“Humanity's legacy of stories and storytelling is the most precious we have. All wisdom is in our stories and songs. A story is how we construct our experiences.” - Doris Lessing
A Postcard from Europe: What People Are Saying About The Missing Peace
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Hi Hali & Robin,
I'm dropping you a line to let you know that like an athlete in training, the workshops have kept my literary muscles active. I have been and will continue to devote a good portion of my time here to writing. I again thank you both for reigniting the spark by encouraging fellow writers to reach within and own our stories.
- Erick Woodby, workshop regular & aspiring writer
What's New At The Missing Peace: 2017 Workshops
/On the heels of a magical night of storytelling at our holiday bonfire salon, we have more great news! The Missing Peace is offering workshops twice per month on Tuesday nights and Sunday mornings starting in January 2017! We now also offer individual workshop registration or 6-workshop packages at a discount! See our workshops page to register.
The Missing Peace Bonfire Salon on December 3!
/See below for our storytelling program! Join us for a night of true stories, an array of refreshments, and inspired connections. RSVP for the address. Donations suggested.
Ghost-O-Grams: A Woman’s Journey Through Candy, Teenagers, and Personal Discovery
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“Alright...everybody grab your buckets and huddle up. Listen up.”
Surrounding me are four students, two boys and two girls. Their youthful faces convey a sense of seriousness and an eagerness to start the process.
“Here are the two most important things I’m sending you out there with. #1. Classroom Etiquette. Do not simply barge into classrooms. Slowly and gently open the door, get the teacher’s permission and then proceed. #2. Return with empty buckets only. Let me say that once again. Return to my office with empty buckets only! Nothing...I mean nothing...should be left in those buckets. Is everyone clear? Now go! Godspeed!”
This is the moment I dread. When I no longer have control. They’re out there. They’re all out there and I’m in here...just waiting. Just waiting for something to go wrong. Fucking Ghost-O-Grams.
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Check Out What People Are Saying About Our Workshops!
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"I love The Missing Peace workshop! The space created is amazingly safe, and supports deep sharing and creativity. As a participant you get multiple opportunities per session to write and share your work, and I find this so helpful in gaining clarity and really saying what is in my heart to say. I am grateful to Robin and Hali for creating such a powerful workshop, and I highly recommend it!" - Heather McGonigal
Want to join our circle? To sign-up for our next workshop on Sunday, October 16th from 11:00 AM - 2:00 PM, see our workshops & salons page. Our meetings take place in an intimate space at a private home in Pacific Palisades. An array of refreshments and tranquil writing spaces are included. Your first session is free; no experience is necessary!
An Angel With Furry Wings: The Story of Louie
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“Can I ask you one more thing?”
It was the last three minutes of my psychic reading and I was saving it for last...out of both fear and denial.
My hands are clenched and I’ve stopped inhaling the fresh summer air blowing through the coffee shop. A home for the writing regulars who plant themselves and their laptops at the mosaic-tiled tables filling the eclectic space.
“So...I have a cat. He’s 19 ½ and....”
The psychic closes her eyes, tosses her head back, pulls her hands to her chest and smiles.
Okay, what’s happening? My brain is trying to go into “worst-case scenario mode” which is its default but I’m thrown by her reaction.
“Oh! I love him! You’ve been through so much together!” She says, opening her eyes.
“Yes, yes, we’ve been through the majority of my adult life together! So...what’s...I mean...how long.---“
“Will he live?”
My eyes are locked into hers, my jaw is hanging open, and the saliva has drained from my tongue. My head begins to slightly shake back and forth into a “no” stance. As if to send a message to both of us that I may actually not want to know the answer.
Read MoreHaving a "Senior Moment": What Happens When You're a 12th Grade Teacher
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“Can you say the prompt again?” One of my 12th graders asks.
I wasn’t sure if I could. It was a Council prompt I pulled out of my ass...a skill I’ve honed over the years as a teacher. If I accomplish nothing else in life, I’ll feel good about the fact that I can sling a question out of my butt.
“Yes. So the prompt is, looking back on your senior year, what was the path you thought you’d take and how did you veer off? What worked out differently than you thought it would?”
As my students are on the verge of graduation, a momentous occasion that I’ve witnessed for the last 14 years, I am once again thinking back to my own high school graduation...my senior year...the paths I took, or didn’t take...the choices I made. These thoughts enter my head every year, and every year, I avoid them. Because I made my choices. I experienced what I experienced and there’s no going back. That part of my life is done. It doesn’t make sense to me to focus on regrets. So why do I find myself questioning and avoiding each May? What do I need to examine here that feels unfinished?
Read MoreMy Month Alone: When the Cat Won't Help and the Inner Critic Won't Shut Up
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“Carbon Monoxide. Carbon Monoxide.”
This is what I hear accompanied by a horrendous beeping sound that cuts through my entire body like a razor at 8:04 on a Saturday morning. First of all, who the hell is saying this? Second of all, what does it mean? The cat and I both look at each other, groggy and confused. I fly out of my bed crashing into a standing fan and getting my worn Bad Religion t-shirt caught on the bedroom doorknob. Neither of these objects are out of place, but my brain is.
“Carbon Monoxide. Carbon Monoxide.”
Shut the fuck up! For the love of god!
It’s the smoke detector in the hallway.
I run into the kitchen to grab the step stool and crash it into everything along the way. My left thigh goes careening into the corner of the glass coffee table, I smack the right side of my face into the wooden coffee/tea station, my left foot goes into some cold, wet cat saliva mixed with four blades of green grass and I finally reach the metal stepstool leaning against the kitchen wall next to the fridge. Dust bunnies flying off the stool, I carry it back to the hallway attempting a calmer disposition and repeating to myself over and over, “It’s okay. It’s okay.” I climb up to the detector and push any button I can find.
“Fire. Fire.”
Read MoreThe Rules of Being a Person: When a Trip to the Movie Theater Showcases an Utter Lack of Humanity
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“Remember last time we were at the movies and we got kicked out for talking?”
This is not something you want to hear 12 seconds before a movie starts. But I do hear it from the girl sitting a few rows above us at Landmark Theaters. All I can think is, this does not bode well. I turn around and see four teens, two girls with long, straight brown hair and two boys who I can’t really make out, sharing videos on their phones, talking as if the lights hadn’t dimmed. I can feel my body clenching, my heart rate increasing. My husband and I have wanted to see The Revenant for weeks and we’re finally here. Being off from school for President’s Day has given us a break in our schedules. And now, these four little fuckers are going to destroy it. I think, they’ll have to stop once the movie starts, right?
Read MoreWhen You Become “Those People”: Spending Christmas on an Airport Floor
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“What’s wrong with the plane?” This is my husband’s response as I put my hand on his arm. He says it in a way that you would ask, “What’s wrong with the chair?” Or, “What’s wrong with the bread?” With a dull and exhausted inflection.
“The left engine isn’t getting power so we’re landing in El Paso in 15 minutes.” I yell in his left ear as the screaming child next to us who hasn’t stopped crying for the last three hours gasps for air.
I oddly can’t identify an emotion. The absolute absurdity of this entire trip has left me feeling both numb and frustrated to the point of hysterics. Having spent the last 3 ½ days in a crouching position underneath the kitchen table of my in-laws house in New Hampshire rifling through stacks of junk mail that would make you want to just cancel the USPS altogether, our vacation was not a typical vacation. It was more of a digging out, tripping over, and trying not to inhale layers of dust type of vacation. Yes, we had somehow entered a world that I had only seen on TV in a little reality show called Hoarders. Barely able to walk and learning what glutes are, I dragged my navy blue rolling bag to the airport dreaming of our little home. A home that we can walk around in.
Read MoreThe Missing Peace Holiday Salon: Our Storytelling Bonfire Circle
/We're back with more news from The Missing Peace! Earlier this month, we hosted a holiday salon in a wooded backyard of Pacific Palisades. This time, ten storytellers connected with our circle through their personal stories, many of whom were our workshop participants. We were honored to listen to a variety of life experiences, all told with heart, honesty, and soul. At our salon, we interspersed storytelling with refreshments, which led to more self-discovery and connections through inspired conversations. Please join us for our next salon, which is open to storytellers and listeners alike, on Saturday, April 9th, 2016. To RSVP to our next salon or to learn more about our workshops, please click here.
Photo credit: http://www.nealmorell.com
The Boy, The Other Boy, The Actress, & The Mute: A Tale of Adolescence & The Ultimate Revenge
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“You’re Jay Franklin’s sister??? I was just telling a story about him to my students!”
It was true. Well, not the name. His first name wasn’t Jay nor was his last Franklin but I had just been relaying a rather scarring story about him-albeit a 6th grade pre-adolescent scarring nonetheless but still scarring-especially for the Town Mute which is what I felt like growing up, in one of my classes. The prompts were, "First Relationship & First Betrayal."
Read MoreMy Computer is an Asshole: When a Laptop Hurls me into Utter Darkness
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My computer is an asshole. And yes, I’m aware that this is a first world problem and that I’m lucky to even have a computer but the thing just pisses me off! I want to love it…I really do. But the level of frustration it causes me sends me into a state that is extremely unhealthy and unattractive. I turn into something else when my computer doesn’t work. It’s an ugly, rage-filled, horrifying monster that consumes every part of me. My face gets burning hot, I begin to shake, and I’m pretty sure I make some growling and hissing sounds. I’m actually afraid to look at myself in the mirror for fear that I might give myself nightmares.
Read MoreThree-Way Mirrors: The Ultimate Reality Check
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It started in the Nordstrom dressing room. After shaving off a few pounds, I decided it might be time to try on some jeans. Actually, it was a promise I made to myself. “Hali, you cannot buy new jeans until you lose weight.” So, I thought I was in good shape…literally and figuratively. And as I pulled down my lose fitting skirt (adding to the reality that I was in fact skinnier) and grabbed the faded blues, that’s when I saw it…or them. The backs of my thighs. You see, Nordstrom has these three way mirrors. I used to like three way mirrors. Actually, I used to not even think twice about three way mirrors. They’ve now turned into my biggest nightmare.
“Oh my god.” I said out loud to myself. A mother and daughter were in the dressing room next to me but I didn’t care. I couldn’t breathe, honing in on the ripples that had taken over my thighs and larger than I had expected white ass. I stared at them for another two minutes in disbelief. “How? When? Why? How?” All that was left was “Who?” but I knew who. “Who” was me! How the hell was this “who” me? And more importantly, was there a way I could instantly disappear through the lightly carpeted gray floor of the dressing room?
Read MoreA Magical Night of Storytelling: The Missing Peace Anniversary Celebration
/A little over one week ago, we celebrated The Missing Peace's one-year anniversary, and Hali's birthday. It was an enchanting evening spent under tall eucalyptus trees, around a crackling bonfire, and within a circle of friends. Nine storytellers serenaded our circle with their personal stories - all true, of course! We were honored to listen to a variety of life experiences, told with heart, honesty, soul. At our salon, we interspersed storytelling with refreshments, which inspired more self-discovery and connections. Please join us for our next salon - open to all - as we wrap up our fall workshop sessions on Saturday, December 5th, 2015 from 7:00 - 10:00 PM. Sign up at our workshops page.
Storytellers: Hali Morell, Robin Hanson, Mike Wall, Caitlin Tortorici, Amber Katherine, Ken Rosen, Heather McGonigal, Lisa Rosen, and Tom Viscount.
Stuck in a Swivel Chair: A Day in the Life of Hali Hair
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It’s 6:02. I’ve now been here for close to five hours. I’m hungry…actually fantasizing about eating the chicken at home in the fridge in the blue Tupperware on the top shelf near my cucumbers and hummus that my husband barbequed yesterday. I’m picturing it…on one of our dark green plates from Crate & Barrel from our wedding registry, sticking a fork in the entire thing and shoving it in my mouth. Not shoving in an erotic sort of way but shoving in a desperate I’m starving please lord help me before I pass out sort of way. Not that I couldn’t afford to lose a few pounds. (Twelve to be exact…but who’s counting?)
I’ve had to pee for two and half hours. Not badly at first but now, the painful kind. Like I just finished off a keg and my bladder is hard and uncomfortable. I can see the bathroom door in the mirror. It’s behind me, it’s brown, and it’s taunting me.
And I’m tired…so tired. My lazy eyelid has reached its lowest drooping point and I look like I’m totally wasted. This wasn’t supposed to take this long. But now I can’t get out of here. I’m trapped. Stuck in a black swivel chair in Fantastic Sam’s.
Read MoreThe Big Push of 2015: Hali's Summer Vacation
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As grateful and lucky as I feel to have two and a half months off from school, I’m also scared shitless.
For someone like me, unstructured time=laziness=depression=weight gain=self-hatred=massive hibernation.
How’s that for uplifting?
While many of my colleagues are soaring to exciting locations and experiences, I am almost dreading the idea of being on my own, without structure. You see, I don’t trust myself. I’ve let myself down time and time again. I can stare at my Tracy Anderson Dance Cardio DVD and it’s gray coating of dust and tell myself that “once summer comes, I’m cracking that thing open.” I can gaze longingly outside the bedroom window at the blossoming jasmine and promise myself that I’ll spend time in the garden come June. I can shove questionable clothing into drawers that are already overflowing and say to myself, “self, get ready to do some summer cleaning!” But deep inside, I have that familiar nagging feeling that I just won’t get myself to do anything. And I still can’t seem to answer the same question I’ve been asking myself since I was 8 years old. What came first? The laziness or the fear?
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