Register here for our online workshops and storytelling circles!
Self-Discovery Through Storytelling
The Missing Peace promotes self-exploration and expression, a place to fill what may be a missing “peace” in your life, a place where you can tap into your soul.
“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
We are honored to appear in VoyageLA, a publication that features the hidden gems of Los Angeles. In our interview, we talk about following our dream and starting The Missing Peace, where we continue to affect change, connect people, and create peace through true storytelling. Click here to read more about Hali, Robin, and The Missing Peace.
Initially I attended The Missing Peace workshop with the intention to simply "write more." I had no idea what I was getting myself into! What I found was a diverse, supportive, creative, funny, intelligent community of storytellers. Robin and Hali do such an amazing job providing a safe space to explore and express yourself. If you come for the writing, you'll stay for the heart and soul. - Alison Burmeister
The Missing Peace is honored to have collaborated with Angel City Sports, whose mission is to create sports opportunities for adults and children with physical disabilities and impairments, and five of their Paralympian and adaptive athletes in telling their personal stories last Thursday at the Writers Guild Theater.
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There’s a brilliant scene in The Sopranos where Tony is talking to Carmela on the phone.
“I had one of my Coach Molinaro dreams.” He says.
“Were you unprepared again?” She responds.
In these two lines, the audience knows that this is a recurring dream for Tony and he knows exactly what it means.
So, I had one of my Frank Dreams…and I know exactly what it means.
A Frank Dream is basically your classic “Actor’s Nightmare” but with a twist. So, not only is the actor faced with the reality that they’re about to perform in front of an audience and have no idea what the fuck their lines are, an event that soaks the dreamer with anxiety, terror, and frustration, but then throw in The Frank twist, which adds elements of severe disappointment that highlights excuses, exposes cover ups, and throws in a severe bullshit meter that leaves the dreamer to face the deep truths of their very being. It’s the moment when the mentor looks through the mentee with their magnifying glass and reads them like no one else can.
Read MoreWe couldn't be more excited about our line-up of talented storytellers! Come listen to a variety of true stories you're sure to relate to, while enjoying our starlit bonfire and a buffet of refreshments. We'll end our magical evening with a wish lantern. Bring a friend! RSVP here.
Join us for an evening of true stories around a crackling bonfire on April 8 in Pacific Palisades. Cover includes entertainment, food & drink, and a chance to send your intentions to the stars with our wish lantern. Interested in reading a "peace?" Contact us here! RSVP by April 1.
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
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.
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.
“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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"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!
“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.
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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?
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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.”
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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?
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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.
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Hi! We're Robin and Hali. We're friends, memoir writers, and explorers. We created The Missing Peace as a place to promote self-discovery and expression through storytelling, a place to fill what may be a missing “peace” in your life, a place where you can tap into your soul. Here, you can find storytelling in oral, written, communal, and individual forms through our memoir "peaces", and storytelling circles, workshops, and more. To learn more about The Missing Peace, click here.
All Material Copyrighted. Photos by Neal Morell, Hali Morell, and Robin Hanson. Powered by Squarespace
