It’s OK to not be OK — Being Honest About What Hurts
photo credit: i’m not okay. via photopin (license)
We were sitting in a smaller room in the back of the church and I had made fajitas for my volunteer staff of youth leaders for the middle school youth group I ran at the time.
It was during the students’ Christmas break, so we had put the youth group on hiatus for 2 weeks to give our volunteers a break. I’d made this dinner to thank them and to get together to just get some honest critical and uplifting feedback from one another about how the past semester had gone.
We went around the room and affirmed one another in what they brought to the table. I was caught of guard with a lump in my throat when one of the volunteers said about me, “You make them know that it’s OK to not be OK.”
I’d never thought of those words before, but that has been a life mission of mine since then in all that I do. I want to be someone who affirms people that it’s OK to not be OK. It’s also OK to be OK, if you really are. But that night was the first night maybe in my life where I realized I was doing something right. I was being who I wanted to be to the world, even though my world at that time was only about 20 middle school students.
A few years ago, I was really good at being honest and open with my story about the grief and grappling after my older sister had died. I think, and hope, that I was able to be someone who could reach out to those in grief and let them know that very truth — it’s OK to not be OK.
But in the more recent couple of years, since my life has changed and truth has been revealed about those darker, secret, shameful parts of my story, it’s become a current part of my story. No longer a “my sister died, and for a long time I wasn’t OK,” past-tense thing.
I still have many moments and days where I am not OK. I am doing really well, comparatively. I’m telling my story with more ease. I mostly enter social circles without trepidation. I have stopped apologizing to everyone I meet for parts of my story and for who I am. I have the freedom to be known and to know others again. And it’s actually fan-freaking-tastic.
But I still have days where I’ll see something and will text one of my trusted friends things like, “just came across this. Well, F—.”
I still have days where I’ll send out the cry for help.
I still cannot enter my home church building without being paralyzed with hyperventilation and uncontrollable sobbing (which is really not pretty or fun, FYI). Realizing this when I went there last, in November, made for a very not-OK Christmas Eve night as well, as I for the first time in my entire life did not attend the service there, and I sat at home being not OK as my family went (which they should do and I wanted them to do… don’t read weirdly into that).
I still am wary of new people. I still have trust and commitment issues.
In a lot of ways, I’m doing great. But in a lot of ways, I’m still not OK. And I’ve just not been willing to lie about that. I’ve not been willing to pretend to be OK when I wasn’t. Which is new for me.
And what’s happened in the broadening not-OKness of my journey is that it’s enabled me to lead by example, not just to people in grief, but to people in all sorts of not-OK areas of life.
And while maybe that’s a depressing thing to be able to lead by example in, I don’t care. Because sometimes life is hard. Sometimes things just suck. And yes, there can be hope, and growth, and newness, and OKness once again. But what I find in my own life is that I have to admit I’m not OK before any of the rest of that ever comes.
And that is something that most people are not comfortable with.
Positive spins are many people’s security blankets. I just can’t do it this time around. You won’t find me sprinkling glitter on the crap of life. Other people can do that.
But for me, I want to tell you who are hurting, you who are ashamed, you who feel trapped, you who feel depressed, you who feel anxious, you who feel stuck — it’s OK to not be OK. Sometimes, healing starts with letting yourself feel the pain.
__ __ __ __ __
One of the bands that I enjoy, Abandon Kansas, just released a new album that has a lot of that hurt and grappling, specifically with self-examination and questioning of the church and of pain, of addiction and seeing that we’re not as we want to be. When they were making the album, they did a kickstarter campaign and the main songwriter, Jeremy Spring, wrote, “I’m just going to let it hurt for a while.”
That’s what it takes sometimes. I read that sentence from him, and thought about all the times and ways I’ve had to just let it hurt for a while — all the times I’ve said, I’m going to be OK with not being OK right now — over the past two years, and I wrote this poem.
Let me hurt. (April, 2015.)
Just let me hurt for a while.
Don’t choke me out
trying to tie a bow around it.
It’s a wound,
not a present.
I’m broken,
not wrapped.
I’m bleeding out and you
used a ribbon as a tourniquet.
Don’t do it.
Please, let me hurt for a while —
it’s all that I have left.
F*cks, hells, and shits
punctuate my language.
Pain leaks
into my sentences.
Because when I’m honest, sometimes
my brokenness still feels fresh.
I didn’t know grief could be
so violent without death.
Don’t demand a positive spin.
A silver lining won’t fix it.
So please, let me hurt for a while —
it’s all that I have left.
I wonder how long it will be
before I can breathe through the memory.
Because right now, to remember
still feels like drowning.
Because right now, in my hometown
I still feel like an enemy.
Someday there will be more, but
for now this is my story.
So just let me hurt for a while — I’m sorry.
It’s all that I have left.
I’ve barely started
to trust again.
But I’m afraid of myself
in the end.
I don’t totally know
how to get around this bend.
I don’t totally know
if I’m good at being a friend.
When I tell the truth,
I’m afraid I will offend.
I want vulnerability.
I want to mend.
But just let me hurt for a while —
it’s all that I have left.
If you’re not OK, I hope you can find the freedom and the safety to know that that’s OK.
If you’d like to support the Story Project (to cover travel expenses, costs of Stories for those who can’t afford it, etc.) you can do so below or contact me at storyofjoblog@gmail.com if you’d like to send a check. Thank you for your support!
To Donate to Stories By Jo: The Story Project click below
Jo 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
A Cold Drink – An honest look in the mirror of life.
photo credit: Lower Floor. via photopin (license)
I met a man in Seattle recently. His name was Sean.
He was in Pike’s Place market, his worn backpack and layers the only things suggesting he was without a place to stay. I may have taken him for a wary tourist if he had not been asking loudly, in the general direction of the crowds passing by, “Can anyone spare enough money for a cold drink?”
I passed right by him, and when I looked up to meet his face, he was looking elsewhere. My eyes didn’t linger, didn’t spend any extra energy trying to meet his gaze. I passed on, and his tone got louder, his voice hoarse and raspy. “Can anyone spare some change? Please! Does anyone have enough money for a cold drink?”
I sauntered by another flower stand. Then by a produce section. Then by a small fish stand, not the famous one. Then by another artisan’s table.
All the while I could hear him. He was shouting now. Not an angry shout, but a sad, desperate shout. By the time I got back to him, his dry voice was shaking and begging the crowds that just kept passing by.
Regardless of my issues with the church, my wounds and my past, my distrust of people, and my serious questions about the Bible, I still would call myself a Christian. A God lover. And there is one thing I don’t have questions about from the Bible and the character of God. He says clearly, “I will say to you, you saw me naked and you clothed me, when I was thirsty you gave me a drink…as you have done to the least of these, you have done to me.”
And I know I’m undoing any karma or glory or whatever by telling you this, so believe me, I know it — it’s not to brag, and I’m fine with not getting anything from this. That’s not why I did it.
I did it because I had those words pop into my head, and I had this vision of this thirsty man, yelling with his parched voice, and no one, myself included taking the time to even acknowledge his humanity. Even if they didn’t give him anything, he was literally yelling for help and everyone was walking by ignoring him. He was thirsty, a basic human need that hits very, very close to my heart, and I hadn’t paused as I had walked by.
I’m telling you this because I’m ashamed of it. I’m pained that my first response was to ignore that tug in my chest, that churn of my gut, and to keep walking. To keep ignoring the yells for help right in front of me.
How will I ever pay attention to the yells for help that I can’t hear around the world — the “Please, I need something to drink” pleas around the world — if I blatantly and heartlessly walk past the one shouting in my ear at the Pike’s Place market in Seattle?
I don’t know.
As I was in front of the artisan’s table several shops down and I could still hear his soft, but urgent yelling, desperation in his voice, I had a serious moment with myself where I said “What the F— do you think you are doing??”
I’ve had moments like this before. Where I feel the urge to help, the nudge to engage, and I walk by. And I still feel it as I walk farther and farther and I’m too embarrassed to turn back, so I continue to ignore it. I still think about several of those moments years later.
This time, I was more disgusted with myself than ashamed, and I had to fix it.
“Hi,” I said, as he stopped his pleading to the crowd when he saw me approaching. “I don’t hand out money,” I said apologetically.
“No, no, that’s ok,” he cut me off. “I just need a cold drink.”
“Sure. So, let’s go somewhere, and I’ll get you whatever you want,” I finished my first thought.
I again reiterated he could have anything he wanted. He literally got a $2.50 fountain drink. He filled his glass with cold water first and downed it, and then filled the second with ice and soda.
We did not have any significant interaction as we got his drink. I learned a little bit of his story. He a little bit of mine. We’re both from near Sacramento, and we’re both on journeys that we didn’t want to have to begin. We’ve both missed what we thought we’d find, and are trying to figure out what’s next.
My life right now is asking people to talk to me, to share their stories. It is my life to listen and then write and validate. But I passed by a man literally crying out to be heard and helped.
It cost me $2.50 to fix someone’s thirst. But more importantly, it cost me nothing to look him in the eye, speak to him, and validate his existence.
When I think about it, I’m still extremely frustrated with my reactions. I still have a long, long way to go on this journey. And if I get thirsty along the way, I hope there will be people quicker to hear than I was.
Sometimes the people or circumstances around us are mirrors, and this moment was a mirror in which I saw that what’s in there is still kind of ugly. That I still have a good deal more work to do to be the person I want to be in the world. They’re not fun moments — those mirrors — but they’re necessary.
If you’d like to support the Story Project (to cover travel expenses, costs of Stories for those who can’t afford it, etc.) you can do so below or contact me at storyofjoblog@gmail.com if you’d like to send a check. Thank you for your support!
To Donate to Stories By Jo: The Story Project click below
Jo 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
Bad Leaver – An apology to the good people I’ve left
For a long time I felt like an enemy in my home town. That was the best verbiage I had to describe the feeling of always being on guard, always feeling ready for an affront. Always jumpy and distrusting.
Strolls down the milk aisle were hurried and vigilant. More times than I can count I ran into people with whom I didn’t know where I stood. Other times I’d run into people and knew where I stood: on the road of their wounds — I’d helped lay the bricks. On their Most Wanted posters — yet they were vigilant in their avoidance.
I only had one person tell me to leave, but by the time she got to it at the end of her list, it was a question not a statement. “Why don’t you leave?” she said sadly, honestly wondering. “I don’t feel released yet.” I said.
And it was true. Life was a very dark, very lonely hell in my hometown for several months. But there were a few people who stepped into my life during that time who said, “we’ll walk with you,” “we’ll sit wherever you sit,” “I’ll be your friend.”
To be completely honest, I needed them, relied on them, but I didn’t trust them.
I didn’t know then how hard it would be for me to trust anyone new in life for the next years. It’s still not something I do well. I can count on one hand the number of people who have slowly but surely broken into my life after I was trying to rebuild, and who have stayed long enough to earn my trust. It’s not really about those people, it’s about me.
The people who stepped in during my time of need were trustworthy, but when I ended up finally feeling like I was “released” from this town that I had loved — that I could move away with peace and that it would both be healthy and not for the sake of running away, I didn’t leave well.
I tend to be a bad leaver. When I leave an event or a place, I don’t announce, “Hey, I’m taking off, bye everyone.”
I don’t go around and say all the proper goodbyes. I used to. But now, I’m less certain of myself. I’m less confident that people care if and when I go. So I don’t make a big effort to find out. I tell those that are nearby, “hey, I’m heading out,” and then I go without fanfare.
It’s not rare that people follow up after a party, “When did you take off? I looked for you and then you were gone.” But still, I do this.
I did it when I left my hometown. And I left some kind people in the dust who had made a sacrifice to be with me in the darkness. I’ve never had the nerve to go back to them and say I’m sorry for that. That that was a really crappy thing to do. That I really, really, really did appreciate their grace and their friendship when no one else was there. That it lightened the weight on my chest enough to be able to breathe with pain, as opposed to continuing to suffocate all the way.
And then I came back to that town this month, and I saw a couple of these people, and they were gracious, and made sure I knew that I was always still invited to be with them. An invitation I’d become uncertain of — just as I am uncertain of the weight of my leaving.
When I left, it all happened quickly. I got a job offer, a week later I took a 10 day long road trip, and then a week after that I was gone. I was coming back often to see my family, so I had underestimated my need to announce my leaving. It felt anticlimactic to announce “I’m moving, but I’ll be back once a week for a chiropractor and family dinner.” So I just didn’t, and I left, and then drifted.
Then I tried to leave the same way from Rocklin when I moved to Denver, and people intervened, and said “We’re going to have a birthday/goodbye party for you.” And I cried, and apologized to them for not letting myself get closer to them than I did. I apologized that they got a crappy, in-transition version of me while I was there, and they were gracious, and uplifting, and seemed genuinely sad to see me go.
With each move, I think I am getting better at being known, and better at announcing my goodbyes, but the reality is, I’m bad at them, partly because I’m too good at them.
I’ve said too many goodbyes. And so the real estate in my heart preserves itself because the attrition rate is bad. It says goodbyes quickly and gets the heck out of dodge.
And I’m afraid I’ve left a number of good, kind, gracious people in my wake sometimes.
Sometimes much more than others. Not that I’ve been such an important person to them to be able to hurt them so — but because I act like an inconsiderate person, and I leave without proper closure on the ways they’ve reached out to me in my times of need. They were willing to be reciprocal friends and I took their kindness and left.
I’m good at being an anomaly. I’m good at being a one-hit wonder that comes in, a flurry of fun and adventure and then is out the door the next day.
But I don’t want to be that. I’m a bad leaver because goodbyes, when done well, hurt my throat and they hurt my heart.
In Denver, it’s been different. The friends I’ve made through other venues have been great, but short-lived because most of them knew I was only living there for a time — that I was on loan so to speak. I have left them in a crappy way similar to before.
But I’ve lived with one of my best friends, for the third time in our lives. I’ve lived upstairs from two guys who have wiggled their way into my heart through lots of games and honest talks and time spent hanging out on the porch together. I’ve gotten to spend considerable amounts of time with one of my cousins who I had literally only met twice before I moved to Colorado. The overall friendships have been fewer, but the deep friendships have been deeper and more real. And my goodbyes are hurting my heart more this time, because I’m really trying to do them better.
My hope is that I do less and less leaving in my life. But I’m trying, really trying, to get to a point where, when I do have to leave, I leave well. I’m sorry if I’ve been a bad leaver to you. I’ve been protecting my heart. But it’s been on the bench recuperating long enough. I’m letting it back in the game, slowly but surely.
If you’d like to support the Story Project (to cover travel expenses, costs of Stories for those who can’t afford it, etc.) you can do so below or contact me at storyofjoblog@gmail.com if you’d like to send a check. Thank you for your support!
To Donate to Stories By Jo: The Story Project click below
Jo 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
Pieces – An ode to my hometown people
I wrote this poem almost exactly two years ago about some of the people in my hometown. I have moved away now, but they are still people whose faces light up when they see me in town, who hug me and ask how things are and are willing to hear the honest answers. They have taught me more about grace outside of the church than anything within the church walls ever could. Seeing some of them recently reminded me of this poem from two years back, and about how true it still is. They are the reason that I still love my hometown — these people feel like home even though the town doesn’t.
Pieces – An Ode To My Hometown (May 31, 2013)
We’ve worked for years to make a life together.
We’ve celebrated births and birthdays
promotions and graduations
holidays and everydays.
We’ve grieved the loss of
daughters sisters cousins,
brothers sons lovers,
the old and the young we did not want to let go.
We’ve sat in hospitals, backyards, couches,
church chairs and on the carpets at the altars,
in campgrounds and at lunch tables.
A blended family
merged by pain and memory,
by the act of rejoicing and grieving together.
A mosaic of broken pottery,
together it felt like home.
Then it broke again,
bitterness shot through wounded friends,
our hard-work mosaic burst like clay pigeons.
My shotgun blast of truth
was all it took
to ruin the life we knew.
And grace happened.
When one by one,
people picked up the shards,
swept up the dust,
and deliberately decided to put their pieces back in the pot.
They were some people, not a lot.
Their actions and their words
could not be unread:
“Life is broken, but no one’s dead.
Here are my pieces,
I’m willing to build again.
I’ll put in the work to
bring you back to life again.
Let’s make another mosaic
different than the last time.
I don’t know whose pieces you’ll have
but you’ll have mine.”
And they came back to the table
where brokenness is made whole.
Where shattered lives are mixed
where selfless love is bold.
A family was re-cooped,
where hard life is what we do,
where my life can be rebuilt
where I can be made new.
If you’d like to support the Story Project (to cover travel expenses, costs of Stories for those who can’t afford it, etc.) you can do so below or contact me at storyofjoblog@gmail.com if you’d like to send a check. Thank you for your support!
To Donate to Stories By Jo: The Story Project click below
Jo 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
Interact – You can do it, too.
My brother sent me a post on facebook recently that I loved. It didn’t have any information on it, so it’s hard to verify if it’s true or not, but it said, “There are libraries around the world where you can check out a person as a living book and listen to their stories.”
If you’ve read almost anything I’ve written recently, you can guess how much I love this idea. But I noticed many comments on the post echoing a thought in the same key: Why go to a library to hear some stranger’s stories when we don’t even bother to talk to our neighbors or the people around us in restaurants?
While I understand the argument and the sentiment, I think the thing is, when we want to talk, we’re afraid that maybe other people don’t. Where we’d like to hear people’s stories, we’re not sure if the people around us are willing to tell their stories. Or maybe we want to tell our stories, but we’re not sure if the people around us would want to listen.
I have become more introverted as my years have increased in number, so while I am talkative many times, many other times I really do enjoy the solitude and aloneness that can come from traveling alone or dining alone in the company of only strangers. I think we’ve all probably been trapped on a plane next to someone who wanted to talk the whole way when we really just wanted to sleep, read, think, or whatever else it is you do on an airplane.
But aside from that, I think the majority of why we don’t talk, why we don’t share, why we don’t interact with those around us is fear. And that fear that is heavily supported by social conventions. Social conventions that say “Stay quiet.” That say it’s weird to say hello to a stranger standing in the same vicinity. That it’s inappropriate to reach out and interact with someone who has not invited you to do so.
There are of course times, and signs that those social conventions should be abided by (in my opinion). For example, you never need to talk to someone in the next stall over in the bathroom unless you need to embarrassingly ask them to pass you some TP. Or, when you’re at a cafe and you see someone with both of their headphones in, working away at something, it better be for a specific reason that you’re approaching them and asking them to disengage what they’re doing (like, “hey, I’m having a heart attack and my phone is dead, could you call 911 please?”). Not just for general chit chat.
But what I’ve found is that when I get over my fear, my social anxiety that our culture affirms that tells me to just stare at my phone instead of engaging the people around me, and when I finally venture out of myself into the world of others, I have found some beautiful interactions. I have found some beautiful people that are in my life now in large ways because I engaged them or visa versa who I otherwise would’ve just passed by.
The comments on the facebook post are right: we are surrounded by people with incredible stories that we don’t know on a regular basis, and we’ll continue to never know them unless we begin to interact.
I do it the cheating way: I ask people to tell me their stories so I can write it for them, which is an incredible blessing to get to sit in those spaces and hear those tales.
But before I was ever a writer, I was a toddler that would ask you who you were, where you lived, what did you believe.
Then I was the little girl who reached out to the middle aged woman struggling on the ice skating rink and asked if I could help her, and continued to skate with her for the next hour.
When I was very young it came naturally. But then adolescence hit and it was more uncomfortable to reach out. So it became a discipline instead of a natural disposition.
With this discipline, I was the middle school student who went to summer camp and met every single counselor there, and then continued to be friends with many of them for years later — up to and including one who opened a crossfit gym in my hometown when I was an adult and became my trainer.
And on and on.
Some of the dearest people I have in my life today are there because I thought, “What do I have to lose?” and I talked with them, reached out, interacting in non-extraordinary ways that sparks extraordinary friendships, adventures, and tales.
So, as I challenge myself regularly, I challenge you: Reach out. Interact. See what happens.
If you want to reach out by encouraging someone you know to have their story written (so you and others can read it and know it), contact me directly (info below), or have them look over the story project website and contact me for next steps.
If you’d like to support the Story Project (to cover travel expenses, costs of Stories for those who can’t afford it, etc.) you can do so below or contact me at storyofjoblog@gmail.com if you’d like to send a check. Thank you for your support!
To Donate to Stories By Jo: The Story Project click below
Jo 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
30 Things I love (and miss) About California
Things I love about California/Northern California:
- Mexican Food
- Avocados
- Radio stations that play good (and fairly varied) music. (Side note to towns like Denver: If I hear the same song within an hour on the same radio station, you’re doing it wrong.)
- Radio commercials about California Avocados or just other things that we do well. Where else do they have “commercials” that are actually just us patting ourselves on the back for being an awesome place?
- The fact that no one from here calls it “cali” (at least no one from norcal)
- The fact that drivers drive well, drive fast, drive (mostly) aware of their surroundings, and know how to merge.
- The fact that we can drive forever in the left lane of the highway as long as you’re not going slow. None of this “Stay right except to pass” nonsense.
- The fact that we don’t need “minimum speed” signs. (*Cough Denver Cough*)
- People who say “hella” and “hecka” a hecka lot still. And that’s it’s normal to say “dude,” before proceeding with some mildly serious statement. (Ex: “Dude. Did you hear it’s supposed to rain tomorrow??” )
- Mexican food.
- In N Out
- That you can buy booze at the grocery store
- That girls wear “short shorts” and it’s not scandalous. And that they’re not considered short. (I remember being in Europe wearing shorts that were almost as long as my fingertips with my arms at my sides and being told by other Americans that those were “booty shorts”. Not that we don’t also have true booty shorts, but our definitions are clearly different.)
- The acceptability of wearing flip flops. Almost everywhere. Almost all the time. Unless you’re barefooted.
- Despite the drought: all the bodies of water. Oceans, Lakes, Rivers, Ponds, pools. We love the water.
- The variety of lands and people. San Francisco is not LA is not San Diego is not Chico is not Bishop is not Lake Tahoe is not Humboldt. So many options.
- Fresh sea food. And the fact that a shack that says “fresh sea food” doesn’t make me wary.
- Mexican Food.
- That people (outside of SF) look you in the eye, smile and say hi, even when you’re out running on a trail somewhere.
- That you would be out running on a trail somewhere. Anywhere. Everywhere.
- Being outside.
- Raley’s (the best grocery store ever, for those non-northern californians)
- The trees. The wildflowers. The dead grass over all the hills in summer, and the green rolling hills of winter. The orchard blossoms in the spring.
- The fact that even “conservative California” is pretty liberal & progressive in thought comparatively. (But shhh, don’t tell them that. They want to think they’re really conservative.)
- Our public education standards. Maybe they’re not what they should be, but they’re better than many places. I’m thoroughly grateful for my excellent public education experience despite being in a small, poor town.
- The frequent use of spanglish scattered through everyday conversations.
- Blackberry bushes growing wild everywhere. Even when you don’t want them.
- Diversity of wildlife. (Amount of deer seen in the past 12 hours: 3.)
- My people there.
- Did I mention Mexican Food?
If you’d like to support the Story Project (to cover travel expenses, costs of Stories for those who can’t afford it, etc.) you can do so below or contact me at storyofjoblog@gmail.com if you’d like to send a check. Thank you for your support!
To Donate to Stories By Jo: The Story Project click below
Jo 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
FAQ’s about my life, my location, and why I love the midwest
FAQ’s
- You’re moving? Yes!
- When? End of May.
- Where are you moving? Wichita, Kansas
- Wichita!? Why would you want to live there? I drove into the town to stay for a night on my way to Kansas City a couple of years ago, and I spent the day exploring the place. It feels like a hometown to me, and right then I could see myself living there.
- Wichita?! What’s in Wichita? Nice people, front porches, sunflowers, beautiful expansive skies, a popular donut shop (which is pretty important to me in a town), and a gentleman culture where people say “yes ma’am.” I like that crap.
- Wichita?! Why Wichita? (I realize these are all similar. but people frequently ask it the various ways) 1) I’ve always loved the midwest since I drove through with my family a couple of times growing up. 2) Since I developed friends from Oklahoma and Kansas in college and visited them there, I’ve wanted to live in the midwest at least for a season of life. 3) For the story project, it gets me more toward the center of the country so that travel to the Middle and Eastern sides of the states is more feasible. 4) I grew up in what I would describe as “the midwest of California.” There is something about Kansas, and Wichita specifically that feels homey. And I like that. 5) I do what I want.
- When are you moving again? End of May. Kind of. I already moved out of Denver technically. I’m a hobo for the time being.
- Why would you want to leave Denver? I really, truly enjoy Denver. Really and truly. Aside from horrible drivers, it has had really no down-sides for me. I just always knew it would be a temporary season. And while it has been a wonderful season, I’m excited for the next one too. There are now many people I’ve come to know and value who live here, and the city and surrounding areas themselves are so amazing. I’ll be back to visit, no doubt. But I see this as a transition space for most people I meet. While that’s good for me for a while, I grew up with deep roots, where I have known some of my best friends our entire lives. And I want to live in a place with community soil for deep roots like that. Maybe Wichita will be that for me and maybe it won’t, but I’m going there to find out.
- But it’s so far away. It’s 7 hours from Denver. Easy peasy. And those in California, you’re right, it’s 24 hours of straight driving, as opposed to the 17 hours of straight driving it’d take to get to Denver from CA (and I haven’t seen any of you – except for Kinsey – make that drive yet). Plus, not to worry, we have these beautiful things called phone calls, facetime, text messages, and email. And I’ve heard rumors they even have regular U.S. postal service mail delivery in Wichita. We’ll have to see, but it might be true!
- I’m sad that you’re moving. To be honest, it’s bittersweet for me, too. This has been a really amazing several months here. I will miss this season of life with you guys. But I am excited for the next chapter, too.
- And where are you moving again? Wichita
- Well it sounds like you actually want to move there. I do. Who would’ve thought. someone wants to move to Kansas. Makes sense though. I could see you there. Thank you, I think. =)
And one last one from my friend Brady who is from Hutchinson, Kansas and knows me pretty dang well: Wichita? Really? Are you sure you want to move to such a big city? Maybe you should look at small town Kansas.
P.S. Kansas has the best state motto: Ad astera per aspera — to the stars through struggle — as I intend to live. So that’s the story, folks. Wish me luck with the wind. And come visit the sunflower state.
If you’d like to support the Story Project (to cover travel expenses, costs of Stories for those who can’t afford it, etc.) you can do so below or contact me at storyofjoblog@gmail.com if you’d like to send a check. Thank you for your support!
To Donate to Stories By Jo: The Story Project click below
Jo 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
Dear Denver: A goodbye note.
Dear Denver,
I came to you 8 months ago with my life packed into my Toyota Camry.
It was a long drive. 18 hours of leaving my past behind. My own tears surprised me as I drove away from my family standing on the porch of my parent’s house, waving as they watched me go. That’s become our tradition. And I’m always the one on the leaving end.
I was ready for you, for this new, temporary chapter of life. I was excited to leave the past.
But while it was a new town, I wasn’t a new me. I quickly realized that by changing states I was not changing stories. My past was mine to own. My story was mine to tell. My life was mine to live.
So I came to you, and I told you who I am and where I have been. I told it to church members in diners. I told it to distant family members in the mountains. I told it to dates in bars. I told it to neighbors in hot tubs and living rooms. I told my story to you, and you didn’t grimace. You didn’t run away. You listened and you welcomed me.
You let me play on your trails, exploring your mountain peaks and your forests and your waters. You let me make friends in fun restaurants and pubs and venues. You let me sit in peace, overlooking a lake with the mountains beyond, and the setting sun beyond that.
You have given me the space and time to become more myself. And while I’ve always known you would be a temporary dwelling place, you’ve been a good one. Most importantly, you’ve given me an atmosphere to learn how to be at home within myself.
Aside from your horrible drivers, you’ve been nothing but lovely to me. Thank you for being such a big playground for life. Thank you for housing me while I felt at home here. I’ll come back to visit.
-Jo
(I’ll be on the go for the Story Project for all of May and then moving to Wichita, KS Beginning of June)
Favorite Denver/CO things:
– Hiking
- Mt. Bierstadt
- Mt. Quandary
- Colorado Trail
- Hanging Lake Trail
- All of the trails during fall
- Paddle boarding on our lake and slack lining in our “yard”
- Food/Drink
- The fries and cocktails at Williams & Graham
- The atmosphere at Linger
- The atmosphere at Crema cafe
- The chocolate at Dietrichs
- The eggs benedict and the beignets at Lucilles Creole cafe
- Blackeye coffee
- Pie and cocktails at the Green Russell
- Cheap movies at the Century Aurora 16 Theater
- Eggs benedict and sweet potato pancakes at Snooze Eatery
- Burgers & Brews deals during MNF at Stoney’s bar & grill
- Atmosphere & coffee at Roostercat
- The view from outside the dome on the Capitol building
- Being at Redrocks/ the view from Redrocks
- The river in golden
- Stranahan’s whiskey (both the product and the free tour & tasting)
- The Denver German Christmas Market on 16th St. mall
- Even though it’s not just a Denver thing, I discovered & fell in love with it here: Waffle House
If you’d like to support the Story Project (to cover travel expenses, costs of Stories for those who can’t afford it, etc.) you can do so below or contact me at storyofjoblog@gmail.com if you’d like to send a check. Thank you for your support!
To Donate to Stories By Jo: The Story Project click below
Jo 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
San Diego is Swell. Do it Well: My travel suggestions
We’re taking a detour from the normal posts for a week, because sometimes, I love to play tour guide and help people find good stuff!
Sometimes I travel for fun, and sometimes because of how my life has gone, I get to travel for school, business, etc as well.
I went to San Diego a few weeks ago to write a few stories down there (see the first one up now!).
But, while I was there, I tried to also hit as many of my old favorite things (foods, places, people, etc.) and to try a couple new ones. SO… If you are going to San Diego any time soon, these are officially my suggestions:
Where to EAT:
- The chips and queso dip at Miguel’s Cocina
Go to Miguel’s for the best white queso dip in the world. And if you want to argue with me about somewhere that you think has better Queso, then I’m gonna need you to fly me out there so I can try that place for myself. Until then, All Hail Miguel’s amazingness white cheese sauce and fresh fresh chips.
- What to eat there: The Flautas, the Tacos, or the Enchiladas. These are all great, but not out of this world. Really, the queso is why.
- Where: There are 4 locations, all great, the one I’ve been to is at: 2912 Shelter Island Dr, San Diego, CA 92106
- Price Range: $$
- Nearby: go for a quiet walk along the Bay (See #8 in places to go/things to do below). Get coffee and hang out at the living room
2. California Burritos or Carne Asada Fries at Santana’s AKA Fresh MXN Food AKA Eat MXN Food
Ok, so the current and most recently passed names make it seem like perhaps you should gloss over this place. Do not. Sanatana’s is the original name, and while they have added locations, (I like this location best), and changed names, their menu has stayed largely the same. Santanas is rumored to have invented the california burrito.
- What to eat there: California Burrito or Carne Asada Fries.
- Where:1578 Rosecrans St San Diego, CA 92106
- Price Range: $
- Nearby: The Starbucks next door has many outlets if you need to re-charge. Otherwise take your burritos to go and eat them at #1, #2, or #3 under places below)
- Similar places: Adalberto’s (same suggestions), Cotija’s (California Burrito and Bean and Rice Burrito), and Ortiz’s (for any burrito)
3. Sea Food at Point Loma SeaFood
If you want the freshest sea food perhaps in the continental U.S., come here. It’s right on the water, and it’s both a market where you can buy your fresh seafood to go cook it at home, or you can order from their menu to get something delicious right there. To order, just muscle your way up to the counter, and shout your order. You can eat inside (you have to go outside and around the building to enter the enclosed patio) or outside at the stone picnic tables or the tables right along the water. Be wary of seagulls who will try to steal your food.
- What to eat there: You can’t go wrong. I like their fried shrimp, fried calamari, or traditional fish and chips. If you’re not a seafood person but you’re with seafood people, I believe they do have chicken strips as well.
- Where:2805 Emerson St, San Diego, CA 92106
- Price Range: $$
- Nearby: It’s close to the airport so a perfect first or last stop on your way in or out of town. It’s also close to Pizza Nova, which is delicious. It’s close to Miguel’s, The Living Room, and Shelter Island as well.
4. Anything at Extraordinary Desserts
The name says it all. I’m a dessert person. I partake whenever possible in the dessert genre. Which is often. And this place is the best dessert place I’ve ever found (Sorry gelateria in Rome with the best-known ice cream to man). Eat anything there. Pieces are always very rich, so it might be best to share. OR do what I do and get a couple choices to share. P.S. If there are flowers on your dessert, they are edible, but you can choose not to eat them.
- What to eat there: While I love ice cream, don’t settle for the usual here (though it’s an option). Get one of their delectable creations. Whether it’s cake, pie, tart, whatever.
- Where: Two locations. Little Italy has a larger, more open space indoors: 1430 Union Street, San Diego, CA 92101. But I like the ambiance better at the Balboa location (plus has outdoor seating). 2929 Fifth Avenue, San Diego, CA 92103
- Price Range: $$
- Nearby: Little Italy location is obviously in Little Italy which is a great place to wander around and explore. Also, if you’re there during business hours, stop by the art gallery of Grant Pecoff (See Little Italy Entry below for address). Amazing, colorful work plus wonderful children’s books for sale!
5. Acai Bowls in Ocean Beach —Quik Stop Liquor/Convenience Store
What to Eat: Probably the small is enough, but if you’re a big eater or you’re sharing, go full-bore. Also, their coffee is not bad for it being equivalent/priced like gas station coffee.- Where: Newport Ave, on the left hand side as you head West. About 2-3 blocks up from the beach. 4921 Newport Ave San Diego, CA 92107
- Price Range: $$
- Nearby: Walk Newport Avenue for fun shopping. The Closet has cheap, cute clothes (and nose rings for $.99!). There are antique stores galore. The Little Chef for fast, cheap, great Chinese food. The Light House has the best ice cream. Hodad’s has great burgers (let the long line be the testament to it. It’s worth it, but bring cash). Plenty of new bars and breweries seem to be popping up in those blocks. And of course, go walk the beach.
6. Ice Cream in a Waffle Cone at Light House Ice Cream
As you walk up you can smell the cones being made, because, yes, they’re made fresh and they’re amazing. The ice cream itself is from a company based out of San Francisco and it’s The. Freaking. Best. (Outside of Italy.)
- What To Eat: I am personally a fan of the two scoops of varying flavors in the fresh waffle cones.
- Where: 5059 Newport Ave Ste 102, San Diego, CA 92107
- Price Range: $$
- Nearby: All Ocean Beach spots.
Places to Go/Things to Do:
- Sunset Cliffs.
Great for walking along, sitting on the benches, or driving down. There are absolutely incredible houses on one side with varying architectural styles and then the beautiful ocean on the other. Go down the stairs to the tide pools for an extra fun excursion. You can find crabs, sea anemones, sea snails, and sometimes sea cucumbers and starfish!
- Where: 1253 Sunset Cliffs Blvd, San Diego
- Tips: Sunset is best.
- Nearby: Ocean Beach and Point Loma Areas
2. Ocean Beach (OB)
Some of my favorite food and shopping suggestions are here, and it is, hands down, my favorite beach, and my favorite place in San Diego. It’s kind of a dirty area — lots of homeless people and hippies, sometimes one-in-the-same, but it’s also a local hangout. If you’re a surfer, it’s a great area, but the locals can be territorial so stay out of their way. It’s a great beach for families with kids that want to play in the water and get some decent 
waves with boogie boarding or body surfing. Life guards on duty. I suggest the area around lifeguard Tower 2 or 3. Browse through the shops, eat at the restaurants, get some coffee and stroll down the beach or the pier. Watch people slack lining, playing frisbee, fishing, surfing, and more. If you want to go to the restaurant on the pier, I’d suggest going for breakfast and getting the mango or blueberry pancakes.
- Where: Take Newport Ave. West until you hit the sand. If you hit the water you’ve gone too far. That’s just ocean. Not ocean beach.
- Tips: If you can’t find parking along Newport Ave., there is a parking lot at the beach end of Newport Ave, and one right by the large Life Guard Tower with the cross on it. If it’s a holiday, or sunny weekend, parking may be a struggle, so take whatever you come across.
3. Shelter Island
Great place if you want to have a bonfire at night, or just have a picnic or a stroll in the daytime.
- Where: Shoreline Park, 2204 Shelter Island Drive, San Diego, CA , San Diego
4. Little Italy
If you want to get the taste of downtown without going to a Mall, go stroll through Little Italy.
- Where: It’s the general vacinity, but here’s the address for the Pecoff Art Studio 1825 India St., San Diego, CA 92101
- Highlight: Grant Pecoff’s art studio
- Nearby: Extraordinary Desserts
- Balboa Park
5. Balboa Park
Wonderful for strolling, hiking, picnicking, or going to the museums. Balboa Park is one of the city’s greatest gems.
- Where: Enter on El Prado Street and either park right in street parking there and enjoy the park area/walk in, or drive in and find parking inside to be closer to museums. El Prado begins at where Laurel St. and 6th Ave. make a T: 2500 6th Ave San Diego, CA 92103
- Highlights: Museum of Man (costs). The Timken Art Museum (Free). The Botanical Gardens (free). The Zoo (costs).
6. Hike to The Devil’s Punch Bowl:
Lizz and I did this hike together and while it is 3 miles down hill there, and 3 miles uphill on the way back, it’s not the strenuousness of the hike that’s hardest, but the heat. They say to bring plenty of water, and I’d reiterate that plus, make sure you start the hike hydrated already. The punchbowl itself was pretty incredible though.
- Where: All info including purchasing the required permit ($6 for up to 5 people) can be found HERE: devils-punchbowl.com
7. Coronado Island
It’s the fun, throw-back place in San Diego. It’s easy to feel like you’re a great Gatsby character on vacation here. Enjoy the soft sands of the beaches, rent a bike to jot around the island, and get ice cream at the famous Moo-Time Ice Cream Shop (same idea as Cold Stone, but better).
- Coronado Beach: 838 Ocean Blvd Coronado, CA 92118
8. Walk along the Bay
There is a public path (Bessemer Path) along the bay in the back of some gorgeous houses. Find street parking nearby and start at the address below (on the curve where Talbot St. curves into Anchorage Lane). Start there and turn right, heading south along the Bay. Go as far as you like, but there is a precarious swing along the bay a bit farther down. Be careful though, apparently it has broken several times before.
- Where: 1001 Anchorage Ln., San Diego, CA 92106
If you’d like to support the Story Project (to cover travel expenses, costs of Stories for those who can’t afford it, etc.) you can do so below or contact me at storyofjoblog@gmail.com if you’d like to send a check. Thank you for your support!
To Donate to Stories By Jo: The Story Project click below
Jo 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
I Was Lost & I Still Am: about a weird church that gives me hope
“Do you know of any churches in Denver?” I texted a pastor I know from California when I had just moved to Denver last fall.
He texted back right away: “Scum of the Earth Church. Pastor is Mike Sares. We went there last summer. If you want to go, I’ll let him know you’re coming.”
“It’s f—ing hard to find a church when I don’t trust the church,” I thought to myself, frustration welling up.
“Thank you. I’ll go tomorrow,” I texted back.
Then I found the tears rolling down my cheeks as I sat at the table alone in my new apartment, overwhelmed at the thought of trying another new church. Getting to know people who would eventually have to know my story if I was to be known. And knowing that with telling my story, I might be judged, outcast, burned again.
I pulled my laptop out right then and wrote the blog post from last fall that I titled “I don’t trust the church (but I wish I did).” Many of you have read and commented on that blog post, and in the responses, I have realized that I am not alone in my distrust of the church, of religion, of pastors.
But I went to Scum of the Earth church the next day after I first typed out that blog post.
While driving by where it was supposed to be, I did see one church kind of looking building between a dirty alleyway and a house, it didn’t have any sign saying “Church” or anything at all, actually. No signs. So I wasn’t sure that was it.
I parked and walked back, asking the people in patched vests smoking on the steps if this was the “scum of the earth church.” It was, so I slipped in and found a seat while the folks inside were singing in the dimmed light. A little girl, maybe 6 or 7 years old, danced barefooted and beautiful in the open space in front of the worship band.
Soon, a big, white-haired Greek man got up to the microphone at the front.
“We have something we do a few times a year here at scum, and it is consistently one of the most important things we do. That’s tonight. Tonight we are having our “story night” and we have a few people who will share their stories with us.”
I was interested, immensely, because I love stories. But also somewhat skeptical — I had images of “I was doing bad stuff, and God saved me, and now my life is awesome and I have no problems” testimonies. I was prepared to discretely walk out if that was the case.
But instead, three or four people shared their scarred stories, and none of them were just about some sort of conversion of how they “came to Jesus.” Rather, they were their personal stories. Stories of them as whole people, not as “good christians.” Stories that didn’t have pretty bows to tie around them at the end.
The stories did involve their relationships with God — sometimes how they started to get intrigued about God. Sometimes how they met him. Sometimes how they wanted to follow him, how they wanted to accept His love, but how the dark draw of cocaine, of men, of alcohol, of resentment and pain over the wrongs done to them made it a rocky pursuit at best.
Not that their pursuit of God used to be rocky but now was great. But the fact that one woman still was fighting the urge to not go out and F— some random man a few weeks ago after church to temporarily fill that void, that ache. The stories felt real. And in the midst of conflict. In the midst of wrestling. In the midst of the battle between I-want-to-love-and-follow-God and this-world-has-screwed-me-over-and-it-sometimes-feels-like-I’m-dying.
The church itself is not what I’m used to. It’s a conglomeration of church styles and ideologies, not many of which fit what I’ve grown up in.
But what I found during story night was a church who was willing to be honest about the struggle. Not the I-used-to-struggle-but-now-God-has-saved-me, but the I-am-currently-struggling. A church that is willing to be honest about the messes of life, and be a safe place for people to admit that they are sinners, that they are hurting, that they are doubting, that they are wrestling.
And I have never seen another church like that. I have never seen an entire church that can be honest about flaws. That can be honest about life. That enables the people in it and around it to not pretend to be better than they are.
There are still challenging messages about how we can and often should do things differently. How we can allow God to better us and heal us. But the bleeding wounds of the church people’s souls don’t have to be ignored or hidden there. And that is the most important thing I need in a church right now. That’s why I stayed.
I sat down with Mike, the pastor, the other day and he asked, “did you ever go check out other churches?”
I told him the same thing: No. I saw that you could handle struggles in honesty. And that’s the most important thing I need right now.
Though I think I told him then, as I told them the very first night 7 months earlier: I like this church. But I hate the name. Scum of the Earth? Really? That’s not how God sees us. But I’ll overlook it because of your church’s honesty about life.
I went to dinner after that first church service with Mike and his wife and several others from the church. And I told them my story. “So, I don’t really trust the church, or pastors right now,” I said.
And without missing a beat, Mike, this new Pastor I had just met said: “I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t trust the church or pastors either.”
Again, he and the church seemed willing to have people be honest about where they were on the path. Not just in a general message from the front, but at dinner at Pete’s Greek Town to me, specifically. They were giving me permission: I didn’t have to pretend to be better off, or farther along than I was. I was welcome. And I was welcome to be honest. As was the rest of the church.
When you look around the church, about half of the people look like the outliers of society — the punks, the goths, the homeless. They have different colored and styled hair, lots of large plugs and piercings, tattoos galore.
The other half of the people look like they’d fit in well in clean, professional social circles. You could find people who look like them in bulk in any church on a sunday morning — well dressed, they sit up straight, speak with an educated tone, and their classic-ness gives them the “good church people” air. I’ve always found this mix of the type of people in Scum curious, but valuable.
And as I sat in the back of the church on Easter sunday, I noticed that someone a few seats down from me smelled heavily of BO. And I noticed that a woman across the aisle smelled freshly of sweet perfume. And I realized as I looked around, as I’ve gotten to know peoples’ stories there, why it’s called Scum of the Earth church.
Because it is for those who society thinks, the church thinks, or they themselves think that they look like scum on the outside, or that they are scum on the inside.
And it was the first time I realized and admitted how scum-like I have felt over the past few years.
This church, it has brought me up a bit farther out of the cesspool. It has given me space to be honest from day one about who I am, where I have been, and the fact that I’m still wrestling. That I’m still doubting and questioning. That I’m still distrusting, and they said, “you’re welcome to be all of those things here. We are and have been all of those things, too.”
I get it now.
I’ll be sad to leave Scum as I move on in a few weeks. They have taught me that it is not a sin to be honest about life and struggle in the church. They have restored some hope to me about what a church could be.
If you’d like to support the Story Project (to cover travel expenses, costs of Stories for those who can’t afford it, etc.) you can do so below or contact me at storyofjoblog@gmail.com if you’d like to send a check. Thank you for your support!
To Donate to Stories By Jo: The Story Project click below
Jo 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