Letters and The Little Things

Think about all of the letters you have received and given in your life, that includes cards and notes too. The list is probably similar among all of us. All of the cards for birthdays and celebrations, notes from Mom and Dad in our lunchboxes, and all the letters from friends and family that express their love for us. Phyllis Theroux has been known for saying that “to send a letter is a good way to go somewhere without moving anything but your heart.” For some odd reason, letters have impactful significance, one that is really hard to pinpoint. Some people prefer letters above all the hugs and kisses for different reasons, maybe because physically having the letter is most touching or because you can keep it forever. Yet, for me, I admire them for the devotion it takes to write them. Time is captured in a letter, no matter how long or short it is, writing takes the most amount of time than any other form of expression like hugging or kissing (and even the more private stuff sometimes). Letters collect emotion and in some weird way, make you feel the presence of someone you care about more than any other way possible.

This past week I was cleaning some things up in my room and a pile of papers fell and as I picked them up I found a hand-written letter from none other than, Mema. The mother of the famous O’Keefe sisters, wife to the amazing Papa Jerry, and a grandmother to 13 diverse grandchildren, Mema is quite the matriarch. Without disposing all of the words she wrote me, she simply expressed how much she missed me and closed with, “Sorry, I don’t even have a dollar.” I could not help but smile at the letter which I received about a year ago today and recognize how much Mema was embodied simply through her gracious and blunt writing. Her letter is a small symbol of what our family is grounded in, frank and unconditional love that never wavers. That is the beauty of love, no matter the disease that affects our body or the aging that makes our mind and memory weaker, love remains timeless. It is in letters that we witness this love reach beyond the paper—the words seem to whimsically bring love to life. Thanks for that, Mema.

For that little moment, I was encouraged to write to someone else I cared about, like a domino effect of words. I sat and wrote a letter to a friend that I had not taken the time to write to in a while. It was simple and touching, experiencing a little moment and then creating another one to pass on. It is a fulfilling familiarity when we can take a moment to read about how others observe and care for us and to then take the time to devote your thoughts to someone else. The culmination of letters is representative of how much we mean to someone and that is the most comforting testament of all. Letters are timeless because they convey how much one’s presence in life, their influence, and their story is enduring to this day. We piss ourselves at old yearbook passages that bring to life the crudeness and hilarity of some of our greatest friends, tear up at old cards that smell of grandmother’s clothes, and reference letters we wrote ourselves in the event that we forget our own styles of writing and need to refresh our minds.

Words on paper are delicate and should always be handled with care. As I have said, they remind us how much certain people mean to us and how much we mean to them. Yet, underneath the surface, letters and notes are little reminders of who we are and how we have changed. I look back at old valentines I wrote in 4^th grade, letters of apology to Dad when I got him mad, and the letters I still write today to keep relationships thriving. One of the greatest pieces of advice I ever heard was that when you are feeling the lowest, read an old letter someone wrote you or that you wrote yourself. The emotions we convey in those letters stop us from doubting ourselves in those bad times, re-instill us with trinkets of joy, and show us our worth. For that reason, never think you need to replicate someone else’s life because, as seen in many of our personal letters, many people try to emulate you. We are our own exceptionally different people and letters put that special uniqueness on paper. Letters would be fairly boring if the same person wrote them. So, highlight your individualism in those letters you write and smile at other people’s recognition of it in their letters to you. Phyllis Theroux, yes, our hearts are moved in letters but we should always remember that the heart is never the same one. Our hearts, memories, and attitudes are left behind in those letters as things to remember us by, even when we’re gone.

I recommend we make sure to be as off-beat, kind, funny, and loving in those letters as we can be. Maybe I should write the young and colorful Mema back, give her a little piece of me while I am away. Except, I do not think I’ll have a dollar either. I mean hey, I am the one in college here so Mema better provide some good excuses. I hope you enjoy re-reading some of those special letters and if you find an old dollar, I take donations. Here is to a better tomorrow.

-M

            

Comfort and The Little Things

We hold hands, hug after years of not seeing each other, and camp out during our favorite movies. There is no greater feeling than being comforted whether in need of it or not, recognition and a bond with another person is always welcomed. Unfortunately, many of us take our comfort for granted whether it is because we fail to identify the blessings we have or because we always desire more. Either way, comfort is still relevant and present in our lives; it comes from the people who love us and from the material pieces of our lives that may seem meaningless to others. After a very colorful and snowy week, I recognized how much love is comforting (Happy V-Day right? No, Happy Singles Awareness Day), how food (chocolate) is comforting, and how our friends are comforting.

It seems that the Blizzard of 1978 re-lived this past weekend in what is now being known as his brother, the Blizzard of 2013, or as we college kids like to call it, One of the Best Weekends Ever. On Thursday night after participating in the cheering in Lower Dining Hall with a friend at the news of the snow day, I returned to spend some time with friends. We laughed, yelled, and danced (not fairly well if I do say so myself). Late in the night, one of my great friends asked if I wanted to go out and have a cigar in celebration with him for the forthcoming blizzard. Instantly, I pictured myself growing up when my father would ask me if I wanted to take a “small puff at the cigar” which consequently turned into a whooping cough attack. Therefore, I was a little hesitant because I am certainly no expert on smoking cigars considering the small amount of times I have done it but I figured, Hell, when will you ever get to enjoy a nice stogie on the eve of one of the greatest storms to hit New England? So I did it, I smoked a nice, classic cigar with my roommates under a starry night’s sky on the crisp eve of the Blizzard of 2013. Some of the coughs responsively came back during a few puffs but I like to believe it was still an improvement.

We have all heard it, “break your comfort zone.” Sometimes it is easier said than done and then in some unique cases, it’s done easier than said (hopefully that doesn’t happen too often). Either way, I see how painless it is to live a life of just comfort, simplicity, and routine. Yet, after smoking the celebratory cigar with my roommate, I realized that at one point I used to like smoking a cigar once in awhile despite whether or not I was good at it. We only discover what makes us comfortable by breaking our old standards of comfort. Normally, I probably would have had a nice dinner, studied, maybe had a cup of tea, and tried to get some sleep on a Thursday night. It was not until I went out at 2 in the morning, in the freezing cold, and smoked a cigar did I realize how much fun I could actually have. Hey, it makes for a fun story and a good memory. After the adventure outside, my friends and I came back to our apartment and simply talked—talked about life, family, anything really. It was an uncomfortable night to say the least; I stayed out despite my internal clock telling me otherwise, opened up about things, and had a nice cigar and conversation all in the midst of it.

 

Break your comfort zone, expand your horizons, and cherish the memories that it makes. We hear the greatest stories come from those put in the most uncomfortable, dire, and unappealing of situations. A woman who hit on her future husband’s friend forcefully gives into this short, Italian man who will not surrender until he gets a dance. A young boy tries his very first onion on a hamburger because his mother says the cook does not allow you to take the ingredient off. A college kid has a snowball fight with his friends even though he hates the cold. So what happens? A woman falls in love with her husband and the two start a family together, the young boy realizes he loves onions, and the college kid becomes amazed by snow. We break our comfort zones so as to form new zones of comfort and new zones of routine. Comfort changes and consequently so does our life’s path, our decisions, and our personalities. Staying comfortable may hurt you. Correction, it will hurt you. If we sit on one choice, one hardship, one lifestyle then life itself passes us by. Do not let it do so. So, I encourage you to be comfortable when you can but also be uncomfortable whenever you can too (as long as it is safe). You never know what the experience might bring you. However, there will still always be some universal forms of comfort that never change like hugs, kisses, and sleep. Do not devalue those. Comfort is a magical thing, it keeps us bonded through its’ warmth but also when it becomes disconnected. Welcome both sides to the argument and never fear trying new things that may seem uncomfortable. They become those little moments that people love to hear about at the dinner table. Like I said, you will still sleep comfortably at night but if that becomes an issue, try a new mattress. Hey, even that choice breaks the old mold. Stay comfortable and uncomfortable my friends. Here is to a better tomorrow.

-M

Women and The Little Things

Instead of getting to play basketball with brothers, I watched the Princess Diaries, rather than getting to play catch with my Dad, he and I had to learn how to cook, and instead of yelling I endured more crying. Women are unique, abstract, and difficult human beings, I can proudly say that I believe in that, considering my house is primarily dominated by women (Sorry, Dad but you know the feeling). As complex and crazy as they can be, women are very near and dear to my heart. I can gladly acknowledge the effects my mother, my sisters, my girlfriends, and even my Dad had on me in the mix of all of this. He and I have endured and prevailed as we would say, but in the end, I like to believe that we’re greater guys because of it. After all, Mark Twain wondered, “what would men be without women? Scarce, sir…mighty scarce.”

This past weekend, I was lucky enough to get a visit from my mother and one of my sisters. After leaving Tori on campus, I got to spend some much-needed time with the famous and frank KO’K. On Saturday morning while sitting outside of the hotel on a bench, minding our own business, both of us were interrupted by a young woman screaming at her husband outside of their car. She was running frantically around the car in circles and cried, “Damn it! You moron! I told you to grab the breast-pump off the chair. I knew it; I knew I left the breast-pump on that ugly beige chair in the corner of the room! And now, I got my sister calling me crying her head off.” And then moments later, “Oh wait, I got it, put it on the front seat. So, lets move it and get your ass in the car!” After they drove away, my mother and I could not help but look at each other—pause—and incessantly laugh. To all the other families walking by us to their cars--I apologize. To say that there were many characters that day in the parking lot would be an understatement.

Once the laughing had settled, I could not help but think about that woman and her husband simply because it reminded me of the dynamic of my own family. Karen yells at Skip, he huffs and puffs, kids are crying in the backseat, phones are going off and the list goes on. It was a moment that allowed old ones to come flooding back. In my last post I said that memories are like a diary that never stays closed. I second that. But most importantly, it made me turn my head toward my own mother as she laughed and her eyes watered, and recognize her for who she is. Of course, she is capable of succumbing to hysteria and anxiety, but KO’K is quite the woman--one that never ceases loving unconditionally nor change who she is at heart. She is her own perfectly complex person, and she does not give a damn what anyone else thinks of it.

I shared a small, funny moment of observation that soon turned into a little moment between a mother and her son. I can happily say that I have an interesting family dynamic. I was raised by and with compassionate, sensitive women and a simple, gracious father. Does it create chaos? Absolutely. Do I like the chaos? Even more so. My sisters, my friends, my aunts, my grandmothers, and my mother are beautiful people. After watching that woman and her husband in the parking lot, I recognized the impact women have on our lives. They cheer for us in stands, praise us if we do well on something, cry for us when times go bad, but love us no matter the circumstance. They don't stand behind us, but beside us. Women are mysterious creatures and we cannot know everything they do, especially when it comes to our mothers. But what we do know we can then at least find comfort in. Mom (KO’K), you are doing great, even more than great, and I love you every second for it. Mark Twain, I have no arguments for you. Rather, all I can do is think of what my Dad says, “women—can’t live with them, can’t live without them.” That is the truth. So the next time you see your sister or a friend, give her a hug. The next time you see a girl yelling, know it is out of love always, even if she makes you cry. Embrace all those little moments and embrace a woman's love, there is nothing like it. Here is to a better tomorrow.

-M

Memories and The Little Things

Oscar Wilde once said that, “memory is the diary we all carry about with us.” That being true, memories are even more than just diaries because if they were just those then the new pages of our lives would let older ones fade away. What is beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time is that memories are not diaries we can stuff under a bed and re-open after years, or burn away, or re-write. Memories are always so easy to remember but they are also so hard to forget. This is the blessing and curse of it all.

Growing up, I was convinced that I needed to be the strong one, the noble and heroic young man that never shed emotion. Yet, as I have aged, emotions tend to run deeper, they become more profound, and they are evoked unexpectedly. The easiest way such emotion comes out is through the remembrance of past times, moments that are held dear, and in dreams that seem too realistic. Given all that those around me and I endure, whether it is stress, fear, or loss, we find comfort in our memories and re-imaginings of the things and people we loved.

After an already hectic week back at school full of chaos and unwelcomed stress, one night I was getting a nice bowl of Captain Crunch cereal (the perfect childhood treat if you don’t mind me saying so myself) and I turned to walk to a register. As I did so, I caught a quick whiff of a gentleman’s cologne that I instantly recognized. Ever since I was a young kid my grandfather, Pop, always used to wear a very specific cologne that is still difficult to explain today but I knew that the guy was wearing it, or at least something extremely close to it. It was a simple pass-by that instantly made me turn my head back impulsively at the thought that my grandfather might possibly have been in the room. Unfortunately, my grandfather was not magically reincarnated or smiling in front of me. Instead, I was standing alone, in the middle of the dining hall, looking at a guy with a long stare and a grin on my face. I think we can all imagine the ridiculousness of the situation and hopefully, laugh at it too.

As strange as I probably appeared, I more importantly was re-living a memory, being touched with a scent that tickled my noise the same way it did years ago. That is the beauty of memories, they are made and they are re-lived in one form or another. It is the smell of a cologne that reminds you of someone you lost, a laugh that is as loud as that of a family friend’s, or a child’s embrace that makes you recognize the beauty of your own childhood innocence. It was a little smell—a little touch—a little thing that made me cherish a memory of a great man and recognize that spirits do indeed live on.

We can never forget our memories; it is both a blessing and a curse. No matter how long ago we experience something great or moving, those memories always find a way to resurface in our lives. I have realized that a lot more these days, especially when my friends and brothers continue to show me their love and when they too are enduring hardships at the same time. Memories never succumb to fading away. So to you Mr. Wilde, yes, memories are certainly diaries, but the covers never seem to stay closed. What is important then is to make sure we make plenty of memories, specifically good ones, to make us never want to close the diary anyway. The little things are the greatest memories and I am realizing that a lot more. So be a kind writer in your own diaries and recognize those little things too; they may take your breath away some day. Here is to a better tomorrow.

-M

The Little Things

   I was lucky enough to embark on a trip to Chiapas, Mexico this past week to do service and become educated on the lifestyles and struggles of the people. It was a trip I had been planning with a very close group of people that would become very dear friends. We have evolved into this universal, complex, similar, yet uniquely different group of people all at the same time. After earning a spot on the trip I immediately thought that I was in over my head to be traveling thousands of miles away into poverty-stricken land with people who had a lot more experience than I did. However, they instantly made me feel at home. Through all the meetings, retreats, and fundraising, we became closer. Yet, I like to believe that those were not the reasons we did so, rather I think it was the intimate sharing of emotion that we all have opened ourselves to. I have learned so much about the people in my Chiapas group that I do not even know about people close from home. For that reason, I could never be surprised at how amazing and supportive they were after the events that took place last month in our family. They all inevitably became my family too.

   After losing someone you care deeply for we immediately follow one of Elizabeth Kubler Ross' five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. I know I can at least apply one of those stages to a period in which I lost a loved one. Yet, after the events in Newtown and losing someone in our family I did not and still do not know what stage any of us fall under because what happened simply cannot be explained. For this reason and during this difficult time, I decided to dedicate my service trip to Mexico in honor of the Newtown families and to the woman I called family, Anne. 

   The journey was difficult, complicated, and uplifting in a very sensitive country. What I found significant is that life is fleeting in every part of the world. But more importantly, life is special because others and I recognize the humanity that we all share and the emotions that draw us toward one another. I will admit that I focus too much on the larger picture, the future, the anxiety of my career, marriage, judgment, and failure. And because of it, I have been distracted at certain times. 

   After this trip, journaling, and coming home, I have come to believe that the little things really do matter simply because they are the moments we will remember. The little things are what people give a shit to hear about, sure, the big events matter too but the small, discreet hiccups that take your breath away are the ones worth remembering and talking about. So I have decided to open a blog that publishes some of my journal reflections on the trip and to simply share with all of you, some of the little moments I encounter in my life. It seems that they are always so much more intriguing than life’s other boring nonsense. Plus, it's nice just to reflect and remember, even if just for a little while.

   So thank you to all who follow me on this adventure, to test the goals I have coming back from my trip, to enjoy some of the little things in life I find touching, but most importantly, to listen to me as my family and I struggle to find a way to move on.

   So hit me up and let me know of your little moments too. The greatest journeys are the ones we share. Here is to a better tomorrow.

-M