Lionel Fisher's Blog
April 19, 2015
Kelly O'Rourke's Showdown with Loneliness
Kelly O'Rourke capitulated to her own dread of loneliness in a desolate island cabin. A constantly-on-the-go Los Angeles film producer, who didn't want a romantic involvement but couldn't reconcile her desperate need for others, O'Rourke gave up her L.A. apartment and moved with her two cats to a tiny island on Lake Kawaguesaga in Wisconsin's rugged north woods.
"I needed to depend on myself, to squash the need for anyone and instead rely on and be comfortable with only me," she later described her showdown with loneliness in a Cosmopolitan article. "Only then could I again become the woman I know myself to be--caring, giving, secure."
O'Rourke was successful. "Here on this resilient little island," she recorded her battle triumphantly, "I have weathered the storm, have made it though, kept company by a woman I'd traveled all these many miles to meet again. Myself."
Excerpted from Celebrating Time Alone: Stories of Splendid Solitude
"I needed to depend on myself, to squash the need for anyone and instead rely on and be comfortable with only me," she later described her showdown with loneliness in a Cosmopolitan article. "Only then could I again become the woman I know myself to be--caring, giving, secure."
O'Rourke was successful. "Here on this resilient little island," she recorded her battle triumphantly, "I have weathered the storm, have made it though, kept company by a woman I'd traveled all these many miles to meet again. Myself."
Excerpted from Celebrating Time Alone: Stories of Splendid Solitude
April 16, 2015
Quote of the Day: Friends or money? Not both. Bummer.
"There are two ways a man can be rich in this world. He can have a lot of money. Or he can have a lot of friends. But he can't have both." ~Anthony Hopkins as Alfred Heineken in 2015 film, Kindnapping Mr. Heineken
Now ask yourself, would you rather have $10 million dollars--the highest ransom ever paid for a kidnapped individual (in 1930, Amsterdam)--or 10 million friends?
Be honest now.
Now ask yourself, would you rather have $10 million dollars--the highest ransom ever paid for a kidnapped individual (in 1930, Amsterdam)--or 10 million friends?
Be honest now.
April 13, 2015
New Year's Resolution #4: Be grateful.
�Piglet noticed that even though he had a Very Small Heart, it could hold a rather large amount of Gratitude.� ~A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh
�Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it.� ~William Arthur Ward
�If the only prayer you said was thank you, that would be enough.� ~Meister Eckhart
In a blas�, indifferent, quid pro quo world, be grateful for all compassion, kindness and grace thrust into your life.
Acknowledge its increasingly rare appearance with exultation and joy.
Be effusive, saccharine, obsequious, sycophantic, even panegyrical in your thankfulness.
For gratitude is to generosity what spring rain is to bountiful harvests.
As Shakespeare proposed in The Merry Wives of Windsor, �Come, gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down all unkindness.�
Roger that, Willie boy.
I'll have a scotch.
Make mine a double.
�Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it.� ~William Arthur Ward
�If the only prayer you said was thank you, that would be enough.� ~Meister Eckhart
In a blas�, indifferent, quid pro quo world, be grateful for all compassion, kindness and grace thrust into your life.
Acknowledge its increasingly rare appearance with exultation and joy.
Be effusive, saccharine, obsequious, sycophantic, even panegyrical in your thankfulness.
For gratitude is to generosity what spring rain is to bountiful harvests.
As Shakespeare proposed in The Merry Wives of Windsor, �Come, gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down all unkindness.�
Roger that, Willie boy.
I'll have a scotch.
Make mine a double.
March 26, 2015
SSR* No. 19: That's why they call it faith.
I can believe whatever I want to believe.
Who's to prove me wrong this side of the big dirt nap?
Doesn't matter, either, what anyone else believes.
Or whether anyone else believes what I believe.
The important thing is to believe. Really, truly believe.
That's why they call it faith.
And nobody's business but my own.
*Sudden Stark Realization, one level below an epiphany
Who's to prove me wrong this side of the big dirt nap?
Doesn't matter, either, what anyone else believes.
Or whether anyone else believes what I believe.
The important thing is to believe. Really, truly believe.
That's why they call it faith.
And nobody's business but my own.
*Sudden Stark Realization, one level below an epiphany
March 19, 2015
The 17th Thing I Don't Really Get: Funerals
I don't believe in funerals.
Funerals aren't for the dead. The dead are gone. They couldn't care less.
Funerals are something the living do for the living. For the people trying to feel better about the things they could have said, the things they could have done for the dead while they were still alive.
The dead don't give a damn.
The dead couldn't care less about what's being said to them, about them, after they're gone.
Hell, they're dead.
The dead know the living aren't there for them, but for themselves. To feel better, to feel less guilty, less regretful, more appreciated by all the other living people at the funeral who also should have paid attention to the dead while it still mattered, while they were still alive.
So screw funerals.
Forget the dead.
Tend to the living.
Before it's too late.
Before they're dead.
Funerals aren't for the dead. The dead are gone. They couldn't care less.
Funerals are something the living do for the living. For the people trying to feel better about the things they could have said, the things they could have done for the dead while they were still alive.
The dead don't give a damn.
The dead couldn't care less about what's being said to them, about them, after they're gone.
Hell, they're dead.
The dead know the living aren't there for them, but for themselves. To feel better, to feel less guilty, less regretful, more appreciated by all the other living people at the funeral who also should have paid attention to the dead while it still mattered, while they were still alive.
So screw funerals.
Forget the dead.
Tend to the living.
Before it's too late.
Before they're dead.
The 17th Thing I Realize I Don't Really Get: Funerals
I don't believe in funerals.
Funerals aren't for the dead. The dead are gone. They couldn't care less.
Funerals are for the living.
They're for the people trying to feel better about the things they could have said, the things they could have done for the dead while they were still alive.
The dead don't give a damn.
The dead couldn't care less about what's being said to them, about them.
Hell, they're dead.
The dead know the living aren't there for them, but for themselves. To feel better, to feel less guilty, less regretful, more appreciated by all the other living people at the funeral who also should have paid attention to the dead while it still mattered, while they were still alive.
So screw funerals.
Forget the dead.
Tend to the living.
Before it's too late.
Before they're dead.
Funerals aren't for the dead. The dead are gone. They couldn't care less.
Funerals are for the living.
They're for the people trying to feel better about the things they could have said, the things they could have done for the dead while they were still alive.
The dead don't give a damn.
The dead couldn't care less about what's being said to them, about them.
Hell, they're dead.
The dead know the living aren't there for them, but for themselves. To feel better, to feel less guilty, less regretful, more appreciated by all the other living people at the funeral who also should have paid attention to the dead while it still mattered, while they were still alive.
So screw funerals.
Forget the dead.
Tend to the living.
Before it's too late.
Before they're dead.
The 17th Thing I Suddenly Realize I Don't Really Get: Funerals
I don't believe in funerals.
Funerals aren't for the dead. The dead are gone. They couldn't care less.
Funerals are for the living.
They're for the people trying to feel better about the things they could have said, the things they could have done for the dead while they were still alive.
The dead don't give a damn.
The dead couldn't care less about what's being said to them, about them.
Hell, they're dead.
The dead know the living aren't there for them, but for themselves. To feel better, to feel less guilty, less regretful, to feel loved, better appreciated by all the other living people who, like them, should have paid attention to the dead while it still mattered, while they were still alive.
So screw funerals.
Forget the dead.
Tend to the living.
Before it's too late.
Before they're dead.
Funerals aren't for the dead. The dead are gone. They couldn't care less.
Funerals are for the living.
They're for the people trying to feel better about the things they could have said, the things they could have done for the dead while they were still alive.
The dead don't give a damn.
The dead couldn't care less about what's being said to them, about them.
Hell, they're dead.
The dead know the living aren't there for them, but for themselves. To feel better, to feel less guilty, less regretful, to feel loved, better appreciated by all the other living people who, like them, should have paid attention to the dead while it still mattered, while they were still alive.
So screw funerals.
Forget the dead.
Tend to the living.
Before it's too late.
Before they're dead.
March 10, 2015
Codependent tennis is a lousy game.
�Codependents are reactionaries. They overreact. They under-react. But rarely do they act. They react to the problems, pains, lives, and behaviors of others. They react to their own problems, pains, and behaviors.� ~Melody Beattie
"What is truly yours will eventually be yours, and whatever is not, no matter how hard you try, will never be." ~Unknown
Codependent tennis is not a good game. When you serve the ball, someone should hit it back to you. If no one tries, the match should be over as far as you're concerned. Put your racket away, go home, find another game tomorrow. Stop returning your own serves, lobs, and volleys. Stop playing off your own energy, needs, and desires. Quit kidding yourself.
Excerpted from Celebrating Time Alone: Stories of Splendid Solitude
"What is truly yours will eventually be yours, and whatever is not, no matter how hard you try, will never be." ~Unknown
Codependent tennis is not a good game. When you serve the ball, someone should hit it back to you. If no one tries, the match should be over as far as you're concerned. Put your racket away, go home, find another game tomorrow. Stop returning your own serves, lobs, and volleys. Stop playing off your own energy, needs, and desires. Quit kidding yourself.
Excerpted from Celebrating Time Alone: Stories of Splendid Solitude
March 9, 2015
"Oh, but she was jealous, was solitude..."
In the novel Toots in Solitude, John Yount's wry, sweet fable about identity, commitment, and the essence of love, Macon "Toots" Henslee has left his wife and the cares of the world to live in serenity and joy in a treehouse near a river--his own person in every way. But into his life comes Sally Ann, a would-be country singer fleeing her drug-dealer lover with $250,000 of his cash in tow. Their relationship, before its inevitable end, is poignant and immensely appealing. The novel closes with these poetic lines:
"But a little at a time, sweet solitude began to visit him again. Oh, but she was jealous, was solitude, and wouldn't come near if any thought of Sally Ann was in his head, and would withdraw if one of her aspects caused him to think, however fleetingly, of her rival. But by the time the first chilling winter had passed and there were silver sprays of catkins in the marsh willows, she kept him company. After all, she demanded only that he be faithful and not one thing more."
Excerpted from Celebrating Time Alone: Stories of Splendid Solitude
"But a little at a time, sweet solitude began to visit him again. Oh, but she was jealous, was solitude, and wouldn't come near if any thought of Sally Ann was in his head, and would withdraw if one of her aspects caused him to think, however fleetingly, of her rival. But by the time the first chilling winter had passed and there were silver sprays of catkins in the marsh willows, she kept him company. After all, she demanded only that he be faithful and not one thing more."
Excerpted from Celebrating Time Alone: Stories of Splendid Solitude
Oh, but she was jealous, was solitude...
In the novel Toots in Solitude, John Yount's wry, sweet fable about identity, commitment, and the essence of love, Macon "Toots" Henslee has left his wife and the cares of the world to live in serenity and joy in a treehouse near a river--his own person in every way. But into his life comes Sally Ann, a would-be country singer fleeing her drug-dealer lover with $250,000 of his cash in tow. Their relationship, before its inevitable end, is poignant and immensely appealing. The novel closes with these poetic lines:
"But a little at a time, sweet solitude began to visit him again. Oh, but she was jealous, was solitude, and wouldn't come near if any thought of Sally Ann was in his head, and would withdraw if one of her aspects caused him to think, however fleetingly, of her rival. But by the time the first chilling winter had passed and there were silver sprays of catkins in the marsh willows, she kept him company. After all, she demanded only that he be faithful and not one thing more."
Excerpted from Celebrating Time Alone: Stories of Splendid Solitude
"But a little at a time, sweet solitude began to visit him again. Oh, but she was jealous, was solitude, and wouldn't come near if any thought of Sally Ann was in his head, and would withdraw if one of her aspects caused him to think, however fleetingly, of her rival. But by the time the first chilling winter had passed and there were silver sprays of catkins in the marsh willows, she kept him company. After all, she demanded only that he be faithful and not one thing more."
Excerpted from Celebrating Time Alone: Stories of Splendid Solitude
