Family Secrets is a production of iHeartRadio.

Family Secrets is a production of iHeartRadio.

You ain't never going to be man enough. Those words would haunt me. I would hear their echo in his voice, in the squish of hunting waiters stepping into a marsh, in the metallic clinking of his wrenches while he fixed the grain combine. I would hear those words every morning when I walked to the one room schoolhouse and watered the ponderous pine. I would hear them when I was promoted to CEO, came out of the closet, got married and divorced, and graduated twice from Cornell University with a master's and doctorate. Knowing my father was not present for any of it. Long after he came home from Vietnam and started fighting a different war against cancer, I would always remember that I ain't never going to be man enough.

You ain't never going to be man enough. Those words would haunt me. I would hear their echo in his voice, in the squish of hunting waiters stepping into a marsh, in the metallic clinking of his wrenches while he fixed the grain combine. I would hear those words every morning when I walked to the one room schoolhouse and watered the ponderous pine. I would hear them when I was promoted to CEO, came out of the closet, got married and divorced, and graduated twice from Cornell University with a master's and doctorate. Knowing my father was not present for any of it. Long after he came home from Vietnam and started fighting a different war against cancer, I would always remember that I ain't never going to be man enough.

That's Trent Pressler. Trent is the CEO of Bedell Cellars, an esteemed vineyard on the North Fork of Long Island. He's the author of the debut mel More, Little and Often, and Trent is also the builder of bespoke artisanal canoes. His canoes have been called the most beautiful in the world. This is the story of what one man does in order to make meaning of the secrecy and silence surrounding his life. I'm Danny Shapiro and this is a special bonus episode of Family Secrets with best selling author wellness expert Cancer Thriver, who has been living with stage four cancer for the past two decades. Chris Carr. Chris has been called one of our great thought leaders by Oprah Winfrey, and her new book is I'm Not a Morning Person, braving loss, grief and the big, messy emotions that happen when life calls apart. Chris and I will be talking about an episode from season six called Taxi dermid Duck, which I hope you'll all try check out if you haven't already. As always, I'm so glad you're here, Chris. Thanks so much for coming on Family Secrets.

That's Trent Pressler. Trent is the CEO of Bedell Cellars, an esteemed vineyard on the North Fork of Long Island. He's the author of the debut mel More, Little and Often, and Trent is also the builder of bespoke artisanal canoes. His canoes have been called the most beautiful in the world. This is the story of what one man does in order to make meaning of the secrecy and silence surrounding his life. I'm Danny Shapiro and this is a special bonus episode of Family Secrets with best selling author wellness expert Cancer Thriver, who has been living with stage four cancer for the past two decades. Chris Carr. Chris has been called one of our great thought leaders by Oprah Winfrey, and her new book is I'm Not a Morning Person, braving loss, grief and the big, messy emotions that happen when life calls apart. Chris and I will be talking about an episode from season six called Taxi dermid Duck, which I hope you'll all try check out if you haven't already. As always, I'm so glad you're here, Chris. Thanks so much for coming on Family Secrets.

Thanks for having me, Danny, It's good to be here.

Thanks for having me, Danny, It's good to be here.

I'm wondering what stood out for you as you were listening. Did anything in particular strike.

I'm wondering what stood out for you as you were listening. Did anything in particular strike.

You about it? Oh? So many things. I think that many of us have parallel experiences, especially with a strange parents or parents we might not have been estranged with but really did not know in any way, shape or form. And you know, one of the big things that shoot it out for me, it was the idea that we fill the silence when there's silence in our homes, when there's silence in our histories, when there's pieces and parts that are missing, We clever humans fill that silence, and usually we fill it with stories that are not very beneficial to our mental well being.

You about it? Oh? So many things. I think that many of us have parallel experiences, especially with a strange parents or parents we might not have been estranged with but really did not know in any way, shape or form. And you know, one of the big things that shoot it out for me, it was the idea that we fill the silence when there's silence in our homes, when there's silence in our histories, when there's pieces and parts that are missing, We clever humans fill that silence, and usually we fill it with stories that are not very beneficial to our mental well being.

I think Annie LaMotte once famously said something like my head is a neighborhood that I shouldn't spend too much time in.

I think Annie LaMotte once famously said something like my head is a neighborhood that I shouldn't spend too much time in.

It's so true. Well, you know, I met my biological father. I met him when I was eighteen years old, and I didn't know anything about him. You know, it was something that we had to tiptoe around because I knew that my mother had gone through so much pain around that abandonment, and I really couldn't experience my own pain except for internally, because I didn't want to bring up more of her own. And so I remember filling the void and filling that silence with all of the reasons why he wasn't there. And then, of course I grew up with a very wild and interesting grandmother who would actually fill the void with stories, and it would be like he died in a plane crash, the wedding dresses upstairs, you know, like all of these things, and none of them were true. So I just realized that later in life, when I was a grown up figure it out on my own. But again, I think that that's such a beautiful point that you tease out in that episode, about how we turn inward and sometimes turn on ourselves when we don't have all the pieces.

It's so true. Well, you know, I met my biological father. I met him when I was eighteen years old, and I didn't know anything about him. You know, it was something that we had to tiptoe around because I knew that my mother had gone through so much pain around that abandonment, and I really couldn't experience my own pain except for internally, because I didn't want to bring up more of her own. And so I remember filling the void and filling that silence with all of the reasons why he wasn't there. And then, of course I grew up with a very wild and interesting grandmother who would actually fill the void with stories, and it would be like he died in a plane crash, the wedding dresses upstairs, you know, like all of these things, and none of them were true. So I just realized that later in life, when I was a grown up figure it out on my own. But again, I think that that's such a beautiful point that you tease out in that episode, about how we turn inward and sometimes turn on ourselves when we don't have all the pieces.

Yeah, exactly, and then that ends up forming so much of our lives. There's a piece of wisdom from Carl Jung that I love and think about a lot, which is, until we make the unconscious conscious, it will direct our lives, and we will call it fate. So when your wild grandmother would tell you these stories as a kid, did you know that they weren't true, or did you try to kind of attach yourself to them in some way and try them on for size, or did you just kind of know that this wasn't it.

Yeah, exactly, and then that ends up forming so much of our lives. There's a piece of wisdom from Carl Jung that I love and think about a lot, which is, until we make the unconscious conscious, it will direct our lives, and we will call it fate. So when your wild grandmother would tell you these stories as a kid, did you know that they weren't true, or did you try to kind of attach yourself to them in some way and try them on for size, or did you just kind of know that this wasn't it.

I think in the beginning I did believe her, but then I realized there was a lot of other lies. And then when you start to follow the bread crowns, you're like, just doesn't add up, and I don't have to be you know that wise to understand that. So for me, it was really about trying to make sense of it myself, and that's something that's really hard for a child to do without turning it into something that is about themselves, like it must be me, there must be something wrong with me, flawed with me. And one of the things that I love about your episode with Trent is you know, he had lots of reasons to self abandon especially with a father that essentially abandoned him, but he didn't. And I found that to be so beautiful and such a testament to his resilience and his fortitude just as a person.

I think in the beginning I did believe her, but then I realized there was a lot of other lies. And then when you start to follow the bread crowns, you're like, just doesn't add up, and I don't have to be you know that wise to understand that. So for me, it was really about trying to make sense of it myself, and that's something that's really hard for a child to do without turning it into something that is about themselves, like it must be me, there must be something wrong with me, flawed with me. And one of the things that I love about your episode with Trent is you know, he had lots of reasons to self abandon especially with a father that essentially abandoned him, but he didn't. And I found that to be so beautiful and such a testament to his resilience and his fortitude just as a person.

Absolutely, I mean, it's extraordinary to me that he grew up in such an isolated way on this ranch in South Dakota that was thousands of acres and more cows than people, and you could drive for hours and hours and still be on the land of this ranch. You know, with his parents who were complicated people, and with his sister who he adored, who became very ill, and who he loved and he was a caretaker for and felt very responsible for. And all of that is such a prescription for not being able to escape or know that there is a path that's different from the path that he was already on. I mean, he's gay, and he knows he's gay, and he's in a culture and in a world that is completely rejecting of homosexuality, and a church that believes that he's going to burn and help for eternity if he's gay. To be able to leave that world and go east and go to college and carve out a life for himself just struck me as such a tremendous act of, as you say, resilience.

Absolutely, I mean, it's extraordinary to me that he grew up in such an isolated way on this ranch in South Dakota that was thousands of acres and more cows than people, and you could drive for hours and hours and still be on the land of this ranch. You know, with his parents who were complicated people, and with his sister who he adored, who became very ill, and who he loved and he was a caretaker for and felt very responsible for. And all of that is such a prescription for not being able to escape or know that there is a path that's different from the path that he was already on. I mean, he's gay, and he knows he's gay, and he's in a culture and in a world that is completely rejecting of homosexuality, and a church that believes that he's going to burn and help for eternity if he's gay. To be able to leave that world and go east and go to college and carve out a life for himself just struck me as such a tremendous act of, as you say, resilience.

I also loved that, you know, he mentions this word and I write about this in my book, and it's what I call ruptures. And it was the moment when his sister died and he is going to the funeral, and you know, he brings a boyfriend, he brings a partner, a signific other, and it's really his big reveal. He's revealing his secret, and he's doing it in a way that's like, this is what I need to survive this storm. I need to be who I am and I need to be with somebody I love. And I think that that's the inciting incident for him, and like for so many of us, the ruptures are what set us on our path to I think, becoming more ourselves. And you know, one of the things that I have explored is that ruptures come in all shapes and sizes, and none of us are immune to them. And they're hard and they're painful. It's the divorce, it's the miscarriage, it's you know, you lose your job, you lose your former sense of self, the diagnosis, whatever it is, and it doesn't take away from the pain what I'm about to say. But all of these ruptures also have the power to rearrange us, realign our values, our priorities, point us more towards what really matters, and maybe even awaken dreams that we have long since let die because we think this time is behind me. And I think that the ruptures make us realize that the time that's in front of us, we need to spend it living authentically. And I think that that's something that I really loved about his story, because it was through that loss that he went on this journey of being himself.

I also loved that, you know, he mentions this word and I write about this in my book, and it's what I call ruptures. And it was the moment when his sister died and he is going to the funeral, and you know, he brings a boyfriend, he brings a partner, a signific other, and it's really his big reveal. He's revealing his secret, and he's doing it in a way that's like, this is what I need to survive this storm. I need to be who I am and I need to be with somebody I love. And I think that that's the inciting incident for him, and like for so many of us, the ruptures are what set us on our path to I think, becoming more ourselves. And you know, one of the things that I have explored is that ruptures come in all shapes and sizes, and none of us are immune to them. And they're hard and they're painful. It's the divorce, it's the miscarriage, it's you know, you lose your job, you lose your former sense of self, the diagnosis, whatever it is, and it doesn't take away from the pain what I'm about to say. But all of these ruptures also have the power to rearrange us, realign our values, our priorities, point us more towards what really matters, and maybe even awaken dreams that we have long since let die because we think this time is behind me. And I think that the ruptures make us realize that the time that's in front of us, we need to spend it living authentically. And I think that that's something that I really loved about his story, because it was through that loss that he went on this journey of being himself.

And one of the things about that journey and that rupture is that that was a moment for him that he really, for his own self preservation and for his own growth, needed to really distance himself and separate himself from his parents, from his father in particular, because he can't be he won't be accepted by him, and that lack of being accepted becomes unbearable. I mean, it had always been true up until then, but at that point, that's what makes it a rupture, is that in the grief about the loss of his sister, and you know, he describes it so beautifully. You know, the man who is his partner he's in a relationship with, is relegated to the back row of the church and trend to sitting up with family because it's his friend who he's brought. His partner is not family. And he turns around as the casket is coming in and he sees this man, his partner's face in the back row, and something in him just rips open and it becomes unacceptable.

And one of the things about that journey and that rupture is that that was a moment for him that he really, for his own self preservation and for his own growth, needed to really distance himself and separate himself from his parents, from his father in particular, because he can't be he won't be accepted by him, and that lack of being accepted becomes unbearable. I mean, it had always been true up until then, but at that point, that's what makes it a rupture, is that in the grief about the loss of his sister, and you know, he describes it so beautifully. You know, the man who is his partner he's in a relationship with, is relegated to the back row of the church and trend to sitting up with family because it's his friend who he's brought. His partner is not family. And he turns around as the casket is coming in and he sees this man, his partner's face in the back row, and something in him just rips open and it becomes unacceptable.

You know.

You know.

One of the things that you're talking about, and that we talk a lot about on this podcast is meaning making. It seems like those are moments when they happen, that are you know, kind of sink or swim moments. You know, are we going to succumb to this feeling of despair and grief which is not to say we're not going to feel all of our feelings, but are we going to succumb or is this actually going to be some kind of turning point from which we make meaning out of that sorrow, that chaos.

One of the things that you're talking about, and that we talk a lot about on this podcast is meaning making. It seems like those are moments when they happen, that are you know, kind of sink or swim moments. You know, are we going to succumb to this feeling of despair and grief which is not to say we're not going to feel all of our feelings, but are we going to succumb or is this actually going to be some kind of turning point from which we make meaning out of that sorrow, that chaos.

Yeah, it's a good question, and I think it's one that we all struggle with at some point when we were going through loss. And that moment, that rupture for me happened with my biological father when his mother died and I wasn't allowed to be in contact with any member of his family, but his mom, my grandmother, would write me, sneak me these little letters over the years and a little piece of jewelry and just a little trinket or a Christmas ornament. And right around the time when I was eighteen, I decided to write her. And I had sent her little things as well, but I decided to write her, and all I wanted was a picture of my father. I just wanted to see if we looked like each other. And before she got the letter, she died, and so her loss was really the moment where I said, I am going to find this person. I'm going to find him. I'm going to ask him if he'll meet me. And if he won't meet me, then he has to have the guts to tell me why. And if it wasn't for her passing, I'm not so sure, especially at that time in my life, eighteen, filled with all the hormones and all of the angst, I'm not so sure that I would have done it. But to your point about making meaning, you know, the things that the secrets that we hide I think hold, or the secrets that are you know, a part of our lives, have the power to lead us to that meaning, to lead us to a better understanding of ourselves and truly who we want to be.

Yeah, it's a good question, and I think it's one that we all struggle with at some point when we were going through loss. And that moment, that rupture for me happened with my biological father when his mother died and I wasn't allowed to be in contact with any member of his family, but his mom, my grandmother, would write me, sneak me these little letters over the years and a little piece of jewelry and just a little trinket or a Christmas ornament. And right around the time when I was eighteen, I decided to write her. And I had sent her little things as well, but I decided to write her, and all I wanted was a picture of my father. I just wanted to see if we looked like each other. And before she got the letter, she died, and so her loss was really the moment where I said, I am going to find this person. I'm going to find him. I'm going to ask him if he'll meet me. And if he won't meet me, then he has to have the guts to tell me why. And if it wasn't for her passing, I'm not so sure, especially at that time in my life, eighteen, filled with all the hormones and all of the angst, I'm not so sure that I would have done it. But to your point about making meaning, you know, the things that the secrets that we hide I think hold, or the secrets that are you know, a part of our lives, have the power to lead us to that meaning, to lead us to a better understanding of ourselves and truly who we want to be.

We'll be right back. I was struck reading your book at the idea that I just think is a universal truth for all of us, that there are lives contain multiple ruptures, right, they contain multiple before and after moments, And you're describing one of them in your world, and you're in your life and in the case of seeking out and meeting your biological father, can you imagine a parallel world in which you hadn't done that, and that just would have continued to remain this question mark that sort of walked alongside you, you know, in your life.

We'll be right back. I was struck reading your book at the idea that I just think is a universal truth for all of us, that there are lives contain multiple ruptures, right, they contain multiple before and after moments, And you're describing one of them in your world, and you're in your life and in the case of seeking out and meeting your biological father, can you imagine a parallel world in which you hadn't done that, and that just would have continued to remain this question mark that sort of walked alongside you, you know, in your life.

Moving forward now, I've never thought about that. That's a great question, Danny. Probably not, because I really long to at least have some understanding of the other half of my DNA. You know, I just I wanted to know certain things. I mean, of course I wanted to know why, but more so, I think I wanted to know what does he like, what's his humor like, what's his personality like, what's he into? Is he tall, he's short, you know, is he skinny? What does he look like? And that was something that I just really wrestled with for so long. Of course, underneath it, I wrestled with the abandonment, but on top of it was just, you know, how do I look so different from everybody else in my family? And not everybody wants to know, but I did want to know. And I remember when I met him, he said, you know, we'd never seen each other, and I hadn't even seen a picture of him. And I just got out of the car and he got out of the house, and we walked towards each other, and I put out my hand and he put out his hand, and I said, hi am Kristen, and he said hi, I am Crispin. And we were mirror images of each other, and it was like, wow, this it was so bright. I could barely look at him. I spent most of the time looking at the ground.

Moving forward now, I've never thought about that. That's a great question, Danny. Probably not, because I really long to at least have some understanding of the other half of my DNA. You know, I just I wanted to know certain things. I mean, of course I wanted to know why, but more so, I think I wanted to know what does he like, what's his humor like, what's his personality like, what's he into? Is he tall, he's short, you know, is he skinny? What does he look like? And that was something that I just really wrestled with for so long. Of course, underneath it, I wrestled with the abandonment, but on top of it was just, you know, how do I look so different from everybody else in my family? And not everybody wants to know, but I did want to know. And I remember when I met him, he said, you know, we'd never seen each other, and I hadn't even seen a picture of him. And I just got out of the car and he got out of the house, and we walked towards each other, and I put out my hand and he put out his hand, and I said, hi am Kristen, and he said hi, I am Crispin. And we were mirror images of each other, and it was like, wow, this it was so bright. I could barely look at him. I spent most of the time looking at the ground.

Yeah, I really, I really understand that you never thought of him and have never thought of him as your dad. He was your biological father, he was the person that you come from, but the man who raised you and who married your mother and who became your dad. So much of your book is about the loss of him, And you know, I think one of the reasons why I chose Trent's episode to talk about with you is that, in many ways, your book is about the shape of grief, and grief has something that none of us can escape. It's part of the human condition. I mean, the subtitle of your book is Braving Loss, Grief and the big messy emotions that happen when life falls apart, which is just kind of everything. I mean, life just feels like it's full of big, messy emotions and we're constantly, in one way or another, trying to tamp them down or find nice, tidy containers for them, and then a profound loss comes along, and grief just does not allow for any of those tidy containers for our big, messy selves. And you know, and I was thinking about in Trent's episode, I mean, just the incredible symbolism of his inheritance is that his father leaves him his toolbox along with a taxidermy duck that there's a story about that. I hope people will go back and listen to the episode and here why this taxi duck was Trent's inheritance. But his father gives him this toolbox, and Trent drives all the way from South Dakota back to the east end of Long Island where he lives with his dog, Caper and this toolbox, and he's in this kind of wild, complicated grief because it was a complicated relationship and a really difficult one. And when he gets back, it's not like a stunt. It's not like something he decides to do or something that he read about in a book somewhere. He just thinks, what am I going to do with this toolbox? And he thinks, I'm going to build a boat? And he clears out all of his furniture, every last stick of furniture in the home that he's living in, so that he can build a canoe using his father's toolbox and he'd never built anything before. I mean, he's a CEO of a vineyard. This wasn't this wasn't part of his skill set. And yet this becomes like the shape of his grief. And you write in your book about anticipating grief, which is its own thing that I'm very interested in because I think I do that. I pre grieve things as if you can actually pre grieve them, and then somehow spare yourself grief later. All you're doing is pre grieving and adding more grief to the grief sandwich. But you know, in the case of Trent's loss of his father, he hadn't really anticipated it. He hadn't been in touch with his family. I hadn't been in touch with his father, and it's almost like he doesn't know how to grieve or where to put it. So it takes on this physical manifestation of this project.

Yeah, I really, I really understand that you never thought of him and have never thought of him as your dad. He was your biological father, he was the person that you come from, but the man who raised you and who married your mother and who became your dad. So much of your book is about the loss of him, And you know, I think one of the reasons why I chose Trent's episode to talk about with you is that, in many ways, your book is about the shape of grief, and grief has something that none of us can escape. It's part of the human condition. I mean, the subtitle of your book is Braving Loss, Grief and the big messy emotions that happen when life falls apart, which is just kind of everything. I mean, life just feels like it's full of big, messy emotions and we're constantly, in one way or another, trying to tamp them down or find nice, tidy containers for them, and then a profound loss comes along, and grief just does not allow for any of those tidy containers for our big, messy selves. And you know, and I was thinking about in Trent's episode, I mean, just the incredible symbolism of his inheritance is that his father leaves him his toolbox along with a taxidermy duck that there's a story about that. I hope people will go back and listen to the episode and here why this taxi duck was Trent's inheritance. But his father gives him this toolbox, and Trent drives all the way from South Dakota back to the east end of Long Island where he lives with his dog, Caper and this toolbox, and he's in this kind of wild, complicated grief because it was a complicated relationship and a really difficult one. And when he gets back, it's not like a stunt. It's not like something he decides to do or something that he read about in a book somewhere. He just thinks, what am I going to do with this toolbox? And he thinks, I'm going to build a boat? And he clears out all of his furniture, every last stick of furniture in the home that he's living in, so that he can build a canoe using his father's toolbox and he'd never built anything before. I mean, he's a CEO of a vineyard. This wasn't this wasn't part of his skill set. And yet this becomes like the shape of his grief. And you write in your book about anticipating grief, which is its own thing that I'm very interested in because I think I do that. I pre grieve things as if you can actually pre grieve them, and then somehow spare yourself grief later. All you're doing is pre grieving and adding more grief to the grief sandwich. But you know, in the case of Trent's loss of his father, he hadn't really anticipated it. He hadn't been in touch with his family. I hadn't been in touch with his father, and it's almost like he doesn't know how to grieve or where to put it. So it takes on this physical manifestation of this project.

You know, I called my book I'm not a morning person because I didn't want to be. It was the one emotion I didn't want to go near. It was so big I thought if I touched it, I would drown. And that's how I started the process. And then, you know, through a lot of my own healing, and therapy and certainly an enormous amount of research. As I was writing the book, I realized that we live in a grief phobic, messy, emotions averse society. So a few of us know how to handle storms of that magnitude, and so we oftentimes bury the pain in different ways. You know. It's like emotional physics. But what doesn't come out one way will come out another way. And hopefully we can find ways so that the emotion can come out healthy way. And I think with all of these big feelings, many of us want to amputate them, you know, because they are so painful. But we can't amputate any of our emotions and hope to be whole. And I think that's the whole part of the human experience of saying, all of these parts are of me, are welcome in each of my emotions, server purpose, and ultimately at the core of them, it's just information, and it's information that leads me back to myself and a deeper layer of my own healing. And for him, what I thought was so wonderful was, you know, like I said about emotional physics, what doesn't come out one way will come out another way. If you come out through drinking, shopping, gambling, you name it, all of the things that you can think to put on the wound to temporarily numb it. But it also can come out in a really healthy way through the creative process. And that building of the canoe for me is like, I know what it was for me writing the book. I imagine you would probably agree with me there that the creative process just the act of getting the hammer, getting the nails, getting the woods, you know, having the meltdowns, being with his dad's tools and trying to build something that he had never done before, with the tools that still embody the energy of a man that he really truly didn't know, but perhaps was getting to know in a deeper, more meaningful way in some way, shape or form. I mean, that's what the creative process can do for us, and I feel like it's a very very smart thing to turn to when we're grieving and we don't even know how to touch that feeling. It's like you can faw into the feeling through the creative process. Yeah.

You know, I called my book I'm not a morning person because I didn't want to be. It was the one emotion I didn't want to go near. It was so big I thought if I touched it, I would drown. And that's how I started the process. And then, you know, through a lot of my own healing, and therapy and certainly an enormous amount of research. As I was writing the book, I realized that we live in a grief phobic, messy, emotions averse society. So a few of us know how to handle storms of that magnitude, and so we oftentimes bury the pain in different ways. You know. It's like emotional physics. But what doesn't come out one way will come out another way. And hopefully we can find ways so that the emotion can come out healthy way. And I think with all of these big feelings, many of us want to amputate them, you know, because they are so painful. But we can't amputate any of our emotions and hope to be whole. And I think that's the whole part of the human experience of saying, all of these parts are of me, are welcome in each of my emotions, server purpose, and ultimately at the core of them, it's just information, and it's information that leads me back to myself and a deeper layer of my own healing. And for him, what I thought was so wonderful was, you know, like I said about emotional physics, what doesn't come out one way will come out another way. If you come out through drinking, shopping, gambling, you name it, all of the things that you can think to put on the wound to temporarily numb it. But it also can come out in a really healthy way through the creative process. And that building of the canoe for me is like, I know what it was for me writing the book. I imagine you would probably agree with me there that the creative process just the act of getting the hammer, getting the nails, getting the woods, you know, having the meltdowns, being with his dad's tools and trying to build something that he had never done before, with the tools that still embody the energy of a man that he really truly didn't know, but perhaps was getting to know in a deeper, more meaningful way in some way, shape or form. I mean, that's what the creative process can do for us, and I feel like it's a very very smart thing to turn to when we're grieving and we don't even know how to touch that feeling. It's like you can faw into the feeling through the creative process. Yeah.

I love that, And you know, it brings to mind one of my favorite lines in Trent's book and in his story, which is that a woodworker says to him as he's struggling to build this kind of monster of a canoe. You know, he smashes it. He has this relationship with it. It's like a you know, it's like a it's like a golum or something. It's like something that he's like, just like it ogre in his in his it's taken over his life. And this woodworker says to him, don't find the grain, follow it. And that strikes me as so much what the what the creative process is and what the morning process is. You know, it's not something that can be forster that's going to kind of adhere to a certain kind of schedule, which I think can sometimes make people feel really angry with themselves. I mean, it breaks my heart to look at like my journals from the year that my dad died when I was twenty three, and you know, I have lines in there like, you know, it's been six months. I should be over it by now, And I just think, oh, honey, you're this young woman who's lost your beloved father. It's not going to work that way. Give yourself up some rope, give yourself a break. But so often we don't, and it goes back to what you were saying about our being in a sort of grief phobic society. And there's a part of your book that I was so happy that you included and that I would love for you to talk a little bit about, which is the things that people say. The things that people say. I mean, I found this several years ago when my husband Michael was ill with cancer, and the things that people would say were just that, they said the damnedest things, and they said them with perfectly decent intentions, but they would sometimes be so sort of really not what I needed to hear. And you have a section of your book where you talk about that, and also with yourself as someone who has been living with cancer for two decades.

I love that, And you know, it brings to mind one of my favorite lines in Trent's book and in his story, which is that a woodworker says to him as he's struggling to build this kind of monster of a canoe. You know, he smashes it. He has this relationship with it. It's like a you know, it's like a it's like a golum or something. It's like something that he's like, just like it ogre in his in his it's taken over his life. And this woodworker says to him, don't find the grain, follow it. And that strikes me as so much what the what the creative process is and what the morning process is. You know, it's not something that can be forster that's going to kind of adhere to a certain kind of schedule, which I think can sometimes make people feel really angry with themselves. I mean, it breaks my heart to look at like my journals from the year that my dad died when I was twenty three, and you know, I have lines in there like, you know, it's been six months. I should be over it by now, And I just think, oh, honey, you're this young woman who's lost your beloved father. It's not going to work that way. Give yourself up some rope, give yourself a break. But so often we don't, and it goes back to what you were saying about our being in a sort of grief phobic society. And there's a part of your book that I was so happy that you included and that I would love for you to talk a little bit about, which is the things that people say. The things that people say. I mean, I found this several years ago when my husband Michael was ill with cancer, and the things that people would say were just that, they said the damnedest things, and they said them with perfectly decent intentions, but they would sometimes be so sort of really not what I needed to hear. And you have a section of your book where you talk about that, and also with yourself as someone who has been living with cancer for two decades.

Yeah, I call this awkward times awkward people. And you know, I'll start by saying that we all mess up. And if we go back to the idea that we don't know what we're doing with the tough stuff, then of course, when we don't know what we're doing, what do we do? We become anxious, And when we're anxious, we put words together that probably should never go together. And so I try to come from this place that we're all good intentions. We just make mistakes, and so it's the stuff like you'll have another baby, you're young, it's only a dog. Why are you so sad? Aren't you over it by now? It's been a month, six months, a year, ten years, whatever. To your point, there is no over, there's through, there's forward. It's just like love never doesn't die, love doesn't go away, grief doesn't go away. But we live in this very black and white society where there's winners and there's losers, and it's so hard for us to live in the gray. It goes against our grain because we want that hot, happy Hollywood ending. We want that bow on top of the story. But that's not realistic, and I think it does our humanity of grave injustice. How can we learn to hold all of it? How can we learn to hold the both? And you're successful and unsuccessful. For me, I have dozens of tumors in my body. I've been living with stage four cancer for twenty years, and I'm healthy. And I feel like part of this process of coming back to ourselves and meaning coming home to ourselves and allowing the parts of ourselves like grief, to exist as well, is how we start to live in that gray and live really full. Magnificent lives in that place. So it's been a very interesting journey for me to go on first and foremost, but then to navigate that idea that we're going to do it wrong, We're going to get it wrong, we're going to say it wrong. But can we show up differently time? Right? You can't say anything, and it's not your job to fix it. And I think that we put a lot of pressure on ourselves to fix things for other people. I think the best thing that we can do is just listen and be fully present and just keep showing up, even saying I don't know what to say, but I'm here and I love you so true.

Yeah, I call this awkward times awkward people. And you know, I'll start by saying that we all mess up. And if we go back to the idea that we don't know what we're doing with the tough stuff, then of course, when we don't know what we're doing, what do we do? We become anxious, And when we're anxious, we put words together that probably should never go together. And so I try to come from this place that we're all good intentions. We just make mistakes, and so it's the stuff like you'll have another baby, you're young, it's only a dog. Why are you so sad? Aren't you over it by now? It's been a month, six months, a year, ten years, whatever. To your point, there is no over, there's through, there's forward. It's just like love never doesn't die, love doesn't go away, grief doesn't go away. But we live in this very black and white society where there's winners and there's losers, and it's so hard for us to live in the gray. It goes against our grain because we want that hot, happy Hollywood ending. We want that bow on top of the story. But that's not realistic, and I think it does our humanity of grave injustice. How can we learn to hold all of it? How can we learn to hold the both? And you're successful and unsuccessful. For me, I have dozens of tumors in my body. I've been living with stage four cancer for twenty years, and I'm healthy. And I feel like part of this process of coming back to ourselves and meaning coming home to ourselves and allowing the parts of ourselves like grief, to exist as well, is how we start to live in that gray and live really full. Magnificent lives in that place. So it's been a very interesting journey for me to go on first and foremost, but then to navigate that idea that we're going to do it wrong, We're going to get it wrong, we're going to say it wrong. But can we show up differently time? Right? You can't say anything, and it's not your job to fix it. And I think that we put a lot of pressure on ourselves to fix things for other people. I think the best thing that we can do is just listen and be fully present and just keep showing up, even saying I don't know what to say, but I'm here and I love you so true.

And we all live in the gray, whether or not we are admitting to ourselves that we do, We're all always in that gray area. Trens in his memoir is titled little and Often, which refers to the way that ultimately he learned how to build a canoe and actually becomes a master builder of the most beautiful canoes in the world. Little and Often also seems like the way that healing happens. It doesn't happen in a great sweep of drama, you know, violins playing and everything being illuminated. Healing happens bit by bit, and it's also never done.

And we all live in the gray, whether or not we are admitting to ourselves that we do, We're all always in that gray area. Trens in his memoir is titled little and Often, which refers to the way that ultimately he learned how to build a canoe and actually becomes a master builder of the most beautiful canoes in the world. Little and Often also seems like the way that healing happens. It doesn't happen in a great sweep of drama, you know, violins playing and everything being illuminated. Healing happens bit by bit, and it's also never done.

Yeah, And I think that's the part that gets people frustrated because it does take that patience. And there's a difference between healing and curing, and curing takes place in the body and it may or may not happen, but healing takes place in the heart. And that's possible for all of us, even up into the moment of our death, you know, and just being willing to say I'm up for this journey and I'm going to give myself the space to actually truly walk it. Like you said, I mean, it's in the little moments. And I remember this one thing that my dad's surgeon said, and he was going through a very rough time at this point, and you know, we said we'll take it week day at a time, and he corrected us, he said, you know what, just take it one step at a time. Don't even try to go for one full day at a time. And I thought, Wow, wouldn't it be great if we all just lowered the bar so that we could just take one little bite and chew it thoroughly and say that's enough for today.

Yeah, And I think that's the part that gets people frustrated because it does take that patience. And there's a difference between healing and curing, and curing takes place in the body and it may or may not happen, but healing takes place in the heart. And that's possible for all of us, even up into the moment of our death, you know, and just being willing to say I'm up for this journey and I'm going to give myself the space to actually truly walk it. Like you said, I mean, it's in the little moments. And I remember this one thing that my dad's surgeon said, and he was going through a very rough time at this point, and you know, we said we'll take it week day at a time, and he corrected us, he said, you know what, just take it one step at a time. Don't even try to go for one full day at a time. And I thought, Wow, wouldn't it be great if we all just lowered the bar so that we could just take one little bite and chew it thoroughly and say that's enough for today.

That's just beautiful and wise, just as you are.

That's just beautiful and wise, just as you are.

Chris.

Chris.

I want to thank you so much for joining me today to talk about real important things.

I want to thank you so much for joining me today to talk about real important things.

Thanks for having me. I always love hearttending with you.

Thanks for having me. I always love hearttending with you.

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