. My eloquent escort whispered a few words to the guard, and I was whisked into the hallowed halls of the Lord Mayor’s residence for high tea at three. I started trembling as he appeared attired so regally in tails, then most cordially greeted me to calm my nerves. His secretary briefed me moments before his entry that he had postponed his summer holidays just to host the meeting personally, as I glimpsed at my little letter sent months before, placed on his desk, suddenly feeling mortified by my naïve communication to this worldly leader.