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Carbon (A Poem About Coming Out) I am not who I thought I would be But I am who I suspected I was Alchemy, it would seem Applied to metals and magic To rites and times and place Does not translate To all things in all ways To all people at all times As I find myself out Of place In ineffective ways and in Inopportune times Brimming with Wrongs amid Teeming seas of opinion These crushing pressures, These weights and currents of time Only compact the denser truths within me. I am not who I thought I would be But I am who I hoped I was I am not lead nor gold Transformed by word or action I am carbon Breathing, bloodied, dripping And every breath is agony Each inhale against the world is a return to myself Each exhale an act of rebellion And as time and essence blend I will shine for within me are all the colors Of life, of creation, of love And the greatest of these Is love. -rrf “You only are free when you realize you belong no place — you belong every place — no place at all. The price is high. The reward is great.” - Dr. Maya Angelou

Change mirrors lie every day a warped portrayal of familiarity built on tiny fragments a sum greater than its parts significant only to me setting apart who i see and who others assume me to be history lies too a dimming hallway of selves constantly shifting and melting as narratives of past form a present not meant to last i don’t recognize myself how strange to have the me that is familiar now be so foreign to the me that was then i find myself wondering when the die will be cast and i will recognize the mirror as truth teller history as a friend as i move toward a welcome close and life’s end -rrf

Scarcity not enough not enough not enough the drumbeat of fear and loathing this Las Vegas has got nothing on me as i look around to see only barren desert and wither under the scorching sun of other people’s narratives more more more this intoxicating feeling this addiction to fill and feed never understanding why there’s always more room more space more need and more and more of less only when only when only when i am still and allow myself to drink in the sun dig deeply into the earth my roots spreading into unknown worlds do i grow and find peace -rrf

Control you don’t control the story only what you do it doesn’t matter what’s real or fake there’s no such thing as true when daylight fades to history it’s always the powers who decide what’s fair and ‘actual’ then give it back to you -rrf

On Living living is odd we cling to it tire of it resent it wonder at it soak in it every day the fish searching for the ocean how strange that awareness of our own existence can be both blessing and curse a jagged mirror by which we can both see and cut ourselves how can i have one and not the other? how can i find strength and encourage my brother? there is no way I fear but to live my own mystery to gaze deep into my wells and pray i live life well... maybe just maybe my sister will catch my gaze tire of it resent it wonder at it and find their own treasured waters in which to swim -rrf

Wellness well, well, well. down the deep dark hole of living do your yoga drink your water say your prayers and bless your father take your vitamins in rightful actions made day by day absolve yourself from every sin how foolish the hubris of my own thought believing that a life lived well can be bought boxed and polished set on the shelf of my own pride while with every curated additive I’ve died and died and died cried out to myself from myself in the simplest terms of a life yearning to be lived simply with love in peace and in simplicity I find all these increased -rrf

Survive breathe first, always breathe sense the air as it flows sense the moment as it goes from space and opportunity to closure and history bask in the mystery realize that your heaviest burdens offer you the greatest strength know that hardship is neither punishment nor blessing but both can become either with time allow yourself to see with more than your eyes and more than your feelings when you’re left reeling with nonsense of mind and direction notice the inflection of your thoughts and when all feels lost in the waves of pain and darkness in the onslaught of voices in the cacophony of choices find solace in the breath sense the air as it flows sense the moment as it goes know that you’ve survived it and you’ll survive the next eventually pain will give way to rest -rrf

perspective at what point does going meet with coming where is the magic that shifts space into place full of purpose and certainty an unexamined enfolded concept wrapped around the ego to provide an atmosphere of safety of air to breathe as inhale becomes exhale in a world of absolute freedom and absolutely divine chaos when is the moment when now becomes then and machineries of being continue to press expand consume become when anticipation becomes reflection when embracing includes rejection when the only thing that makes it so is the moment where the me that is self-aware decides to care enough to label a thing as so and somehow in the madness of these cognitive fusions i fancy myself clever when i’m just as likely a fool -rrf

Maybe this has happened to you: you’re out at a family dinner, enjoying the opportunity to catch up with your parents. You’re in the process of getting your toddler to sit still and eat his breadsticks, when your mother turns to you, eyes sparkling with warmth and concern. “Oh by the way,” she says (you think) a bit too loudly, “how did the hemorrhoid surgery go? You know I have a cream recipe from your Aunt Judith that did wonders for your father when his hemorrhoids got out of hand. It’s so easy; I’ll text it to you. Give Simon… Aunt... Judith’s.. hemorrhoid …salve.” She dictates this reminder to Siri in slow, crisp, oration that makes you feel as though a spotlight has just been turned on as you slowly spin on a raised pedestal. As your booth neighbors become ominously quiet, you wish that the floor would swallow you whole. You cut your mother off with a clipped tone and ask if we couldn’t all please talk about something else. You make a note to be “incredibly busy with work, and couldn’t we schedule this for another time,” at the next opportunity for a dinner together. After all, your mother has always been a bit... stifling. It isn’t unusual to have the odd time or two when we feel like the people we’re closest with are a bit… too close. Whether it’s prying into something you’d rather keep private, or oversharing, we’ve all been to that place where we feel that someone has crossed a personal boundary. Have you ever noticed that it’s easier to recognize when a boundary has been crossed than it is to know what your boundaries are? It triggers an emotional combination of outrage, anxiety, and disgust: a unique mixture I call “feeling slimed.” The reaction to being slimed by people crossing our boundaries is normal; healthy even. That response serves as a warning system that something important has been violated and is at risk for deterioration. Boundaries are an inherent part of daily life. We almost instinctively know that there are some things that we are free to share with some, and not with others. For example, you may feel entitled to talk about your sex life with a close friend you’ve known for ten years (and even then, perspectives vary!) but we can all probably agree that it would be strange to share those same details with your banker. I know what you’re thinking; “Rob, what if my banker is also a close friend I’ve known for ten years?” to which I say, everyone is a unique situation! We also probably know that one person who doesn’ttend to understand or respect those boundaries. You know, that person who tends to get too familiar way too quickly? You feel uneasy with the premature intimacy and even taken aback by the raw transparency you’re shown. Maybe you even notice that you’ve been that person at times? Our boundaries, however much they feel instinctive, are more learned than they are inborn (aside from the basic stranger anxiety we develop as infants). By our family culture, we learn the unspoken rules for what is safe, and what is not safe. By what is modeled to us, we understand who is deserving of the privilege of our intimacy, and under what conditions. This means our sense of boundaries is often deeply engrained, and difficult to articulate. The training for how to respond to when those boundaries are crossed may be just as subtle; and there are nuances – subtexts within subtexts. Maybe there are special exceptions for family members, versus friends, versus acquaintances, versus strangers. With all of this variability, it can be hard to have a personal sense of clarity regarding what feels acceptable and how to respond to what is not. The first step (as with many things in life) is awareness. Start paying attention to when you feel slimed by others, and what’s going on in those moments. Who are the recurring ‘slimers?’ What are the topics you tend to feel slimed about? Once you know when your boundaries are reliably crossed, you can start to articulate what those boundaries are. “I don’t like talking about sensitive and personal health issues in public,” might refer to the boundary being violated in the incident at the beginning of this article. Knowing and articulating boundaries are, however, only two of steps in this process. You also need to be able to assert your boundaries and protect them. Upholding a boundary means enforcing the relationship behavior you believe you deserve. It means having difficult conversations, and being willing to subvert some of that early childhood programming. It may also mean being willing to upset the people you care about in order to create more equal and mutually enjoyed relationships. Author and researcher Brené Brown has a mantra I’ve found to be useful in those difficult moments of confrontation: “Choose discomfort over resentment.” However hard it may be, it is worth a moment (or recurring moments) of discomfort in our relationships in order to enjoy a lifetime of healthy connections with others.

As a new parent, I often find myself going into a trance state when I watch my 7 month old daughter play. I’m sure I am not alone in this. There’s something magnetic and magical about watching your child discover, experiment, learn, and grow. Everything is new for my daughter; she loves bath time, but her first trip to the pool? Mind-blowing. Starting solid foods was fun, but the transition from oatmeal to applesauce and sweet potatoes? The heavens opened. Her joy and wonder is unadulterated by previous experiences. Additionally, her anger and tears are also unaffected by her history. My little girl can go from laughter to screams at the drop of a hat, and to my amazement, back to laughter again just as quickly. On some level she is truly reactive to her environment; she deals with events and feelings as they happen, and adjusts herself as they change, too. The other day I watched her playing on the floor, happily cooing and definitely saying “dada” with intention (I will fight you on whether that’s a genuine reference to me, or just play noises) when she looked up, screwed her face into a grimace, and wailed. Appropriately trained by my daughter at this point, I knew she was hungry, so I got her into her high-chair, prepped her sweet potatoes, and put on her bib. Her crying escalated right up to the moment she saw that golden-delicious mush on the spoon. Suddenly, all was well again, and she cooed and laughed with all of her inherent cuteness. That’s when it hit me: my baby girl is a buddha. I don’t mean that in a disrespectful or cultural-appropriation kind of way. I genuinely mean it. According to author, teacher, and Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh, the word “buddha” comes from the root word buddh, or, to wake up. To become like the Buddha, Thich Nhat Hanh writes that we must practice mindfulness in order to cultivate the seeds of spiritual awakening and peace that lie dormant in each of us (2007, Nhat Hanh).When we connect with the present moment deeply, authentically, and with appreciation for all with which it connects, we are developing awareness of our own experience, as well as the interconnected nature of our world. Being mindful, in its most general sense, means to be aware; aware of our feelings, thoughts, and experiences, without being attached to the past or future. When we find ourselves dwelling on the past or the future, it can contaminate our present experience. That’s one of the reasons why our sadness can trickle down and inflate into depression, or our investment in the future (supporting our family, having meaningful relationships) can escalate into anxiety. Being nonjudgmental is also a critical aspect of mindfulness; if I accept the judgment that my sadness is not good or not acceptable, I push against my experience. The more that I push against my experience, the more I hold onto it. As I grapple and wrestle with my feelings, trying to distract or force myself to feel something, anything else, I intertwine myself with my sadness. My experience of myself becomes defined by sadness. Not so with my baby buddha. She accepts her experience without judgment. She is hungry, and feels distressed. She fully feels her distress and allows it to inform her experience, but when the situation changes, she doesn’t remain attached to that distress; she allows it to pass, because the situation has changed. My daughter also doesn’t have the intellectual capacity to judge herself for feeling distressed, so there isn’t an internal wrestling match with her emotions. She feels them, isn’t afraid of them, or overly attached to them; as such, I believe my little girl has taught me a great deal about how to truly enjoy the world we both inhabit. You may be reading this and thinking to yourself, “this sounds great, but if I allow myself to fully feel everything that goes on inside me, I’ll get into a lot of trouble!” and you’d be right, if you assume that being mindful means acting on every felt experience. Being mindful, however, is not about reacting to everything you experience without thought. It’s actually quite the opposite. When we are mindful of our experiences, and fully present within ourselves, we become free to behave in a way that is consistent with our values. I can recognize that I feel angry, and even that my impulse is to yell at my boss because of that anger; if I weren’t being mindful, I might find myself doing just that! If I am able to be mindful in that moment, nonjudgmental of myself, or overly attached to my experience, I’m then free to act in a way that is consistent with my values. My anger is a tool that helps to inform my experience, and so if I’m acting in accordance with my values, I’ll speak assertively and appropriately to my boss, so that my concerns are addressed. Once the issue is dealt with, I’ll also be able to successfully move on from that experience and fully enjoy my day. I know that this sounds simplistic, but mindfulness kind of is just that. It’s incredibly simple. Just because something is simple, however, doesn’t mean that it is easy. Mindfulness is a practice, and takes deliberate effort to become an engrained part of our lives. Thankfully however, its benefits are immediate! I invite you to take just a minute, push back from your desk, and close your eyes, taking slow, deep breaths into your belly. Do this just for a minute, really allowing yourself to feel each breath; its time, its texture, the physical sensations in your nose, throat, and torso. Keep coming back to that awareness when your mind wanders (as it will) and just notice how your body changes with each deep, slow breath. It’s calming, right? Mindfulness has an immediate benefit, and put into practice regularly, can be life-changing. Text referenced: Nhat Hanh, T. (2007). Living Buddha, Living Christ. New York, NY: Riverhead Books.

I’ve been learning to play the guitar for the past five or so years. Rather, a better way to say it is that I have NOT been learning to play the guitar for the past five years or so. Ever since I was a little kid, I would watch my father play his guitar, reclining on the bed or sitting on the couch, zen-fully plucking away beautiful, intricate melodies. And, ever since I was a kid, I had a longing to learn how to play that instrument. I have a deep admiration for guitarists, and especially those that can sing and play; to me, this is the height of multitasking accomplishment. When I was in grad school, I bought a guitar, determined to learn how to play. Visions of myself at beach bonfires, blissfully strumming and singing, danced in my head (never mind that I’ve never even been to a beach bonfire before.) That vision sustained me for about two weeks of daily practice; for a half hour at a time, I’d contort my fingers into odd shapes across the fret board, choppily making chord after chord till my fingers blistered and began to form callouses. And then… somehow, it would drop off. I would get overwhelmed with papers, work, and the rest of general living, and the guitar would sit in the corner gracefully collecting dust. Maybe a few months later, I’d stare at it wistfully, the old fantasies flickering to light again, and the cycle would repeat itself. The truth is, I still would desperately like to be an expert guitarist (hell, I’d settle for being a mediocre guitarist,) but my pattern of fits and starts has left me bereft of any concrete skill, aside from the basic chords. Why does this happen to us? And how do we work our way around or through it? I’m inclined to believe that the answer is two-fold: meaning making, and deliberate practice. Victor Frankl, one of the fathers of modern existential therapies (his particular brand being called Logotherapy) said in his book Man’s Search for Meaning (originally written 1946; recently published 2006) that a quote by Nietzsche, the nihilist philosopher laid a cornerstone in his own theorizing. It goes, “A man [or woman, #feminism] with a good why can endure any how.” This was particularly meaningful for Frankl, who made his observations while enduring the atrocities of Nazi concentration camps; he noticed that people who had a strong sense of purpose and drive were often more resilient than those who could not find something significant for which to endure. As a result, Frankl’s theory upon leaving the camps was focused around helping individuals find a sense of purpose for her/his struggles, which qualified and eased the suffering they felt. If we are going to bring ourselves to following through on something that has been a challenge, it can be really critical to first take some time and answer the question, “What makes [learning guitar] important to me? Why is this worthwhile?” Being able to answer that question provides a core anchor point for us to return to when our motivation or endurance fails; from the most difficult of challenges, like surviving torture, to the significantly less so, like learning a new skill. Did you know that in order to become an expert at any thing, you’d need to engage in approximately 10,000 hours of deliberate practice? You’ve probably heard that phrase going around thanks to psychology writer Malcolm Gladwell, who popularized the research of Anders Ericsson in his book Outliers (2008). As it turns out, that’s not quite an accurate statement. Some new research has shown that deliberate practice accounts for different percentages of what accounts for outcomes in mastery (Baer, 2014). It’s not as clean of a formula as we’d like to believe (10k hours of practice and you can be the master of anything!) however, few things in life ever are. Nevertheless, in order to be successful in an endeavor, and I believe, in breaking through a barrier to growth, deliberate practice is a critical ingredient. Without pushing ourselves to work on what feels difficult, it is impossible to move forward. So, if I detest the key of F on guitar, and refuse to push myself to do that uncomfortable work, I will never become the guitarist that I want to be. With ten thousand hours of guitar practice, pushing myself to do what feels difficult, I may never become a master; I will, however, become the best musician I’m capable of being, given the circumstances. Deliberate practice isn’t just doing what feels hard, however. It involves being strategic, ordered, and systematic in your efforts. Having a plan, and sticking to that plan is the intersection of where purpose meets the practice. With a well defined sense of purpose, and a strategic plan, there isn’t much we can’t accomplish. The only thing to do is to begin. I may regret that over five years of wanting to learn to play the guitar, I haven’t been successful, however there’s no time like the present to start the work again. There’s an old Chinese proverb I found a while back (I’m fond of quotes) that encapsulates this all nicely. It says, “the best time to plant a tree was twenty years ago. The second best time is now.” What are you looking to accomplish? Text referenced: Baer, D. (2014, July, 3). New Study Destroy’s Malcolm Gladwell’s 10,000 Hour Rule. Retrieved from https://www.businessinsider.com/new-study-destroys-malcolm-gladwells-10000-rule-2014-7 Frankl, V. E. (2006). Man’s Search For Meaning. Boston, MA: Beacon Press. Gladwell, M. (2008). Outliers: The story of success. New York, NY: Little, Brown, & Company.

When I was maybe eleven or twelve years old, I stole a pencil sharpener from the local K-mart. It was the easiest thing to do; my mom and I were out shopping (as we did) and walked through the art supplies aisle, where I admired a particularly glossy kit. You know the kind - the one that has watercolors, pastels, pencils, brushes, markers, and those fancy white erases that only true artists use? Yeah, that kind. I was in love. My mom, ever sympathetic but also mindful of the family pocket-book, acknowledged my creative hunger and said something about the set making, “a good Christmas gift.” I could get on board with that. It was late fall at the time, after all. One of the cases was opened, and a little silver pencil sharpener had fallen into the aisle. Mind you, this was the most basic kind of sharpener you could make; unprotected razor, one-size fits all opening, with jagged edges where the factory mold had separated. It likely cost all of .002 cents to make. My mom told me to return the sharpener to its corresponding kit and moved on to the next aisle. But, like Frodo and the One Ring I found myself sneakily pocketing my new 'precious' rather than returning it to the fires of Mount Doom, as I had promised. I then promptly forgot about it. It wasn’t until a few days later when my mom found it while sorting laundry that it re-entered my mind. Long, loud conversation and many tears ensued, along with frantic attempts at poor lying. It was no good; I was a caught “thief,” and I would have to make my amends. When my dad came home at the end of the day, we drove to the store where I, tearstained and sniffling, offered my pilfered goods to the manager. Out of principle, my dad bought the cardboard box the set came in (the actual set was now missing… it wasn’t a well-organized K-mart). He explained to me on the car ride home that, though the sharpener was a small, cheap thing that nobody would really miss, my theft violated an important family value. Living with honesty and integrity - in the form of “always do rightly by others” - was a humiliating $19.99 lesson that stuck with me over the years. We all have similar experiences, some less dramatic, some more so, of the moment when we gained a crystal clarity of our core values. I can think of several other times when I witnessed my family making hard decisions revolving around ideals that served as guides for our next steps. There were also times when, in my later adulthood, I found myself deliberately taking on new values to serve as guideposts for my life because I had deeply considered new information or experiences, creating something completely unique to myself. Core values create a constellation of sentiments and aspirations, around which we structure our self concept. When we make choices in alignment with those values, it is not uncommon to experience increases in life satisfaction, fulfillment, self-esteem, and self-efficacy. Violating those values can have equally detrimental effects, and as such, living out values-based lifestyles are a central component to many types of therapy (Motivational Interviewing, Acceptance and Commitment Therapy, Existentialism, and Dialectical-Behavioral Therapy, to name just a few). When working with individuals who are struggling with personal satisfaction, challenges, or life changes, it is an inevitability that I will at some point begin conversations around identifying and clarifying personal values. This is because there are times when we may need reminding about what we consider to be most important in our lives, but additionally, we may only have an implicit awareness of those values. It is entirely possible (and not at all uncommon) to operate on values rooted so deeply in past experience that they provide reflexive, instinctive reactions to our experiences. This can be particularly problematic if values conflict, as they sometimes do. Clarifying what is most important in our lives can reconcile some of these conflicts and promote healthier living. One of the ways that I will explore values with people is using a “Values Card-Sort” that I picked up in my training with Motivational Interviewing (Miller & Rollnick, 2013). It involves sorting 100+ cards into categories, ranging from “most important to me” on through “not important to me.” The cards have a key word and an explanatory statement on them, each representing potential values someone may hold. Through a process of evaluating, reacting to, and sorting the cards (I do a 'triple sort' process to identify the most-important-of-the-most-important) people end up with roughly 5-10 values that are what I call their “North-star Values.” Once we have made these explicit, we can begin to look at how well these values are being lived out in a person’s life, how they guide past and future behavior, as well as make meaning of a current struggle. For example, my eight "North-star Values" are as follows: 1) Spirituality: to grow and mature in the awareness of how all things are interconnected, and to become more deeply immersed in that process. 2) Love: to understand and perpetuate the experience of unconditional, healing love in my own life as well as others’. 3) Mindfulness: to live conscious and present in each moment, abstaining from judgment or over attachment. 4) Gratitude: to practice thankfulness and healthy perspectives of my experiences. 5) Integrity: to live my daily life in a way that is consistent with my values. 6) Compassion: to feel and act on concern for others. 7) Complexity: to embrace and be curious about the intricacies of life. 8) Justice: to promote fair and equal treatment for all. To know these as my core values is to be able to reasonably predict how I will react to just about any moral, ethical, business, personal, or social decision in life. For me to know them allows me to be deliberate in that decision making process, and provides check-in opportunities to ensure that I’m not off-course from being true to my self. There are other ways to figure out what your “North-star Values” are; a former client of mine made a gratitude list every night for a week, and then looked at the themes of what he was most grateful for. Those themes became his identified core values. Friends of mine and I also engage in inventories of people’s childhood experiences (known as an Adlerian Style of Life assessment) that is very effective in uncovering core values and the logic that stems from them. A quick Google search can pull up a variety of worksheets that you can use at home to go through this process, as well. Whatever approach works for you, there is a terrific opportunity to quickly add some value and meaning to your day, just by asking the question, “What’s most important to me in life, and how do I live that out?” Text referenced: Miller, W. R., & Rollnick, S. (2013). Motivational Interviewing: Helping people change (3rd. Ed.). New York, NY: Guilford Press.