R.B. O'Brien's Blog, page 3

Magical Moments Can Still Happen... if we believe.

Do you remember when you were little, and you’d look up at the clouds and wonder how they were moving? Or thought they were fluffy places to go sleep like pillows of cotton? Or even looked up and saw something in them, an animal or a face? The white against the blue skies so beautiful, you knew it even really young that there was something inexplicable about the way it looked. You knew beauty. It awed you. It felt a lot like the ocean flipped upside down, instead, above you, like a mirror image, and even very young, you felt those feelings of peace and tranquility in just the colors.

Now, it seems, we’re more interested in our laptops or phones or taking the next best picture of the clouds to share with our social media friends instead of just looking up at them and marveling or stopping to breath them in, to place a blanket down on the ground and stay still on our backs, eyes gazing into the nothingness or perhaps some great somethingness, taking comfort in knowing that while we DO know why those clouds are moving now, there’s still something magical about it.

Today was one such day. Those clouds against a picture-perfect blue sky where the clouds were effortlessly rolling by without a care. And so, I took a bit of time to enjoy them. Driving, I pulled over into a park, and just sat. Phone off. No laptop. No taking a pic to post to show everyone, and I felt like a kid without a care in the world for a few moments. No worries but the moment in front of me, like the clouds themselves.

Fall does that anyway. That crisp air, not too cold, not too hot, but just right, the smell of youth and new beginnings. And I could feel the tears before they came, the bottled-up emotions of stress and lack of time and the constant: I must. I must. I must do. But I don’t. I don’t HAVE to do. And lately, I’ve been realizing just that. We have a whole world going on with or without us. The clouds are still going to move whether I make a post on Facebook or send out a tweet or sell books or worry about people doing what they say they will do. The clouds, however, will be constant. And the sky. And the sun setting and rising. And the musts. So I decided, I’m going to embrace the mustn’t.
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And I swear, I saw a rocking horse in one of the clouds as I was packing up to leave. But you’ll get no proof from me. Nope. I’m afraid you’re just going to have to believe me…that magical moments can still happen – if we take the time to make them.

Do You Become Attached to Things?

Are you a pack-rat? Do you save everything and then some? Today I ponder the fact that I move on quite easily when it comes to “things.” Course I have some regrets about that, but I’m a minimalist when it comes to organization, especially in my house or office.

The problem is—I don’t CLEAN enough and that’s the issue. When it comes time to go through things, I’m so overwhelmed, I simply throw everything out, but a few things that I know I MUST keep. I even find myself throwing pennies in the trash! Worthless, heavy coin! Why we still have it, I’ll never know! But that is another topic for another day. I also clear things out of my electronics as well. Emails. Messages. Pics. But same. I end up getting so overwhelmed when I read that my email box is full, I end up losing valuable things. I’m working towards balance when it comes to this.

This probably surprises you, for those who know me well and how emotional I am. But I’ve realized, I don’t get all that attached to “things.”

When I moved at 13, I cried, thinking I was giving up my childhood memories. I didn’t care after a day. When I got rid of my first car, my beloved first car that saw things it shouldn’t have, I was so emotionally distraught, until I got a much better car. It wasn’t about the car. It was about the freedom. And when I got a kindle and donated many of my books, so many books because I moved and the packing was insurmountable, I heard a voice inside my head whispering: “You will regret this. Yes you will.” But…yup. I didn’t. I read more now, and well, you’ve read my environmental posts. It’s not to say I don’t keep some things. I do! I have essays and plays and poems I STILL have from former students. And letters. Some cards. My dad's eulogy. I even saved some old Avon perfume pins handed down to me from my great aunt. Those are a hoot! A few American girl dolls. Duh. Of course. Who hasn't? I did throw out my Barbies though. Do I regret that? Maybe a little. :) But you see, I didn’t give up ALL of it, just the “stuff” I no longer felt I needed. I really wasn't that attached. But most recently, when I gave up my summer family cabin, I didn’t think I’d be able to survive a summer without the lake and the dock and campfires and everything else I lived with since I can remember, the peace and serenity I often found there. But alas, it was sort of nice not to worry about driving there, about who might be there, about maintenance, about the loud fireworks. I simply moved on. Replaced it with other things that brought me equal parts peace and emotion. And that realization is bittersweet. Things weigh us down, tie us to the past too much like a chain, and we're not living in the moment. We can’t grow if we hold on too tight and become so attached to things that we become immobile. I suppose that is life. A constant moving on. It’s not the things. It’s the emotions. It’s the feelings. There is beauty in so much right in front of us every day, if we just notice. And I’ll have those things with me always in the now and as memories. For really, everything takes place in our mind anyway.

​My deduction is simple: If I don’t remember it, it wasn’t important. And IF I can’t remember it someday, so be that too. I won’t know!
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But people? People I love…now that. That is another story. Maybe someday I’ll learn how to become less attached.

Are Hunches Just Paranoia?

I have written ad nauseam about intuition and my love/hate relationship with it. I like to think it’s not my intuition that rules my actions or thoughts but my background in research. If I follow the crumbs, they lead to the bread from whence it came. But what is it that started you on the trail in the first place? What makes the crumbs so readily available to me or you or anyone else? Why are we looking for them? For more times than not, they’re not there without our pursuit.

Sometimes we call it a hunch. But again, those “hunches” come from previous experiences we’ve had, right? And oftentimes, it’s the people who burn us or betray us or let us down that stick. For all the love we may have or had, all the loyal friendships, all the good reaped upon us always seems to be overshadowed by the bad. That one experience of broken trust, for instance, is the one experience that makes us cautious, tip-toe into another relationship, slow down our chance at trust. And if it happens more than once? Well, it’s easier to think anything good will soon turn sour. Given the right amount of time, most people disappoint us.
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I don’t like thinking this way. But call it what you will—a hunch, past experiences, intuition, common sense—if we ignore the crumbs, we’ll fooling ourselves. How many times have all the signs added up and we’ve tried to explain them away, not daring or wanting to believe them? Going to that extreme isn’t good. That is a live-with-your-head-in-the-sand kind of existence. No one wants to live the buffoon. But what if you’re the opposite? What if your lack of trust is so strong, you often go searching for the crumbs, crumbs that may not even be there? A sort of paranoia? Again, an extreme. Both lead to a sense of out-of-control mania, even obsession. Blind trust vs. no trust? Both, in my opinion, are bad. And many of us fall into one camp or the other. The thing is, when you don’t trust, and you start looking, and you start to see something, then what? What if a friend sees it for you? Or vice versa, you see it for a friend? What then? Communicate? Go straight to the person? Ask them? Well, sure, you could…except if you’re this kind of person, you won’t trust their answer anyway, and search will continue, the pursuit ever stronger. And sometimes (okay, who am I kidding—OFTENTIMES), I’ve found myself to be this kind of person. I follow. I research. And when and if I find the conclusive evidence, then I communicate. Or perhaps you may call it confront. I wait. Then watch them lie. Then I’m done. Because I know.
I’m not happy that life has been a series of events or people or experiences that have molded me to be this way. I’m working on it. Being in healthy relationships helps. But I’ll be damned if I’m the last one to know that I’m being fooled.

And even writing this, it feels like a pride thing, maybe even that paranoia. “No one is going to pull the wool over my eyes. No sir-ee!” Or--"Ha! I knew it! Caught you, ya bastard!"

Perhaps the real answer is to get to a place where you love yourself enough to love others fully and with trust. Because really, it says more about you than it does about them when you’re always looking for disaster or dishonesty. Life will be a series of disappointments. People lie. And it won’t be the last time they lie to you.

​The question is: Do you think that is reason enough to never open yourself up to another human being? Maybe. Maybe not. So that is why loving yourself makes it all worthwhile, doesn’t it? For if you must say goodbye to someone you love, you’re never alone. ​

Are We Screwed? Six Things We Can Do for the Environment

I have a friend who tells me I'm being silly, neurotic, over-the-top when it comes to "saving" the environment, that we are too far gone, that it's hopeless. I don't necessarily disagree with him. Things are pretty dire. Pretty bleak. But to simply NOT do anything is crazy to me. Is it to you? I have visited a recycling facility first-hand and learned a lot about what can and cannot be recycled for starters. You should too. I refuse to simply do nothing...in a few years, who knows what may be discovered, what inventions scientists and environmentalists may unlock. In the mean-time, besides recycling, and all the things we know--shut off the water when brushing your teeth, don't leave on lights, don't linger in the shower for 100 minutes, STOP drinking bottled water FFS (fill up reusable water bottles anywhere filtered water is (I'm fortunate my school has them everywhere) ), grow some of your own food--what else can we do? What else do I do? Lots. But here are some REALLY easy things MOST of us can do:

1. Use reusuable STUFF whenever possible. Glass containers vs. plastic bags, reusuable cups or mugs vs. plastic or styrofoam, and reusable straws vs. plastic ones for example. I have silicone ones, and Starbucks even has a reusuable cup with said draw for refills. Dunkin' Donuts will be banning them soon. Places are banning them everywhere. I wouldn't be surprised if they're outlawed completely soon. Some are even switching to paper straws that decompose naturally. Visit  OUR LAST STRAW for more details.  DON'T use plastic bags. They can't be recycled! And if something can fit easily in a purse or a pocket, don't get a bag! I have a huge purse. If I buy small items, there they go. Bring recyclable bags to the grocery store. You don't need plastic bags! For anything anymore. Come on, people! If your receipt can be sent electronically do that too while you're at it while shopping.

2. Get big organizations, hospitals, schools, etc. to make it easier for people to recycle. Make signs. Ask for cafeterias and such to go back to old-school trays. Make a stink. Make it a priority. And TELL people. Spread the word. 

3. If you drive, walk. If you can, take public transportation. If you can ride a bike, do it. If you must drive, get a hybrid, or even better, a fully-electric car as I did. You think it's expensive? Check in with your gov't and see if there are any reimbursements still available. I got huge ones. And think of all the gas you'll be saving. But at the very least, CAR POOL!

4. Don't print if you don't have to--now this one is controversial, especially with book lovers, myself included. But first of all, LIBRARIES DO STILL EXIST! And I realize we haven't quite figured out what we're going to do with our electronics...but Amazon has the right idea. Print only what people buy for books...so I can dig that, and do, and reading is important any way you slice it! How else do we get Paper Cuts right? WINK. WINK. (Insert shameless plug. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you probably shouldn't be reading this.) ​ As I said, we haven't figured this all out regarding electronics, how to dispose of them, etc. So this isn't perfect, but Kindles, Nooks, laptops, etc., do save the trees. Never mind germs! I've gone to almost fully paperless classrooms. And for Pete's sake, stop printing needless things that don't get read! And NO COLOR or tissue paper. These things can't be recycled. They are unnecessary. Use your imagination the next time your gift-wrapping.

5. If you can, get solar panels. They're not as expensive you think. Check with your government. Do research. And you'll see. Never mind the money you'll save down the road. Just be sure the place you must "pay your bills" also uses CLEAN electricity and not "dirty" coal. Another thing, if you can afford it, insulate your home. 

​6. Finally, don't buy from places that don't give a rat's ass about these things. We have choices. Make good ones. 
Okay. I'll get off my soapbox now. I'm sure this is old news to some of you...but just in case you're one of the nay-sayers, like my friend, you're welcome. :) ​

Why Overcoming Fear Is A Personal Matter

What do you fear? And what do you do with that? Do you hide? Bury it? Or do you tackle it, head-on? Have you grown in this regard or do you fall back on old habits? I’m a work in progress. And fear isn’t going anywhere any time soon. But it’s not a guiding force in my life anymore. Steps, even baby ones, are better than no steps.

People often tell us to face our fears in order to get over them. But sometimes, fear needn’t be faced. Sometimes it’s okay to simply remove yourself from situations or even people. If something or the idea of something is causing you so much anxiety, why do it? How does that help? Many say that you’ll never get over it if you don’t. But again, I disagree, even some psychologists have discovered this. It can often lead to worse fears, deeper anxieties, even withdrawal or reclusive behaviors. So, for me, it’s important to face things that I must overcome in order to find happiness and balance, to find myself and who I want to be, and what I want to accomplish. Sometimes, even, it’s timing.

I recently had an opportunity to take a trip somewhere I’d never been. It didn’t feel right. I can’t put my finger on why, it just didn’t. And ignoring it wasn’t helping. I was, quite literally, waking in the middle of the night, finding it hard to breathe. “You’ll be fine.” “Just do it.” “You’ll regret it if you don’t.” “These opportunities don’t present themselves but rarely.” Perhaps all of these replies are true. Perhaps I won’t have this opportunity again. But after careful thought, I realized I do and will have ample opportunities.

There comes a time in our lives where we must accept who we are not versions of who we WISH we were or how others want us to be. Certain things don’t thrill me. But instead, make me uncomfortable. Ignoring those feelings and emotions seem downright counter-intuitive to me. Was I going on this trip to please others? Prove to others that I can overcome my fears? Or was I contemplating going because I wanted to improve myself, grow, and overcome unfounded emotions of fear?
If I really listened to myself, it was the former. I had no desire to tackle this on my own behalf but instead, to “prove” something. That’s not overcoming a fear. That’s worrying, again, about what other people think or expect from me. So, in essence, by bowing out and deciding not to go, I actually conquered something else far more important in the process: Letting go of the fear of disappointing others. I’m done with that. After I decided not to go, I could finally sleep again, and I could finally begin thinking about what I wanted from my own life, not the life others saw of me. Instead, though, I did tackle a smaller, more manageable fear. I rode The Hulk in Orlando. And that was a small baby step for me. Living in the moment for a change. Hopping in that line. Waiting an hour. Cruising down the twists and turns. Facing the truth that I don’t fear death either. What I really fear is not living for myself but living for others, living for the future and not the present, living, then, not really at all, but waiting...waiting for others to decide my fate. So, however superficial it may seem on the surface, that ride was a metaphor for where I am in my life. I’ll face what I want, when I want, and when I think it benefits myself not because it might impress someone else. Selfish? No. Progress. That ride a silly metaphor, you say? Not for me. And I don’t care if you do think it’s silly, remember? Because… I’ve overcome that fear. It's time I wrote my own story. And I won't fear what others have to say about it. My pencil. My eraser. My life. My fears. My story. :) And yes, I'm still more than a little scared...

Homelessness. We Must Do Better

Do you ever feel like you don't exist? Like you don't matter? It hurts, doesn't it? 

Today, I share my thoughts from a few recent trips I took and an event that happened. As I traipsed the city of Minneapolis a few weeks ago, going out to different parts, exploring as I often do, the scooter my best friend, I realized how the United States has failed and continues to fail on the issue of homelessness. Some cities seem to hide it better than others, painting a false perception with a simple police baton, or some, like Portland, go in the opposite direction, even embracing it as a separate subculture. It's no secret we have a serious issue here, so I won't bore you on what we already know. That we need change. That we need more social programs. That we need governments who make it a priority. That we NEED. But in NYC a couple weeks ago, the problem was even more prominent. And I still wake up some nights with that sinking feeling that we must to do better.
In a park one morning, sipping my too-expensive coffee, I noticed a cluster of people surrounding somebody. Of course, I tried not to stare, and of course, curiosity got the better of me. How appropriate as it centered around a cat. A woman sat with her cat curled in her lap on a hot and smoggy day, and people gathered to give her some money, some lingering, some simply dropping coins in a can by the sign that read: Please help me feed my cat. 

After a couple days in the city, you become a bit desensitized to homelessness. The first day, you find yourself giving money, smiling, doing anything to try to be...well...human. And as time goes by, you just don't know what to do. I'm not proud of this. I'm just being completely honest. We start to ignore it. We stop making eye contact. We have little voices inside our heads that say --"What will they do with the money?"--or "Jesus, not again?" As more time goes on, you just ignore it. We walk by. We try to pretend we didn't see. But we see it, damn it. And we can say or hear or make every excuse in the book, but we are suddenly looking at the homeless as a thing and not a person. As a problem and not a worthy living individual. As if this PERSON doesn't even exist. Why? How does that happen? But this woman wasn't being ignored. Instead, people cared. They cared, not about her, but about her cat. That was the sticking point. I heard murmurs: 'OMG. That poor cat.' And yup, stupid me, I started to cry. Maybe I was exhausted. Maybe I was hormonal. But the point is, no one cared about her. She wasn't important. But her cat? Her cat was important.

And the hardest part of all this reflection is that while food and hunger and shelter and all that is vital, it's the emotional part that keeps us living. I know. I have a dog that wasn't supposed to live through a week and with love and care, is going on 14! And I also know first-hand what being ignored feels like. It's awful. It kills self esteem. It can make us have moments of the darkness of feelings, of self-loathing. Imagine that feeling every day? Now imagine that feeling times 50 or 100 or 1000. Imagine being ignored by EVERYONE. Every. Single. Day. 

Yes, America. We MUST to do better. ​

Hamilton Is the Power of Language

The lights, the sounds, the food and cultures, the wealth, the grit--New York is like no place on Earth. I haven't been everywhere, and likely never will of course, but I've traveled enough in and out of the country to know. I once wrote in a novel of mine that people always say big cities aren't friendly. I think the opposite is true. I think it's the friendliest place to be. Where can you find yourself eating the largest piece of five-layer chocolate cake at midnight, followed by the thickest slice of pizza right after and watch life as if it were midday? That's what New York is: Alive. Throw in seeing the hottest musical of our day, and you know you're alive. You know you're seeing history being made. You know you're a part of it. You know, unequivocally, that America is changing. That the face of America and what is means to be American is changing. Has changed. Will be changed forever. That I, too, am changed. That's what Hamilton made me feel. 

God damn! Where to begin. Let's just start with the music. The hip-hop story-telling of something we've only looked at through dry and boring textbooks suddenly became the most poignant story ever told. To remember what speech and writing could once REALLY do. How one person with so much passion and drive could do. What thinking could do. Follow-through. Persistence. Without such people, nothing changes. Without such people who knows what this country would have been, if anything. It's fascinating to think about that.

And it's also fascinating to think about the person who created it too, here and now, a story so long ago, filled with all the poignancy of today. Lin-Manuel Miranda's gift of writing! His gift of the written word! The blending of cultures and story-tellers, America has a new face. And it's both recognizable and unrecognizable at once. Oh! How exciting. This musical, then, to me, is all about writing, and the effect the power of words can have, then, now, always.

​What struck me most as a writer myself, and of course a romantic, watching Hamilton was Hamilton, himself, as a writer. He used words to incite change, every time. Essays, of course, speeches and discourse, of course, but the love letters. Damn. Those love letters to women. In a digital age world, we often hear people mourn the loss of letter writing, but we still have it. It's still so important. We write letters to one another every day in emails, texts, and messages. It's no different when someone writes us poetry or words or lines or paragraphs--they're letters. Isn't how we still fall in love with someone so often? Through their words? Love is attraction through language. It's cerebral. It's always been that way.   Eliza's song states:

I saved every letter you wrote me
From the moment I read them
I knew you were mine
You said you were mine
I thought you were mine

Do you know what Angelica said when we saw your first letter arrive?
She said:
"Be careful with that one, love
He will do what it takes to survive"

You and your words flooded my senses
Your sentences left me defenseless
You built me palaces out of paragraphs

And there I sat, thinking about all the love "letters" I've gotten, have gotten, will get, and each time I want to give up writing, I realize, without writing, without the construct and beauty of words, we are nothing. Even when we fall. Even when we sin. Even when we love more than one person at the same time. Even when our hearts are broken.

We can use words in any way we choose, but when we use them for the ultimate, to love, when someone knows how to write, and write well, we are convinced they are special. We are convinced that we are special, because they've made us so through language. It's what Shakespeare meant when he wrote:  Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.

Everything about Hamilton is about language and words and their power. And I'm powerless now but to be changed forever. ​​

Sunrise. Sunset.

It's funny. My dad always loved that song from Fiddler on the Roof, maybe one of the earliest memories I have of musicals, a love of mine. And though I often hear people talk about the sunset and all its beauty, I rarely hear people talk about the sunrise. So today, I want to talk about the sunrise, something I haven't witnessed in a very long time. 

When I was younger and camping with my family, my dad loved to wake us up wherever we were to see the sunrise. He'd poke my brother and me, and we'd begrudgingly crawl out from under the warmth of our sleeping bags, remove the pillows from our faces that blocked the very sun we were about to revere, and either walk, or scramble into the car, to go see the sunrise at some ungodly hour before 6 am. As I grew into a teenager, I often "passed," my dad going it alone, decreeing: You only live once.

After he passed, I often warmed at the thought of all those years ago, the thermos held tightly in my tiny hands full of the coffee he'd make I couldn't drink but loved to smell like I loved to smell his Old Spice. And this morning, I felt myself right back there. I set my alarm, something I loathe to do, made some coffee, poured it into a thermos, and went and sat on the beach to watch the sun rise. I could marvel and describe to you the colors and how the horizon met ocean and sky, that moment of grace where I know I'm important and not at the same time, a moment where I toasted my freedom on the 4th of July, and the inexplicable awe of nature. But instead, it was the smell of that coffee mixed in the with sea that I noticed more than anything, and I swore I saw my dad's smile in the clouds, a smile so infectious, anyone who met him talked about it. Before I knew it, the tears soaked my face, but they weren't sad tears. They were profound tears. I was sitting on that beach because I could, because my parents gave me a life that set me up to where I am now, a life where both my parents, but especially my dad, had made great sacrifices.

When I sat there, I knew I wouldn't be seeing a rainbow I often associate with my dad, given the weather, and yet, I kept looking anyway, because in that moment, I knew, though I am agnostic, there are greater things at work I'll never understand, like why my dad was taken from me so young. And even if scientifically there couldn't possibly be a rainbow, the possibility of it still existed. We don't have answers to everything. We never will. But my dad was right: You only live once. And so, I do, living freely, able to have the luxury to set an alarm if I choose to go see the sun rise with my dad. 

The Journey of Writing Poetry: PAPER CUTS

​Paper Cuts was months in the making, where eight poets came together, shared their work, critiqued each other, applauded each other, and worked as a team of artists to become better poets. At times, it was difficult, and sometimes the paper cuts took longer to heal, but they did, and so, too, did we.

Our words, like skin, became more beautiful, textured, and interesting over time. Where layers grew, so did our integrity and character. It took some mistakes, some Band-aids, and some trial and error; but mostly, it took vulnerability. Without that, there is no growth for a poet. And as we exposed our wounds, slowly allowing ourselves to become more and more uncomfortable, we realized our deepest poetry was brimming just below our surfaces.

We are now ready to share our work with you, hoping our poetry cuts into your heart, your feelings, your emotions, and that you’ll heal, somehow, along with us. 

To read moe about our journey and our special thanks, get your copy of PAPER CUTS: We bleed but do not die.

We Used to...

I read a lot of posts on social media that say "we used to" or I remember at time when...as if things were so much better, that people were so much smarter, that people valued so many more things they don't anymore. Recently, I read a post where someone lamented how wonderfully respectful we all used to treat one another, how things used to be, how we used to value literature and art and intelligence and God and a list of many other things. 

I wanted to respond. But there was no reason to. It would have fallen on deaf ears and would have just become contentious. People were commenting: "I know" and "100%" and all myriad of responses like that, not challenging the content at all but doing exactly what the post said it condemned: Lack of thought. 

While I see some validity in it, I do. I see what the advent and popularity of social media has done to many of us who look for sound bites and instant gratification, our research skills vanishing, our attention spans minute and impatient. But the post screamed close-mindedness to me, elitism, even worse. It read so narrow-minded, so condescending to any aspiring artist or writer today who values all those things listed and more that I wrote my rebuttal to just myself, not wanting to get into a contentious debate that was just filled with sycophants. It amazes me how sometimes we use arguments that don't add up, just to push our own agendas of what "good" art or writing or culture is, to push our beliefs onto others as facts. It still bothers me so much so that I finally share it with you. I'd love to know how YOU feel about it.  We used to have segregation. We used to be wildly homophobic. We used to legally hit our wives. We used to disallow girls from going to school and women from voting. We used to own slaves. We used to burn ‘witches.’ We used to think the Earth was flat. We used to think the boogie man lived in the primeval forest. We used to believe homosexuality was a choice. It used to be okay to slap a girl’s ass at the workplace. And we used to lobotomize people with mental illness. Yeah, sure...let's go back to the way it "used to be." It was pure utopia.