Maria Rodgers O'Rourke's Blog

I cross the pot-holed parking lot wearing my N95 mask on a sunny suburban afternoon. My destination: a popup vaccination clinic at a shopping mall. The online confirmation instructions: Enter through the cinema doors, next to the chain restaurant sign. A “By Appointment Only” banner rustles in the breeze. A few people exit beneath it, most of them wearing masks. 

The doors whoosh open, and the quiet hallway fades into view. “This Way” more signage points, and I follow the dingy trail of arrows stuck to the floor. I pass shuttered stores as a thin stream of people flows through the hall. My mask gets heavy on my face, and I take deep breaths behind it. 

Then, I see her. Like a Ghost of Retail Therapy Past, her poster-size image hangs on a shadowed panel by the escalator. The easy flow and lovely colors of her tapestried jacket sidetrack me, with her white tank top tucked casually into her capris atop coordinating slides. Her thick dark hair hangs in a loose braid on her shoulder, the right touch of whisps framing her glowing face. She’s beautiful.

I stop to admire her, in my sneakers and bootcut jeans under an oversized Earthday t-shirt and thrift store jacket, my overgrown hair pulled into a tight ponytail. My functional mommy style lingers on my body even now, further ingrained by months at home in business casual from the waist up. You should look so cute, chides my inner critic. There are barefoot children running towards a brick wall behind her, and she’s walking the other way?! While I may not be so stylish, at least I kept track of my kids at the mall. Take that, voice in my head.

The arrows draw me down the corridor to a food-court-turned-pickle-ball-courts atrium. Wait – there used to be a merry-go-round here. Now the Ghost of Christmas Past haunts – I’m waving to my giggling daughters swirling by, waiting for our turn to see Santa. This nexus of a once-bustling late century Main Street is quiet. One wing is completely closed off by a floor-to-ceiling white wall. Signs directing shoppers to the long-closed anchor stores still hang from the rafters, pointing to a dead end. I pick up the trail and spot the clinic entrance ahead, the merry-go-round memory caught in my throat. 

The two storefronts-turned-clinic are cavernous holding spaces, with rows of chairs for registration at one end and the post-jab waiting area at the other. In between, I land at a small station under a “Fitting Rooms” sign. A kind nurse asks a few questions then, chatting away, gives me the vaccine. It’s the gentlest shot I’ve ever had. She credits “the smallest needle they make.” After waiting 15 minutes, I say, “Thanks” to a guard as I return to the mall. I’m not sure she heard me, so I try to make eye contact over my mask. This gesture somehow marks the occasion.

The path to the parking lot passes a few open shops, an eclectic mix of antiques and collectibles, used books, and customer-less shoe stores. My own footsteps echo off the glass walls. The jumbled directional signs don’t distract me now. 

The lovely lady with the running children smiles again from across the mall. Maybe next pandemic I’ll have a personal stylist. She beckons from a past that has been swallowed up by the one-click ease of quarantine shopping. This time I see the little one on her left’s glance to the side: Is it the merry-go-round she sees? Longing washes over me, again – the past remembered, today, as an easier time.

My jacket feels too warm and tight. The glare from the glass mall entrance silhouettes the trickle of people coming and going. The doors whoosh open and the banner flaps. I join the flow, pull off the jacket and mask, and walk into the cool breeze.

“So, how’s the writing going?” my friend asked over lunch.

“I’m working on my novel,” I sighed. “More like getting back to it, I guess. I’m about 2/3rds there. I hit a rough patch but just need to get back to it.”

My voice lacked the enthusiasm you might expect from someone whose work, as my husband describes it, is to “make stuff up.” My tone and mood shifted from happy to heavy, my work-in-progress weighing on my mind and mood.

“Why do you writers do this to yourselves?” he observed. “All my writer friends say the same thing. I ask about their work, and they sigh and tell me how hard it is.”
“Busted!” I laughed and conceded his point.

Still, I couldn’t shake the question: Why do we do this to ourselves?

Lawrence Kasdan, Oscar-nominated screenwriter for The Big Chill and best known as co-writer of The Empire Strikes Back and Raiders of the Lost Ark, said: “Being a writer is like having homework every night for the rest of your life.”

Now, there’s someone whose made it. Created a career out of making stuff up. He’s figured out the answer to my friend’s question, right? Staying with a project, keeping his butt in the chair isn’t an issue for him, yes? If I could just get to his place, I tell myself, that’d be great. Instead, his quote relieves and aggravates me – I’m relieved to keep company with a successful writer and aggravated that success doesn’t guarantee against the hard work of showing up at the page.

The famous screenwriter, or Pulitzer-prize winning columnist, and beloved novelist who inspired me to try my hand at this work, all say – after years and years of putting their work into the world and actually making a living doing it – that they still resist doing the work which got them to this level of success in the first place. The same resistance that my friend sees in the writers he knows.

Steven Pressfield has built a big part of his career on dealing with resistance in his seminal work, The War of Art. Resistance is always there, he writes. Do the work anyway. Simple enough. Yet, the question lingers: Why do writers write?

I can’t speak for all of us, but here are some reasons why I write:
• The world needs true and good stories
• The page has saved my life and kept me sane
• People tell me my words have helped them
• Life brings inspiration and ideas that need to be spoken into the world
• Just when I think I might run out of ideas, more show up

I need to remember these reasons every day, no matter the accomplishments of yesterday. The sun rises on new possibilities, and resistance hits the reset button – in fatigue and distraction and hunger and self-doubt – trying to keep my pen from this page. All this is part of the process, challenging and inviting me to push through it, mute the volume on the Inner Critic, and just get started. I’ll write a word after a word after a word and see what shows up. My first work is managing the resistance. Once I do that, the rest falls into place.

So, my fellow writers and creatives, what keeps you going? How do you deal with resistance?

Thanksgiving Shopping List:

Turkey Dinner RollsPotatoesGreen beansPears

Pears? Not on my list this year, but they might be on Jeannie Gaffigan’s, as she gathers round the table with husband Jim, their 5 children, and the family and funny people who helped her heal.

In 2017, Jeannie’s doctors discovered a pear-shaped tumor in her brain. Her memoir of the diagnosis and all that followed is When Life Gives You Pears. (See where she’s going with this?)

Her delightful, hilarious, intimate recounting of this timeof total life reset is awe-inspiring:

Aww, I can’t believe all she went through!

Aww, the miracles in abundance that took place!

Aww, Jim’s love and commitment to Jeannie and theirchildren!

Aww, how sad, and resilient, the kids were to brave so many monthswithout their momma, and when she does return, get to know a new mom, becauseshe’s not the same – physically changed, and with a new outlook on what itmeans to be mom.

Moms of all ages and configurations can take heart in Jeannie’s wisdom:

Our children need our attention and presence above all elseThe village helps us raise themBe honest, loving, and appreciative of your significant otherListen to your body and don’t push through pain and other physical warning signs while tending to your family

We know, or at least have heard, all these things. And on good days, we live like we believe them.

Yet Jeannie’s Big Aww’s are the heart of her story, and hergenerous telling meets the reader at a deeper place:

She was grumpy and (sometimes) rude to hospital staff and family, especially when the pain seemed endless and the prognosis too much to handle.Her marriage struggled through a pre-tumor rough patch and was tested again in life-and-death circumstances, and recovery’s messy, exhausting days.Healing is lonely work. Many who loved her rallied to help, and holy coincidences (aka miracles) put the right people in place to treat and tend to her. But she was alone in her body, somehow finding the will to take the next step and continue through many setbacks. Prayer makes all the difference.She doesn’t take for granted shampooing her hair, or swallowing water.She missed who she had been – the mom-producer-show runner-director who knew and kept watch over her family’s needs and comforts. She released these roles to others during recovery and deeply grieved the loss.In that release, she opened her heart and mind to a new Jeannie. Physically changed, yes, and transformed deep in her soul. She’s folding it into the details of her life. There are good – and not-so-good – days.She’s grateful for the pear. She writes:

 “It’s a strange concept to express gratitude for something that really messed everything up for a while, but had it not been for this catastrophe, I never would have had the opportunity to see what my marriage could survive. I wouldn’t have experienced the same kind of painful separation from my children, which was necessary for me to realize exactly how I could love them without being a drill sergeant.”

Jeannie Gaffigan, When Life Gives You Pears

I wonder what this week, preparing for and celebrating Thanksgiving, looks like in the Gaffigan home?  Jeannie and Jim share their lives through Jim’s comedy, in shows they produce, on social media, in community service, and through this tender and hilarious book. I’ll check their Instagram @jeanniegaffigan and @jimgaffigan for a shopping list. Pears just might be on it.

I’m so grateful for Jeannie’s book. Her generous spirit, honest self-assessment, laugh-till-there’s-tears-in your-eyes humor, unapologetic faith, and passionate love of her family remind me I can make it, and emerge wiser, when life gives me pears.

Jim and Jeannie Gaffigan tell their story on CBS Sunday Morning

Regrets can play in my mind like a “previously on…” TV series montage. Each past scene that flashes by hits me with a pang of regret and a wish for a do-over. The other day I hit pause on a moment from 30 years ago and settled in. As the regret came, so did this insight: although I easily slipped back into the shame and pain of that moment, the supporting players have moved on. They are no longer stuck in that moment, judging me, anymore than I am that girl who made a mistake. It’s in the past, for all of us. The truth is, I’m free from the endless loop of regret. I can choose to stay stuck there, or press play and move on.

What works for me in this epiphany is the confirmation that came the very next day, when this quote from Maya Angelou appeared in my newsfeed (above). Many thanks to @beginwithyes and @ContemplativeMonk for gracing social media with forgiveness.

The words of a good friend, urging you to move on.

We love lyrics in our house. Over Saturday breakfast, my husband Steve puzzled over Toto’s “Africa” — especially the wild dogs’ “solitary company.” Steve can spot a contradiction a mile away. We mused about the oxymoron, and came up with this:

The wild dogs cry out in the night, as they grow restless, longing for some solitary company

Toto – “Africa”

“Solitary company” suggests the ability to be at ease with oneself, alone, without distractions to fill the space. The cry of the dogs echoes the singer’s longing to know that place of quiet fulfillment — where he can keep his own company.

What works for me here is knowing I’ve been to that place, and can get there again. Music that resonates is the soundtrack for the journey.

As my Steve says, “Music gives poetry a home.”

Tommy Pham embodies grit, talent, determination, and dedication to his craft. I’m a #PhamFan since he played for the Cardinals. I follow him now for inspiration — like this — to lift me when I’m discouraged.

What works for me is his affirmation of the absolutely essential role of believing in yourself when pursuing a dream, a goal, or your life’s work. Too often, we seek approval and permission from others. Here’s Tommy, clarifying it for us, just in case there was any doubt.

Be proud, @TphamLV. ❤️ pic.twitter.com/kFPtJndYFv

— MLB (@MLB) October 9, 2019

Check out his posts: @TphamLV on Twitter and Instagram, @TommyPhamLV on Facebook.

Dear Maria,

I have found myself in a situation in which someone says something either rude or insulting to me. The problem is when I defend my feelings and they respond by saying they were just kidding, now I look like the jerk.  What’s the best way to handle this?

Signed,

I Don’t Get It

Dear Don’t,

Passive aggressive, no? I hate when people do this, though I’ve been guilty of it, too. Humor becomes a weapon when used to mask true feelings or grievances. Rarely does it communicate these issues effectively, and often leaves the target confused and hurt, as you are. It’s a childish way of handling things. You, however, have responded like a grown-up, rather than starting an “I know you are, but what am I?” PeeWee Herman-esque exchange.

It’s not clear to me what role this person holds in your life. If it’s someone you see on occasion, ignore them and their hurtful remarks. “Consider the source” a wise teacher once counseled me. If you’re in an important relationship with them, such as a spouse or close friend, try a one-on-one approach. Instead of confronting them in the moment, ask them to meet for coffee, or write them a letter, and explain your perspective. If they minimize your feelings, what does that say about their relationship with you? Finally, if it’s a boss or coworker who is treating you this way, write down three examples of this behavior and request a meeting. Bring your notes to the meeting, and ask your colleague for a change in behavior in the future. It’s important you have a record of having addressed this issue directly with him or her. If your boss or colleague does not comply, take your concerns to HR if you wish. In all situations, keep your emotions out of it as best you can and critique the behavior, not the person. When you know you’re going to see this person, take a few deep breaths to calm yourself, and remember: what they say or do is really a reflection on how they see themselves. You’re taking good care of yourself. Keep going, even if it means removing this Don Rickles from your life.

Dear Maria,

How do you convince your parents to sell their home and move into a retirement community?

Signed,

SMH at M&D

Dear SMH,

Tough sell. For aging parents, this is a huge change. Not only is it downsizing; it’s admitting a shift toward greater dependence on others. They don’t like to be told what to do, especially by their offspring! Acceptance will come not by trying to convince them, but by leading with your heart. Listen to your parents’ concerns. Behind the arguments you may hear emotions like fear, or sadness. Acknowledge how hard this is for them. Leaving their beloved, comfortable home is a big loss, and they need time to accept and grieve it. Through the process, you’ll feel your own shift towards parenting your parents. This role brings with it difficult conversations and decisions. Be gentle and firm with your parents: gentle in understanding and accepting their feelings, and firm in your guidance as to what’s best. Try not to sell them on the idea, but love them into it. Given time and compassion, they’ll hopefully come to see this as a good change, and welcome the new friends and activities the retirement community will bring.

Dear Maria,

My challenge is that my husband of 50+ years is showing signs of confusion while driving.  He used to be the expert on directions, but now it seems we are making a lot of U-turns! On our last driving excursion he ran over a curb, changed lanes without a blinker (or left the blinker on for miles), and ran a stop sign.  How the other driver was able to stop in time was a true miracle.

How can I approach him about his driving being questionable? I am quite sure my observations will be a shock to him.  Thank you for your wisdom.

Signed,

SOS from Shotgun

Dear Shotgun,

Hide the keys! Hide your eyes! I understand your reluctance to talk with your husband. He values his independence, and any threat to it will be greeted with resistance and maybe even denial. Find a time to talk frankly with your husband about your concerns, and soon. Your letter is a great place to start the conversation, as you’ve listed several examples of his erratic driving. Is there anyone else in your family, or among your trusted friends, who has witnessed his driving? Perhaps they would be willing to talk with him, too. No matter how he responds, remain calm. Assure him that this conversation needs to take place before the police get involved, or anyone gets hurt. I also recommend sharing your concerns with his doctor. If there are changes in his driving ability, he’s likely affected in other ways, so some testing may be in order. When my own mother faced this situation, part of the process of giving up her keys was consulting her doctor. The doctor wisely replied: “If you’re asking me this question, then it probably is time.”  Your husband might hear the advice of a third, professional party better than from family or friends. In the meantime, try taking the wheel, or riding with friends.

Dear Maria,

How do you repair a relationship with a sibling whom you no longer trust? I love her, but I don’t trust her. Can you truly love someone you don’t trust?

Signed,

Missing My Sister

Dear Missing My Sister,

Sure, you can love someone you don’t trust. That’s the heartbreak of it, because no matter how much you care about the person, their behavior means the relationship will never be what you want it to be. Estrangement from siblings is especially painful. We’d like the people we share blood and DNA with to also be our closest confidants and companions. If you don’t trust your sibling, you’ll always be on guard, and that’s a shaky basis to build a quality relationship upon. Do some soul-searching to determine what level of relationship is acceptable to you, and go for that. If/when you spend time with this sibling, focus on topics and experiences you have in common, and avoid anything that would cause you to feel vulnerable. So much depends on the depth of hurt your sibling has caused, and if it’s a pattern that they don’t seem to be able to change. You may have some grieving to do, over the loss of the relationship you’d like to have with this sibling. Maybe by releasing that hoped-for relationship, you can find your way to an acceptable one. Hopefully, through the process, you both can find a way to be in each other’s lives in a meaningful way.