I was riveted to this piece, Holly. I was just contemplating yesterday...about how triggered and powerless I am (or could be) feeling by what is happening in our country right now. As a survivor myself, I wonder about how many of us are feeling beyond normal rage at this moment...how we long to protect those who are not unscathed by the cruelty. I wanted to know more about the flute player. I wanted to know more about your surfer friend. Leaving us with wanting to know more is great writing. Thanks for posting this one!
Thank you, Linda! It's true, I believe, a feeling of impotence is swirling at this moment. Which of course gives way to rage and longing to protect and longing to just have things be going differently, for crying out loud, haven't we come too far for this?!
I'm sorry you're a survivor yourself. Thank you for sharing that. Thank you for being riveted and for commenting and restacking this piece. I appreciate you very much.
Such a powerful piece. My heart is racing! As someone who leads a fortune-filled life, I wonder about luck all the time, and how much of my “luck” is related to my skin color and education. I so appreciate your invitation to create luck for other people and to add to it in the world.
I'm awake in the middle of my night and "Lucky" beckoned. I guess I'd say I've numerous times been Lucky one way or another over a lifetime after, often, being unlucky. Weigh that on a scale.
Reversing the lens, I've written about this and recalled it to Julia just a couple of weeks ago. I'm hitchhiking up the PCH at 17 with my best friend, 19, stopped in Santa Barbara to see Blind Faith at the Earl Warren Showground. Everyone is variously high of course. Pretty 15 year old blonde tripped out on acid lands nude in our literal laps. No one around to claim her or take her off our hands. Concert over, one of the few times we'd shelled out scarce money for a motel room, we take her back with us, put her in the bed we'd intend to share, and roll out our sleeping bags on the floor. Those days my name was Arnie. My best friend was Arnie too. In the morning, we asked blonde girl (I don't remember her name!), now come down, how she'd been through the night. Okay, she said, though she'd had a recurring nightmare that she was spending eternity in a motel room with two guys named Arnie.
We hitchhiked with her to take her home, got picked up (hand to God) by a hearse. Dropped her off a block from her parents and continued up to San Simeon, Big Sur, the Haight, Berkeley, the whole show.
I imagine she's thought about Lucky a new times over the years.
Gah! Thank you, Jay. What a pleasure to be your middle-of-the-night read.
And thank you for sharing this story. I love it. First, I know the Earl Warren Showground well. So I can imagine extra details in this recounting. An eternity in a motel room with two guys named Arnie! Ha. What a dream. And a hearse to deliver her home. Fantastic. Where can I see your writing about this hitchhiking trek? Which sounds like a really wonderful dream.
And yep, I'm guessing your blonde friend has thought about luck over the years.
Fortunately, Arnie and I get to laugh about that "lucky" evening in a good spirit -- and you don't neglect to bring to our attention the good behavior of others surrounding your made good luck.
Thanks for asking about my piece! It's actually a two parter, about that whole summer of 1969 trip, with the Blind Faith concert coming just past midway -- and the Earl Warren Showground reappearing at the end.
Talk about lucky. That’s me (among many others), starting my day with this gorgeous, provocative and disarming essay that could be languishing in some journal’s email queue but is right here to nourish your readers.
Thanks, Holly, for telling and not hiding, not protecting us or the would-be takers. As the mother of two adult trans kids, it is the proclivity for taking that makes me lie awake at night--wondering how I am safe and so many are not.
Oh, Sherry. My heart goes out to you. I've thought of you and other friends who are trans or the parents of trans people so often these days. The bigotry is appalling. My love to you and yours. May all our trans kids and dear ones find luck, however it comes, especially in the protection and warmth of goodhearted souls who see their humanity and honor it.
I love the fractured time structure of this piece, Holly. It's the way we remember traumatic events, not in some kind of precise order, but as a series of flashes that go back and forth and sideways. And the litany you create by repeating versions of "I'm going to tell you...." The stepping back and addressing your audience directly before diving back in helps both heighten the tension and also, in an odd way, at the same time keeps the piece from being too frightening to read. This is a beautifully written and courageous piece, and so powerful. Thank you for finding the way in to writing it and for sharing it with all of us, plus with the readers of The Memoirist. Blessings to you!
Thank you, Susan. I very much appreciate you reading and commenting. I do love creating a litany. Repetition appears often in my writing. So I'm so glad you noticed and enjoyed it.
Blessings your way as well, Susan, and much good fortune too. 🥰
Oh, Holly. The fortitude of seeing what's been given to you against the backdrop of what's been stolen from others, despite knowing full well that you haven't always been at the receiving end of the good fortune. The generosity of that perspective, and--to be sure--the truth of it.
I'm glad you told the Montañita story. It is part of our human experience just as the Baños story is, but I'm convinced that they are not, over time, equal parts. What keeps that from happening is stories like this that invite us to be each others' luck, time after time after time. Beautifully told and worth the time you invested in it. Are investing in it, still. 💜
Thank you, my friend! It's one of my favorite parts of life and exploring it in writing--the many layers and sometimes even paradoxical truths that live side by side.
I agree that the overall balance is toward the bounty and kindness end of the perspective. Or maybe it's truer to say it certainly has been for me. And I hope it's true for as many people as possible and that we'll all keep tipping the scale in that direction.
Chilling Holly. I knew you were leading me into some unresolved complexity when you began by sharing “I’m lucky” quickly followed by a scene of wonderment and another, brutality. True to your enchanting style, you braid these two (actually three, including our current political, humanitarian crisis) themes together so masterfully. Each strand making the others all the more potent and necessary. I have a hunch that through your magnificent storytelling, you are casting your luck into the world, so that others may remember this possibility within themselves.
Thank you, Kim. I so much appreciate your keen reading ear and engagement with others' work. It's a real gift.
I do love a braid! Sometimes I tell myself, um, maybe try something without many woven parts. And occasionally, I'll tell a story with less of a braid. But most of the essays end up braided by presenting strands I simply can't ignore.
The fact that you do all this alone amazes. And then we have the writing: "As for the flutist, let’s not forget the interveners—the other musicians and the hostel owner. Let’s not forget his presence shortened my time and ease in a place and town that had felt restful." xx
There's so much to say about this piece, Holly. It had me from the start and held me. I thought I knew what was coming, but I was surprised and relieved by your "luck" on the beach. How you said this, "What will it take to spread awareness that your fortune is my fortune is our fortune? Your due process is my due process is our due process? Your bodily autonomy is my bodily autonomy is our bodily autonomy? Your cost is my cost is our cost?" and this, "However it’s said, it has one purpose: Let the taking go unchecked." I truly love this piece. Thank you for telling us the things you usually don't. xoxo
Gah! Thank you, Jocelyn. I love hearing that you were surprised. I'd hoped to create uncertainty about the outcome of that particular encounter. It was certainly an uncertain situation I believe could have gone either way.
And yes, if there's any understanding I would love to help press into more hearts, more minds, more corners of the world it is that of our connectedness, of how clearly and directly (if at different levels) what happens to one of us effects what happens to all of us.
Thank you so much for reading and commenting. xoxo your way too
Sweet, brave, Holly. Your grappling with the when and why to share or not to share stories such as this reminds me strongly of the song The Missing Stair by the all female bluegrass band Big Richard. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-g7um3vPg6A
It's about how so often instead of directly dealing with the problem person everyone else changes their life to work around them -- stepping over the missing stair step instead of fixing/dealing with the actual problem. Like when everyone in the family knows not to leave the children alone with "that uncle". Love and strength to all of us to tell our truths.
I don't know this song or Big Richard. And having just listened to "The Missing Stair," I'm grateful for the introduction. And honored that "Lucky" made you think of this. It is so true. In so many situations, we walk on eggshells rather than facing problems directly. And it's not good for any of us.
Yes to love and strength. Yes to us all having the ability and safety to tell our truths.
Brave to share the Mancanita story and turn it into paying it forward. Yes, we the lucky ones must do this. I still wonder why I was lucky hitchhiking alone in my youth around Europe. Much to learn from these “almost not lucky” experiences
Thank you, Dami! I do believe those of us with fortune must pass it forward, not as obligation but because we're connected so passing it forward is the same as growing it within us and for ourselves.
Amazing leaders can be found in the most unlikely places and one of those places is here at the Rolling Desk where we are called to be better, encouraged to be each other's luck (I love that so much!) and reminded that good exists in the darkness.
Gah!!!! Blushing, Donna. Thank you. Thank you. I very much appreciate your support and your contribution to these discussion threads. So lucky to have you rolling with me. 🥰
I was riveted to this piece, Holly. I was just contemplating yesterday...about how triggered and powerless I am (or could be) feeling by what is happening in our country right now. As a survivor myself, I wonder about how many of us are feeling beyond normal rage at this moment...how we long to protect those who are not unscathed by the cruelty. I wanted to know more about the flute player. I wanted to know more about your surfer friend. Leaving us with wanting to know more is great writing. Thanks for posting this one!
Thank you, Linda! It's true, I believe, a feeling of impotence is swirling at this moment. Which of course gives way to rage and longing to protect and longing to just have things be going differently, for crying out loud, haven't we come too far for this?!
I'm sorry you're a survivor yourself. Thank you for sharing that. Thank you for being riveted and for commenting and restacking this piece. I appreciate you very much.
☺️
Such a powerful piece. My heart is racing! As someone who leads a fortune-filled life, I wonder about luck all the time, and how much of my “luck” is related to my skin color and education. I so appreciate your invitation to create luck for other people and to add to it in the world.
Thank you so much, Mary. I'd hoped to create tension in this telling. So to hear your heart is racing is music to my ears.
Yes, "fortune" is such a multifaceted thing.
I'm deeply grateful for your support. 🥰
I'm awake in the middle of my night and "Lucky" beckoned. I guess I'd say I've numerous times been Lucky one way or another over a lifetime after, often, being unlucky. Weigh that on a scale.
Reversing the lens, I've written about this and recalled it to Julia just a couple of weeks ago. I'm hitchhiking up the PCH at 17 with my best friend, 19, stopped in Santa Barbara to see Blind Faith at the Earl Warren Showground. Everyone is variously high of course. Pretty 15 year old blonde tripped out on acid lands nude in our literal laps. No one around to claim her or take her off our hands. Concert over, one of the few times we'd shelled out scarce money for a motel room, we take her back with us, put her in the bed we'd intend to share, and roll out our sleeping bags on the floor. Those days my name was Arnie. My best friend was Arnie too. In the morning, we asked blonde girl (I don't remember her name!), now come down, how she'd been through the night. Okay, she said, though she'd had a recurring nightmare that she was spending eternity in a motel room with two guys named Arnie.
We hitchhiked with her to take her home, got picked up (hand to God) by a hearse. Dropped her off a block from her parents and continued up to San Simeon, Big Sur, the Haight, Berkeley, the whole show.
I imagine she's thought about Lucky a new times over the years.
A ❤️ for you Holly Starley.
Gah! Thank you, Jay. What a pleasure to be your middle-of-the-night read.
And thank you for sharing this story. I love it. First, I know the Earl Warren Showground well. So I can imagine extra details in this recounting. An eternity in a motel room with two guys named Arnie! Ha. What a dream. And a hearse to deliver her home. Fantastic. Where can I see your writing about this hitchhiking trek? Which sounds like a really wonderful dream.
And yep, I'm guessing your blonde friend has thought about luck over the years.
Thanks again, Jay.
Fortunately, Arnie and I get to laugh about that "lucky" evening in a good spirit -- and you don't neglect to bring to our attention the good behavior of others surrounding your made good luck.
Thanks for asking about my piece! It's actually a two parter, about that whole summer of 1969 trip, with the Blind Faith concert coming just past midway -- and the Earl Warren Showground reappearing at the end.
https://ajayadler.substack.com/p/california-dreamin-from-the-archives
Nice! Just saved part I to my files for my “reading hour” 😆 (the laugh is cuz hour should be hours)
Talk about lucky. That’s me (among many others), starting my day with this gorgeous, provocative and disarming essay that could be languishing in some journal’s email queue but is right here to nourish your readers.
Gah!! Thank you, Rona. I always appreciate your words and your ear and your support. 🥰
Thanks, Holly, for telling and not hiding, not protecting us or the would-be takers. As the mother of two adult trans kids, it is the proclivity for taking that makes me lie awake at night--wondering how I am safe and so many are not.
Oh, Sherry. My heart goes out to you. I've thought of you and other friends who are trans or the parents of trans people so often these days. The bigotry is appalling. My love to you and yours. May all our trans kids and dear ones find luck, however it comes, especially in the protection and warmth of goodhearted souls who see their humanity and honor it.
I love the fractured time structure of this piece, Holly. It's the way we remember traumatic events, not in some kind of precise order, but as a series of flashes that go back and forth and sideways. And the litany you create by repeating versions of "I'm going to tell you...." The stepping back and addressing your audience directly before diving back in helps both heighten the tension and also, in an odd way, at the same time keeps the piece from being too frightening to read. This is a beautifully written and courageous piece, and so powerful. Thank you for finding the way in to writing it and for sharing it with all of us, plus with the readers of The Memoirist. Blessings to you!
Thank you, Susan. I very much appreciate you reading and commenting. I do love creating a litany. Repetition appears often in my writing. So I'm so glad you noticed and enjoyed it.
Blessings your way as well, Susan, and much good fortune too. 🥰
Amazing, Holly.
Thank you, Jeanine! 🥰🥰🥰
Oh, Holly. The fortitude of seeing what's been given to you against the backdrop of what's been stolen from others, despite knowing full well that you haven't always been at the receiving end of the good fortune. The generosity of that perspective, and--to be sure--the truth of it.
I'm glad you told the Montañita story. It is part of our human experience just as the Baños story is, but I'm convinced that they are not, over time, equal parts. What keeps that from happening is stories like this that invite us to be each others' luck, time after time after time. Beautifully told and worth the time you invested in it. Are investing in it, still. 💜
Thank you, my friend! It's one of my favorite parts of life and exploring it in writing--the many layers and sometimes even paradoxical truths that live side by side.
I agree that the overall balance is toward the bounty and kindness end of the perspective. Or maybe it's truer to say it certainly has been for me. And I hope it's true for as many people as possible and that we'll all keep tipping the scale in that direction.
I appreciate you much, Elizabeth. Thank you. 🥰
Wow!! WOW!! Absolutely incredible piece!!!!!
Gah!!!! Thank you. I love it when you love my stuff. I thought you might like this one.
I loved it so much, I listened to it twice!
Ha! And you commented twice. I'm honored and grateful. And I appreciate you dearly, sista from another mista. 🥰🥰🥰
Chilling Holly. I knew you were leading me into some unresolved complexity when you began by sharing “I’m lucky” quickly followed by a scene of wonderment and another, brutality. True to your enchanting style, you braid these two (actually three, including our current political, humanitarian crisis) themes together so masterfully. Each strand making the others all the more potent and necessary. I have a hunch that through your magnificent storytelling, you are casting your luck into the world, so that others may remember this possibility within themselves.
Thank you, Kim. I so much appreciate your keen reading ear and engagement with others' work. It's a real gift.
I do love a braid! Sometimes I tell myself, um, maybe try something without many woven parts. And occasionally, I'll tell a story with less of a braid. But most of the essays end up braided by presenting strands I simply can't ignore.
Thank you again for all your support. 🥰
The fact that you do all this alone amazes. And then we have the writing: "As for the flutist, let’s not forget the interveners—the other musicians and the hostel owner. Let’s not forget his presence shortened my time and ease in a place and town that had felt restful." xx
Thank you, dear friend!! I appreciate you very much. 🥰🥰
There's so much to say about this piece, Holly. It had me from the start and held me. I thought I knew what was coming, but I was surprised and relieved by your "luck" on the beach. How you said this, "What will it take to spread awareness that your fortune is my fortune is our fortune? Your due process is my due process is our due process? Your bodily autonomy is my bodily autonomy is our bodily autonomy? Your cost is my cost is our cost?" and this, "However it’s said, it has one purpose: Let the taking go unchecked." I truly love this piece. Thank you for telling us the things you usually don't. xoxo
Gah! Thank you, Jocelyn. I love hearing that you were surprised. I'd hoped to create uncertainty about the outcome of that particular encounter. It was certainly an uncertain situation I believe could have gone either way.
And yes, if there's any understanding I would love to help press into more hearts, more minds, more corners of the world it is that of our connectedness, of how clearly and directly (if at different levels) what happens to one of us effects what happens to all of us.
Thank you so much for reading and commenting. xoxo your way too
Sweet, brave, Holly. Your grappling with the when and why to share or not to share stories such as this reminds me strongly of the song The Missing Stair by the all female bluegrass band Big Richard. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-g7um3vPg6A
It's about how so often instead of directly dealing with the problem person everyone else changes their life to work around them -- stepping over the missing stair step instead of fixing/dealing with the actual problem. Like when everyone in the family knows not to leave the children alone with "that uncle". Love and strength to all of us to tell our truths.
I don't know this song or Big Richard. And having just listened to "The Missing Stair," I'm grateful for the introduction. And honored that "Lucky" made you think of this. It is so true. In so many situations, we walk on eggshells rather than facing problems directly. And it's not good for any of us.
Yes to love and strength. Yes to us all having the ability and safety to tell our truths.
I appreciate you dearly, Heather.
Brave to share the Mancanita story and turn it into paying it forward. Yes, we the lucky ones must do this. I still wonder why I was lucky hitchhiking alone in my youth around Europe. Much to learn from these “almost not lucky” experiences
Thank you, Dami! I do believe those of us with fortune must pass it forward, not as obligation but because we're connected so passing it forward is the same as growing it within us and for ourselves.
I much appreciate you reading and sharing. 🥰
Amazing leaders can be found in the most unlikely places and one of those places is here at the Rolling Desk where we are called to be better, encouraged to be each other's luck (I love that so much!) and reminded that good exists in the darkness.
Gah!!!! Blushing, Donna. Thank you. Thank you. I very much appreciate your support and your contribution to these discussion threads. So lucky to have you rolling with me. 🥰