Not giving up on myself. As a gay black man things are, at times, more difficult.

Pulling Sandra.

Raising awareness of ethical and environmental issues in the clothing industry. I think I was the original whistleblower within fashion.

Creating jobs and opportunities for thousands of people.

Dying just a millisecond before I was about to say something I really wanted the people I love to hear.

I would love to have a good memory. I’m at an age when remembering something right away is as good as an orgasm.

I’m walking down a street in New York, the sun is shining, I’m on my way to see friends who are chosen family—and I’ve just written a couple of pages that I like.

Being a salesgirl in a baby shop where the others said things like, “He’s Jewish, but she’s American.” Also, after college, being a waitress in London, and trying to make change in the old money of shillings and pence.

Sometimes when I’m on a plane, as I often am, the weather is rough and we’re worried about going down. I think: If I hold the hand of the person next to me, I’ll be holding everyone’s hand. Like my dear friend, the late Wilma Mankiller, principal chief of the Cherokee Nation, I want to know: I’m going to the other side of the mountain.

Feeling you want someone else’s welfare as much and sometimes more than your own.