My favorite Summer things (so, my favorite things).
My favorite things about summer. A list. (Kind of.)
1. When the earth bakes and becomes hard and smooth. I remember being a kid, running down the worn footpath down the length of our yard all through the spring, getting my feet muddy. And then the summer would come and slowly bake it into a smooth, perfect tread way for my bare feet. That is still one of my favorite feelings in the world — my bare feet on a worn, smooth, dry summer path.
2. Blackberries. Blackberries in the yard, on my runs, in cobblers, in syrups on my pancakes, in my smoothies. Give me all the blackberries and I will enjoy every last one.
3. Ice cream.
4. Exploring. in back yards, parks, cities, wherever.
5. Waking up early for things like travel, camping, events, runs, adventures. I like those cool, soft-bright hours of the leafy summer days.
6. Summer evenings when the breeze blows and the sun sets and the mosquitos bite and the burgers taste just right when you’re outside.
7. Boats. Lakes. Rivers. Pools. Oceans. Sand. Tossled hair that has no business being in public but it’s ok because it’s summer. The smell of sunscreen. The taste of salty chips and pretzels when you’ve been out in the sun for a long time.
8. Swim suits. On my body at some point most days.
9. Seeing families out together doing things like getting fro yo in the evenings.
10. Picnics.
11. Slurpees. I don’t think I will ever outgrow them.
12. Sleeping well with the windows open and the breeze blowing in.
13. Farmers markets. Fresh produce. Vendors. Busy-ness. Milling about with lots of others enjoying the outdoors, and the fact that we have so many good fresh food options available to us right beside all of the prepared deliciousness of Ethiopian, gyros, and more.
14. Farmers market flowers. A bunch of incredibly beautiful sunflowers for $5? Don’t mind if I do.
15. Avocados.
16. Reading books that feel a little too “light” reading for other times of the year.
17. Sunsets. Gorgeous Sunsets.
18. Walks. I walk all through the year, but I love when it’s light so late that I have the time to run or walk for long periods of time even after work if I want to. Other people are also more likely to join me on walks in the summer, I’ve found.
19. Shorts. Tank tops. Dresses. Sandals (or better yet, bare feet). I was made for this.
20. My birthday! I’ve always LOVED having a summer birthday. Because usually I try to incorporate as many of the above items into my celebrating as possible. My favorite things on my day.
Joanna O’Hanlon is an adventurer and storyteller. She tries to be honest about the ugly and hard parts of life, and the beautiful parts too. This blog is one of the places she shares her thoughts and stories.
Other places are
instagram: @jrolicious twitter: @jrohanlon
Things I’ve learned from office/insurance/marketing life
Things I’ve learned in my first year at an office job/with an insurance company/ working in marketing:
Exactly one year ago today, I started a job as a marketing director for a wholesale insurance company (We sell insurance to insurance agents who then sell to the public. I learned that since starting, too.) These are some of the things I have learned since starting this job.
- I’ve learned a LOT about insurance. Which partly makes me want never want to own a home because it’s made me aware of how detailed those policies are and how much work it really takes to understand your policy. Also, I know what terms like “inland marine” mean (which has nothing to do with boats) — essentially it’s this: In a restaurant for example, the building would be covered by a policy, but if you have inland marine, inland marine would basically be everything in the kitchen that would fall if you turned the kitchen upside down.
- I also learned that the concept of insurance was started by the company that is now known of as Lloyd’s of London. At the time, there was Lloyd’s coffeeshop in London, and a bunch of business men and merchants decided to form a sort of insurance co-op so that they’d all cover each others’ shipments, so that if a ship went down, one merchant wouldn’t be totally out of business. And thus started insurance. My company now does a lot of business with Lloyd’s to this day.
- Also, the Titanic was insured by Lloyd’s of London. Which, of course, was a huge claim loss for them. But interesting still.
- I also have learned how it can be nearly impossible to get home owners insurance on a house in southern California because there is so much “brush” down there and risk of fire. So all those Hollywood homes of stars — yeah, they’re not super covered, or if they are, they have outrageous premiums because the risk is so high.
- I’ve learned that I can drink Folgers coffee on a regular basis as long as it’s piping hot. When it starts to cool down I start to audible gag and shutter. It’s distracting to my co-workers.
- I apparently use sticky notes much more than the average office worker. And then I figured out how to use the “desktop stickies” on my computer too. Notes for everything.
- All copy machines are the bane of my existence anytime I have to print a big job. We need them, but they work perfectly about 40% of the time. And when we think “oh that went so smoothly… I only had to hand-feed the paper and then it didn’t stop printing and start beeping” we don’t even realize how much we’re coping.
- I love designing ads. And I’ve gotten the opportunity to have print ads I’ve designed in national magazines more than a dozen times.
- Some Starbucks baristas will hate you if you come in every week to buy 100 gift cards that they then have to individually scan and load for an incentive program. Also, some Starbucks employees are really impressed with how generous of a person I am, because no matter how many times I tell them it’s for my company, and the company pays for it, they still seem to think it’s my money and I’m buying 100 gift cards for my friends. They’re the ones that say, every time, “Man! I want to be friends with you! Your friends must love you.” Every. Time.
- Customer service means dealing with people who ask stupid questions. “How many zeros are in one-thousand?”
- DID YOU KNOW YOU CAN EDIT THE SUBJECT OF AN EMAIL IN YOUR INBOX WITH OUTLOOK??? This took me about 9 months to learn. Life-changing.
- Some people don’t know how to use computers. As in, they don’t know how to double-click to open something. Yep.
- People have really short memories. Myself included. So I try to write everything down now. Thus the sticky notes.
- Hot Pockets can light on fire in the microwave and fill the office with smoke.
- Bagels brighten everyone’s day.
- If you become known as the dessert girl who regularly buys/makes/brings/consumes sweet things, then people will start to look out for you and will come by your desk to discretely say “I have cookies at my desk… come by later.” It’s really a strong bond, the bond between sweet-teethed ladies.
- Working with almost all women means some days are more tense than others. But there’s also a sort of camaraderie and candidness that wouldn’t come with many men in the mix too, I think.
- People will read email blasts more if there’s a video in it.
- I update my voicemail every morning with the new date and whether I’m in the office all day or in and out of meetings, etc. And every morning I think to myself “I would rock at reading out loud.” It must’ve been all of that reading Shakespeare aloud in high school English classes.
- Chipotle caters now. But they don’t deliver it. Valuable info.
And lastly, after a year of working in marketing, I’m aware of the “brand” that we individuals are all producing with the things we put out there for others to see. It’s made me want to be intentional about not just including the good stuff, but also hard or embarrassing stuff too in what I share. I want my “brand” to be a representation of what’s real. Not just the smiles. Not just the funny. But to show the honest, day-to-day life of rebuilding, re-discovering, grieving, finding joy — the little things that make up a life.
I think this is why I have loved watching the show, The Office, since I started to work here. Because it shows that same thing — the everyday doldrums, joys, pet peeves, shenanigans, and routines that make up the mortar that insulates the bigger brick pieces of life. These are the things that make up our stories. And that’s more than OK.
Joanna O’Hanlon is an adventurer and storyteller. She tries to be honest about the ugly and hard parts of life, and the beautiful parts too. This blog is one of the places she shares her thoughts and stories.
Other places are
instagram: @jrolicious twitter: @jrohanlon
photo credit: San Diego Shooter via photopin cc
Traveling like Royalty: A Halloween story
It was Halloween day and I was wearing a princess costume. Think Belle’s dress from Beauty and the Beast but in a blue-purple shimmer hue.
I dressed that way for work for the costume contest (which I got second place in, but Medusa had actual (fake) snakes in her hair. Hats off to her.). However, I was also flying to Denver that evening. I do bold and funny things, though, so I thought, “Why not travel in this dress?”
Now, I am often late to things. But I know that airlines (and swiss trains) don’t wait, so I left work an hour and a half early just to be safe. Between leaving work and actually getting myself into the airport, there were constant delays — traffic, roadwork, an accident, shuttle buses not coming — so by the time I was checking my bag, I was still late. Really late. Late enough that they said, “Your bag may not arrive on your plane. If it doesn’t, it’ll come in on the next plane, which will arrive tomorrow morning.”
I didn’t have another option so I said, “fine,” and I rushed off to security. I literally sprinted through the airport, one hand holding up the hem of my dress, and the other holding my tiara on my head.
Quickly, people got caught up in the moment.
“It’s Cinderella!” one lady exclaimed.
Her young daughter got very excited: “Hurry Cinderella!” she chimed in.
Soon everyone that I passed began cheering (yes, like onlookers cheering on folks at the end of a marathon) and calling out things like, “Oh no! She’s late!”
“Don’t miss the ball!”
“Cinderella, hurry, your carriage will turn into a pumpkin!”
They cleared the way for me through security, through the walk ways, and I walked onto the already boarded plane and everyone looked up at the hurried princess. And then they applauded.
And then I took my place in the last middle seat available, because while chivalry may not be completely dead, even Cinderella had to run home like a hot mess when she was late, and the middle seat of a 747 is a bit of an upgrade.
End Note: It wasn’t until I sat down that I realized, if my bag didn’t arrive, I would be in cold Denver stuck in a princess dress overnight. I don’t think I would’ve been such a popular disheveled-princess sight on November 1. Talk about a walk of shame. It’s amazing the difference a day makes. Luckily, my luggage did arrive, and it went down as my most favorite airport experience to date.
Photo taken in Denver, not while rushing through SMF airport
Joanna O’Hanlon is an adventurer and storyteller. She tries to be honest about the ugly and hard parts of life, and the beautiful parts too. This blog is one of the places she shares her thoughts and stories.
Other places are
instagram: @jrolicious twitter: @jrohanlon
Four napkins, two bags, & a smile: A Story from the Soup Kitchen
He just stared at me as he sat, his mouth never moving from that seemingly permanent frown. His eyes were open wide though, and they were on me. Not in a predatory way. Not in an offensive or angry way. Just observing, intently, as he sat silently.
One of the perks of working for Abram Interstate Insurance Services, Inc. is that we get the opportunity once a month to volunteer at a local charity organization called Loaves and Fishes and are given leave from work to do so. It’s in Sacramento, Calif., and it’s motto is “feeding the hungry, sheltering the homeless.” The organization has many programs that assist those in need in Sacramento. One of their most visible programs is their Dining Room operation. Seven days a week, 364 days a year, Loaves and Fishes’ dining room is open and serves a balanced midday meal to their 600-1,000 guests that come in each day.
Usually Abram Interstate employees volunteer early in the morning doing food prep, getting the midday meal ready for the guests that will come in hungry that day. This alone is rewarding, but not very glamorous. We do things like shuck corn, peel potatoes, cut onions — and you learn things like the fact that cutting onions for a meal for 600-1000 people will make you cry approximately 700,000 tears and that you will smell like onions until you shower. Twice.
Even in those times though, we work side by side with other volunteers from the community. Some are retired law enforcement, some are people who just want to give back. Some are there because of court-mandated community service, and some are there because they’re part of Loaves and Fishes programs, and they are working in the dining hall to gain work experience as a part of their road to getting off the streets.
Every few months though, we get the chance to volunteer actually during the meal. We get to help serve the food, clean the trays, buss the tables, and talk with the guests. That’s what I was doing on Friday — making the rounds to all the tables offering extra napkins, refilling water pitchers, offering water cups, and wiping down the tables after the guests left to make room for the next.
I kept passing this frowning gentleman, briefly making eye contact with him each time I passed to make sure he wasn’t needing napkins or a cup or anything. He never motioned for anything, just kept watching.
As I made my way around the room, I was at ease. This is one of the few types of places where I feel at my prime. My mouth was tired from smiling so wide. I love talking to the people, sometimes just chit-chat, but when it was slower, I’d actually get to ask about their lives. One elderly gentleman was heading to the park after he ate so that he could people watch.
“People watching is one of my favorite things. And the park, that’s one of the best places to do it on a nice day like this,” he relayed, leaning in from his wheelchair as he said it. He was hard of hearing, so he leaned in each time he spoke at a normal decibel, like he was a young boy telling a fun secret, a smile on his face as he spoke.
“What’s your name, sir?” I had asked him earlier when I had brought him his meal. He had been hunching over, his gray stubble accentuating his taught mouth. He didn’t seem rude, he just seemed curt, quiet.
But when I asked his name, this boy inside of him woke up. Leaning in, his grin spread all the way across his stubbled face, “Bob O. from Sacrament-O,” he beamed in a sing-song voice.
“No way!” I said, delighted by this fun man. “I’m Jo O. from Sacrament-O!”
Despite many interactions like my friendly encounter with Bob O., the frowning man sat in the middle of all of this commotion, and he never said a word, his lips never budged from their downward arch.
He stayed a long time. The people around him changing, me coming around offering napkins and take-away bags to most everyone around him, he sat there, long after he’d finished eating, just watching.
And then, as the table around him was clearing out, and the crowd was thinning, he raised his hand subtly, one finger pointing in the air as I glanced his way, my signal to finally offer him something. I went over to his side, smiling, but tentative.
“Hi sir, what can I get for you?”
“Can I have two bags? And some napkins please?”
“Sure!” I was glad to be able to do something small for him. And glad that his face seemed softened now. He still wasn’t smiling, but the muscles in his face had relaxed. And his eyes weren’t so intent in a watching way. They seemed soft now, too. Not so wide.
“Is two enough?” I asked, handing him the two napkins I had pulled from my apron pocket.
“Um, maybe more than that if you could. My girl and I, we’re going to the park.”
“Four? Is that enough?” I said, handing him two more.
“That’s great, thank you.”
“Great!” I said, about to bustle on, pretty sure this gentleman wasn’t a talker beyond his simple requests. I was turning to go when he gently put his hand on my arm, turning me back toward him.
“I just,” he started, “I just wanted to tell you something.”
“What’s that?” I asked, still smiling brightly.
I was expecting a comment about being beautiful or something to that effect. You can judge me for that, but I’m pretty popular with homeless and hungry men. I chalk it up to my semi-weekly showering habits.
“It’s just…” his voice was soft, almost shaky. He looked down at his hands before looking back up at me with his large, attentive dark eyes. “I don’t smile at all. Because, see, I got a lot of sadness inside.”
My smile faded. This was not the flattering, “you’re beautiful” comment I was expecting. This stoic man was telling me something real. I was ready to listen.
“So I don’t ever, smile,” he continued slowly. “But I want to thank you, because you made me smile today. I don’t remember the last time that happened.”
I don’t know when he smiled through the course of the hour he had been there. I had missed it in the bustle of the day. And he wasn’t smiling when he told me this touching note of thanks. But he said it had happened. And that matters to me.
“What’s your name?” I asked him, humbled by his sweet words that he’d struggled to say, like a painful confession.
“Gilbert.”
“Gilbert, I’m Jo.” I said, as he reached out his rough, wrinkled hand to shake my kitchen-gloved hand.
We chatted a little more about our stories, about sadness, about his needs, his worries for his children. And then someone behind me was calling for napkins, and I had to go. He got up, took his bagged leftovers and his four napkins, and left. As he was walking through the door to outside, he looked back.
“Bye Gilbert,” I said from across the room, waving as I handed a napkin to another guest. I smiled, not my bright toothy smile, but softly, touched by this man’s sad, grateful words and story.
He waived slightly, and smiled. I saw it that time. Then he was gone.
I’m continually awed by these small moments, made of nothing but a few minutes of life, where real life is shared in a dining hall, on the street, in front of grocery stores. I’m awed by the power of a smile. I’m awed by the way my heart is changed by the people who are willing and vulnerable enough to share their stories with me. I’m awed by this sometimes sad, beautiful life. What a gift.
Joanna O’Hanlon is an adventurer and storyteller. She tries to be honest about the ugly and hard parts of life, and the beautiful parts too. This blog is one of the places she shares her thoughts and stories.
Other places are
instagram: @jrolicious twitter: @jrohanlon
The secret to my spontaneous, adventurous life
Want to know my secret?
I plan to be adventurous and spontaneous.
In fact, my whole life is in preparation to be able to make those spontaneous, adventurous moments possible.
I stay in shape so that I can do fun active things at a moments (or days or weeks) notice.
I save my money into an nondescript “non-designated adventure fund”. (I also have many designated saved funds for specific big, longer-planner trips/activities.) This way I can make the decision to use these for-whatever-i-want adventure funds when opportunities arise (or when I create them).
I save my vacation time and my sick days and I plan ahead the most lucrative ways to use my time off (and my general free time). So when someone becomes my friend and is like, “Hey, let’s go to Europe next month,” I can be like, “yeah, I’ve got vacation days for that.”
I also try not to procrastinate, as I know that this leads to lack of accessibility for adventure. When I’ve put something off too long, and then the chance for adventure knocks, I’m left having to decide to be responsible and do you work, or say yes to the adventure. But if I do my work ahead of time, I can do both. In fact, when I do my work ahead of time, then I have the room in my schedule to be able to look around and ask “What fun thing could I do right now?”
The saddest part about procrastination is that I am most guilty of doing meaningless things with my time while I wait for the deadline to approach. In college I made a mental shift. I knew I was going to procrastinate either way (I hadn’t overcome this tendency AT ALL yet), so I decided that instead of pretending that I was going to do my homework, I would just decide that I wasn’t going to start it until a later time. That freed me up to really enjoy and use my time wisely until then. However, I would still argue that it gives you more freedom if you do your work earlier rather than later.
I know who might want to go with me on spontaneous things. It’s always valuable to invite a buddy along, even if they don’t end up being able to come.
And lastly, I say no to a lot of other things so that I have the time, the physicality, the funds, the freedom to say yes to the really great opportunities that come my way (even though sometimes that means saying no to other great opportunities to get there). I always remember that saying yes to something means saying no to something else.
So I practice that when planning to be spontaneous and have adventures. And then when it happens, it all feels like it falls together so smoothly, it’s almost easy to forget that my life is structured in a way that the hard work is done up front so that the adventure can just be that — adventurous and fun.
Joanna O’Hanlon is an adventurer and storyteller. She tries to be honest about the ugly and hard parts of life, and the beautiful parts too. This blog is one of the places she shares her thoughts and stories.
Other places are
instagram: @jrolicious twitter: @jrohanlon
The art of losing: Fires, possessions, and walking on
With the fires blazing in Southern California, I’ve been thinking about this question again:
If the house were on fire, what would I grab?
- When I was younger and living at my parents house, the answer was the boxes of photos. But now that I live on my own, I don’t have very many printed photos. Most of them are either on my laptop or my external hard dive. So I’d still really like to grab those. But there are highlights of many of the (thousands and thousands) of photos that I’ve taken available on facebook and other similar venues where I and other life participants have posted them.
- I have a lot of art pieces accumulating in my spare bedroom. But I made them all. And I know that while I may never be able to reproduce them, I also may be able to. Or I could make something new.
- I have a lot of clothes. If I was thinking clearly, I’d probably try to grab a couple shirts and a pair of pants, but they wouldn’t be first priority.
- The jewelry I care about most is always on my person, and those pieces are few, anyway.
- My movies could all be re-bought, but really I could live without them.
- While it would be incredibly sad to lose my journals — the chronicles of my pain, my joy, my wrestling — I know that I lived through them. I know their stories, even if I don’t know their exact words. I would try to grab them if I could. And similarly, most of my non-journaled writings I have either put into online spaces, or emailed to myself already, so most of those are accessible even if my computer burned.
- My Bible is the most irreplaceable book I own, though in reality, I don’t use it more than a couple times a week currently. It was a gift from my dying grandfather the year after my sister died. It has been with me through everything. It has water damage and ink stains (because of the spilled water). It is more underlined and noted than I can describe through the decade of life it’s lived with me. It has tear stains — literally. The leather cover is falling apart and the binding has come completely undone. I need a new one anyway, but I would try to grab this. But if it burned in the flames, I would accept it, because I know it’s time for a season of wrestling anew anyway.
I used to think about this question a lot as I grew up. What would I grab? It gets at the heart of what matters to you. I always had a list of all sentimental things that were a part of my answer — much more than I realistically would be able to rescue from a burning place.
But I think I’ve come to a point in life where I’ve become slightly accustomed to the art of losing. Losing things. Losing people. Losing dreams. Losing places. Losing relationships and friendships. Losing nearly everything I thought I knew and loved. And I’m still alive. I’ve survived, though at times it felt like I wouldn’t.
And now that I know that I can live through loss, now that I am an amateur artist in the art of losing, I don’t think there is really anything physical that would be too devastating to lose. Which is both sad and freeing.
I suspect many people experience that freedom when they get to the end of their lives and most of their people and things have passed on or been lost before them.
The last time that I had to move, one of the landlord’s children had assaulted one of my roommates. It was a bad situation. I had to find a new place within a week, which was stressful. Had to coach roommates through the legality of the situation, how to file a police report, what our rights as tenants were. And we got taken advantage of. When it came down to it, we had every right to take her to court, but it wouldn’t have been worth the effort we decided. The woman we were dealing with was changing her story every day. We were ready to just be done.
So we walked away, took care of business, lost our deposits, covered our legal obligations. And moved on.
People kept saying that I was “handling this all really well,” as we were moving out and I was trying to find a place to live. Which was baffling to me at first because I thought — how else would I handle it? I think when it comes to the loss of money or things, I have a quicker time accepting it — “what other option do I have?” is my mindset.
I remember preparing for a church trip abroad when I was younger and they talked about the “two hour rule”: Don’t take anything with you that it will take you longer than two hours to get over if you lose it. At this point in life I don’t own something that would fall outside that category. And I’m not sure how I feel about admitting that.
But I think the gift is that it prepares me to live with abandon now.
If I could choose, I wouldn’t choose it. But I have been baptized into the art of losing, and I know that it’s shaping who I am and how I live now.
Maybe one day I’ll find roots again. But for now, I just have acceptance for loss, and the stamina to take a deep breath and start again. And again. And again. I know the strokes of the art of losing. And I know that there is always life anew if you wait for it, if you build it, if you search for it. There is no other choice in my mind. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. And still, we walk on.
This song is by a band called Bastille and I have come to love it. It speaks about this process. This art of losing. But the song itself is full, almost upbeat. It’s become a sort of anthem for me. “The future’s in our hands and we will never be the same again.”
“Things We Lost In The Fire” by Bastille
Things we lost to the flames
Things we’ll never see again
All that we’ve amassed
Sits before us, shattered into ashThese are the things, the things we lost
The things we lost in the fire fire fire
These are the things, the things we lost
The things we lost in the fire fire fireWe sat and made a list
Of all the things that we had
Down the backs of table tops
Ticket stubs and your diariesI read them all one day
When loneliness came and you were away
Oh they told me nothing new,
But I love to read the words you usedThese are the things, the things we lost
The things we lost in the fire fire fire
These are the things, the things we lost
The things we lost in the fire fire fireI was the match and you were the rock
Maybe we started this fire
We sat apart and watched
All we had burned on the pyre(You said) we were born with nothing
And we sure as hell have nothing now
(You said) we were born with nothing
And we sure as hell have nothing nowThese are the things, the things we lost
The things we lost in the fire fire fire
These are the things, the things we lost
The things we lost in the fire fire fireDo you understand that we will never be the same again?
Do you understand that we will never be the same again?
The future’s in our hands and we will never be the same again
The future’s in our hands and we will never be the same againThese are the things, the things we lost
The things we lost in the fire fire fire
These are the things, the things we lost
The things we lost in the fire fire fireThese are the things, the things we lost
These are the things we lost in the fire fire fireFlames – they licked the walls
Tenderly they turned to dust all that I adore
listen to it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MGR4U7W1dZU
photo credit: eijeiii via photopin cc
Joanna O’Hanlon is an adventurer and storyteller. She tries to be honest about the ugly and hard parts of life, and the beautiful parts too. This blog is one of the places she shares her thoughts and stories.
Other places are
instagram: @jrolicious twitter: @jrohanlon
The Sort of Friend: that crying crying lady in the card aisle
I was in the famous Powell’s bookstore in Portland, spending over an hour browsing through their cards-and-quirky-things section when I pulled up one of the last cards that caught my eye, and it made me freeze.
In the middle of Powell’s, I could see people meandering around, chatting, browsing, loading their arms and their baskets with books, and I was paralyzed with gratitude. The card in my hand was plain white with a simple, dark-faded-to-light blue font. It’s message was simple: “I’d like to be the sort of friend that you have been to me. -Edgar A. Guest”
And just like that, I was that emotional lady in the greeting card aisle. The memories started bubbling up and brimming at the rim of my eyes: the faces, words, touches, presence of the people who have been a friend to me. And I couldn’t stop the tears from falling.
It was this beautiful mosaic of love flashing before my eyes showing me that in the midst of what has often felt like a life of brokenness and heartache, I am blessed. I am so blessed.
I have had people face shame with me, literally hand in hand. I have had friends who physically held me when I so desperately needed someone to, but didn’t even have the words to ask for it. I have had people who brought me comfort food in the dark hours. Friends who call me several times over the course of days and weeks, and when I don’t answer their calls, they aren’t deterred, they keep calling, keep checking in.
I have had friends who have made midnight drives when I needed them, friends who have flown to other continents to vsiit and adventure, friends who have loved me not because of what I do, but because of who I am and the fact that they decided to be my friend.
I’ve had friends who let me share my painful moments with them. Who, when I say honest things like, “I don’t know how to do this,” have responded honest things like, “You’re not supposed to know how.”
Friends who watch FRIENDS with me when it’s too hard to cope with the heaviness of life. Friends who make me laugh. Friends who let me cry (and some who cry with me). Friends who are honest with me about their own crap. Who journey with me. Who support me and let me support them. Who accept me, enjoy me, and make me lovable through the process of loving me.
And in the card aisle, as I wiped away the sweet tears of gratitude, I put the card back, because I couldn’t afford to buy it for every one of the people I had thought of in those moments. But as I moved from that spot into the rest of the store, I felt like it was time for me to make a move in my heart — a move from gratitude to fruitfulness. Like the card says, I want to be the sort of friend that you have been to me. I am so blessed by these people throughout my life. But it’s time I started to be a blessing to them, and others too.
Thank you for blessing me, and for showing me how incredibly powerful it is to be loved by a friend like you. And thank you for modeling how to be that kind of friend. Some of you may never read this, but you have shaped my life, and now you’re shaping my heart. I thank God for you.
Joanna O’Hanlon is an adventurer and storyteller. She tries to be honest about the ugly and hard parts of life, and the beautiful parts too. This blog is one of the places she shares her thoughts and stories.
Other places are
instagram: @jrolicious twitter: @jrohanlon
Ask for what you need: A step toward health
Ask for what you need.
That was a mantra repeated again and again at Onsite when I was there a year ago this week.
Onsite is an intensive therapy workshop in Tennessee, and it was the setting for the most significant week of my life to date. I heard about it first from Donald Miller at the Storyline Conference (he also mentions it in the Storyline book).
“My assistant has been with me for 10 years, and Onsite was such a significant experience for me that she refers to me as pre-Onsite and post-Onsite,” Don said. “I didn’t even know how broken I was until I went and started to look at what it would be to get healed.”
I was in a place where I thought I knew exactly how broken I was — decimated was a term i used a lot. Turns out, I didn’t even know the depth of the broken places.
This small place in the country in Tennessee became holy ground for me as I waded through the most painful pieces of my life. As I grieved. As I found acceptance for truths I couldn’t see or stomach previously.
But, though it wasn’t the main theme of the week by any means, the underlying words that were breathed again and again just for the health and safety of everyone were, “Ask for what you need.”
And this has been a revolutionary thought, not just for me, but for me to articulate with the people I do life with.
It’s come out in my nuclear family’s dynamics. In my friendships. In my jobs.
I ask for what I need up front, instead of waiting until later when my needs haven’t been met to address it. And I encourage others to do the same.
Sometimes it’s about the temperature of the air conditioner in the car.
Sometimes it’s about expectations about traveling with a friend. Sometimes it’s “I need to share my story with you,” or “I need for you to not put a positive spin on everything.” Or sometimes, it’s the really painful stuff: “I need you out of my life,” or “I need you to be there for me in ways that you haven’t ever been there before.”
What happens is that those conversations change from being painful or awkward confrontations where someone has been let down, to being pre-emptive and healthy, and direct. (Because our relationships continue from places of hurt and dissapointment, though, there may still be some pain in these conversations. But as you practice this more, the points of pain decrease in frequency in my experience.)
The trick is, to do so, you have to know what you need. It takes self-examination, and taking the responsibility on yourself to know your needs, instead of expecting others to fulfill the needs that you may not have even been able to articulate to yourself.
I’m sure I’ll write more about Onsite throughout the months and years to come as it was so formational for me. But this week, as I am one year out, this is something that came to mind and into my conversations last night, and it’s been a part of my new rhythm of life in this past year.
It’s not easy to examine myself and figure out what I need, but it’s healthy, and it helps me have more realistic expectations of other people, and helps me communicate my needs directly. Sometimes, I can say “I need ___” and the person knows right there and then that they’re not going to be able to meet that need. And while that may be hard/sad/disappointing, it’s healthy. It gives us all the freedom to say what we need, and say what we can offer to others before the hurt and disappointments leaving us feeling in a lurch.
So the question is: What do you need?
Once you practice knowing your needs, practice asking for them. It may be intimidating for us at first, but I have seen significant amounts of health flourish into my relationships as we’ve started to use this honest, self-responsible, direct approach. I invite you to try it, too. Feel free to share your thoughts/questions/and stories of how it goes.
If you’re interested in Onsite, I cannot say enough about the impact it had on my journey. If you feel stuck, or at rock bottom, or hopeless, or you just are interested in being the healthiest version of you, I would personally recommend their workshops. They have a variety of types and lengths of workshops. I was told before hand by a therapist not affiliated with them that it would be like a year or two of therapy in a week. For me, it was. https://www.onsiteworkshops.com/
Joanna O’Hanlon is an adventurer and storyteller. She tries to be honest about the ugly and hard parts of life, and the beautiful parts too. This blog is one of the places she shares her thoughts and stories.
Other places are
instagram: @jrolicious twitter: @jrohanlon
storyofjoblog@gmail.com
10 steps to Adventure(ing like a responsible adult)
If you would like to have an adventure, this is for you.
10 steps for Adventure(ing like a responsible adult) :
1. Decide to have an adventure.
2. Invite someone to join you — you can adventure by yourself, but it’s better to have an adventure partner lest you need help climbing up a snow embankment, need someone to grab the broken windshield wiper before it flies away, or someone to walk you to the drug store after you accidentally eat peanuts (this is probably only necessary for those allergic to peanuts).
– doing so on social media is encouraged. It allows others to jump in too, if that’s your desire. If you struggle with control, or really want an exclusive adventure, save posting about it until it’s happening, or after it’s over.
3. Go somewhere. You don’t even have to decide ahead of time. It could be adventuring into a new part of your town (or the surrounding land if you want to get naturey), or it could be the other side of the world.
4. Know how much time you have until you HAVE to be back. Then decide along the way where to go in between. Flexibility is key to adventure.
5. Know how much money you have to spend. If you know you have only $10, my advice is to know what priorities you have: if food isn’t one of them, but entrance to a national park is, then eat from the McDonald’s menu so that you can afford the latter. Be a grown up when it comes to money management, even on adventures. And know when it’s worth it to bend the budget for the sake of an experience/memory.
6. Talk to people. People you know. People you don’t know. Ask people for their suggestions (what’s your favorite drink here? Where do YOU like to get donuts in Portland? What’s your favorite graphic novel, man who is standing in the graphic novel section of Powell’s and looks like he belongs there?)
7. Practice the art of wandering and exploration. This applies in cities and outdoors. Remember what it was like to be a kid, eyes wide with wonder at the world unfolding around you, always excited and curious to know what lay behind the next bend? Practice letting yourself do that again.
8. Take a camera. But don’t spend too much time taking pictures. Make sure you see the beautiful views with your eyes, not just your lens finder.
9. Do some leg work ahead of time if you are going to a place where you know nothing about, but know that there are specific things the place it known for. (Look at possible routes. Look for famous places. ask around for people who have been there. Check your tires before you leave — I would suggest realizing you need a new tire prior to the day before the trip… but that’s still better than realizing you need one when it blows out on the highway. These are hypothetical examples, of course.). But then be willing to let your itinerary go if need be.
10. Enjoy yourself. Even in the mishaps. That’s part of the adventure. And make sure you laugh a lot along the way.
If you are super adventurous and flexible, have no schedule commitments you have to be back for, and have unending funds, follow steps 1, 3, & 10.
That’s how to have an awesome adventure. So go have one. And tell me about yours when you go!
Sharing the adventure stories with each other helps to keep our sense of adventure alive, even when we’re doing the important work of everyday life.
If you missed it, you can read my latest travel adventures from my roadtrip to Portland last week (and see photos of some of the awesomeness we found along the way!).
Joanna O’Hanlon is an adventurer and storyteller. She tries to be honest about the ugly and hard parts of life, and the beautiful parts too. This blog is one of the places she shares her thoughts and stories.
Other places are
instagram: @jrolicious twitter: @jrohanlon
storyofjoblog@gmail.com
It’s time for an adventure: #JoAndLizzTakeOR
” I feel like it’s time for you to come here so we can have an adventure.”
I posted that on my friend Lizz’s facebook wall a couple months ago, completely serious, but not knowing where it would lead. My wanderlust was just acting up, and I missed Lizz. So I said so.
Side note: To be transparent, I try to persuade people into adventures much more often than they’re able to happen. Lizz has gotten good about saying no when she needs to. But she’s also getting better at being prepared to say yes! This makes me happy. End side note.
Quickly, a mutual friend of ours (we met him and his family when we studied abroad at EuNC in Switzerland) chimed in (I love facebook’s option to comment on most anything these days). “You guys should come to Portland!” He suggested. And then he let us know that another married couple that we knew from EuNC who still live there were going to be coming to his church in April to speak.
Lizz texted me quickly about dates, time off work, logistics. and then her tickets were booked.
Last Thursday she flew to Sacramento, and then we left after I got off work the next day and we drove to Portland (9.5 hours, piece of cake). We were off on our adventure!
We actually ended up seeing/reuniting with several people along the way: The Veach’s (whom we stayed with, and got to meet the newest member of their family, beautiful baby Anna). The Glendennings (Martin and Cezi, who were definitely not a romantic item the last time I saw them 5 years ago in Switzerland). Lizz’s second cousin, who we got to enjoy the deliciousness of Salt and Straw ice cream with. Adrienne, a mutual friend from college who has lived on another continent and moved back since we’d last seen her — also who we didn’t know lived in Portland, but she saw our pictures and reached to meet up with us. And we got to see my good friend and brother Nathan in his life in Eugene (and he let us take over his room. His mama raised him right!).
This weekend we did a lot: We drove, stopped for sight-seeing, hiked around the mountains and waterfalls, ate at the food carts, experienced the wonderment of Salt and Straw ice cream, ate too many donuts at blue star donuts, drank a nauseating amount of chocolate at Cacao — which we were happy to do — spent hours browsing Powell’s bookstore and drinking coffee while reading, got to visit our friends’ church, got to see the lookout point of Eugene, and got to gaze at the beauty of Crater Lake (after struggling to climb up the snowing embankment to get to the view).
This weekend we shared a lot of stories: We got to spend hours sharing painful stories about our lives since we’d last seen each other. We got to hear giddy stories of how our friends got together as a couple. We got to hear the stories of churches planted, lives moved, seasons lived. We got to share in funny stories about pregnancy. And about life after college. We got to be together: around the table, over coffee, over breakfast, on the floor of the living room, in the seats of cars, sitting in plaza squares, and in tiny spaces with delicious food and a colorful crowd of people pressing in all around us.
This weekend we got to adventure: The adventure of driving through the snow right after Lizz talked about how she can’t drive in the snow. And then the adventure of the windshield wiper breaking off mid-downpour on the highway. (We pulled over and got it to re-attach, thankfully!) The beauty of the river gorge and the forested paths. The beauty of the aisles and aisles of books. The wonder of a whole block of carts offering all different foods. The snowy road up to a gorgeous lake when our GPS stopped working soon after Lizz said “I can’t even imagine road tripping with just a paper map, without GPS. I mean, I probably could do it, but I never have.” The adventure of stopping at the view point of Mount Shasta with no one around except a motorcycle. “Where do you think the motorcycle owner is?” asked Lizz. “Peeing.. or poopin,” I said quietly. “Ha! Peeing or pooping,” she repeated laughing. Then he emerged from the bushes and looked down as he walked to his bike and left without looking at the mountain.
The beauty of our weekend was that it felt like we did a lot, and had a lot of time with the people we were with, and it never felt rushed. And the reason why, is because that’s how you have an adventure. You go out of your norm. You decide it’s going to be an adventure. And then whatever happens next, is one.
If you would like to have an adventure, check back for my post tomorrow:
10 Steps to Adventure(ing like a responsible adult)
Joanna O’Hanlon is an adventurer and storyteller. She tries to be honest about the ugly and hard parts of life, and the beautiful parts too. This blog is one of the places she shares her thoughts and stories.
Other places are
instagram: @jrolicious twitter: @jrohanlon
storyofjoblog@gmail.com