Eric Riddle

Episode 71 – Radical Acceptance with Kimberly Hoffman

November 9, 2024 Eric Riddle 47:52 0 Comments

Kimberly Hoffman was diagnosed with ME/Chronic Fatigue Syndrome over 30 years ago and then with fibromyalgia 12 years ago. She works full time at Cummins Inc. in the New and Recon Parts Department as an Inside Sales Administrator and with the Disability Inclusion employee resource group. She is a writer and editor for the Disability Inclusion newsletter, advocating, educating and allying with others on the subject of disability inclusion.

Kimberly is also a children’s author of nine books with topics such as overcoming obstacles, dealing with big emotions, self-worth and diversity. She is a spinner of amazing tales that influence young minds to think deeply, reframing their impossibilities to reach their possibilities. She creates unique and innovative programming to engage any size of audience, from preschool to seniors, motivating, encouraging, and challenging them to think outside the box on a variety of topics.

Kimberly resides in her hometown of Columbus, Indiana where she is also the vice president of the Friends of the Library board. She loves being creative through writing, dancing, acting, and making jewelry. She is married to Paul Hoffman, an author and publisher. Together, they have six children, one grandchild and many grand-fur and -feather babies.

Be sure to find Kimberly on Facebook – Kimberly S. Hoffman – Author, Instagram @kimberlyhoffman_author or at her website – kimberlyhoffmanblog.wordpress.com. She can also be reached at khoffmanauthor@gmail.com.

HAIKAST XVIII – Fresh Start

October 9, 2024 Eric Riddle 8:37 Comments Off

I dedicate this podcast to Robert Pulley who has inspired multiple generations of artists in Columbus and beyond as an Arts teacher at Columbus North High School and as a professional sculptor. Mr. Pulley’s work has been featured for over a year in front of the Fresh Start Recovery Center, the building that is the subject of this Haikast. Thank you, Mr. Pulley, for the generous sharing of your craft. It’s a delight to garden around your sculpture. To learn more about Robert Pulley’s work, visit www.robertpulley.com. (NOTE: The photo accompanying this episode includes the Fresh Start sculpture)

Downtown Columbus does not have much greenspace. While there is Mill Race Park on the west side – hugging the river – it is literally across the tracks from downtown. Washington Street, the main street through the heart of downtown, lacks landscaped areas. The most notable flora are the callery pear trees lining the sidewalks for 7 blocks. They are celebrated for their rapid growth and abundant white blooms in early spring. Unfortunately, they smell bad while flowering, drop abundant mushy berries on cars and sidewalks in fall, easily break, and are short lived. And worse, they are an invasive tree species that easily spread to dominate public lands and poorly maintained properties.

Being a native plant advocate, it was a dream of mine to find a place in downtown Columbus to feature a different landscape aesthetic. When approached by Landmark Columbus Foundation in 2020 to do just that, I jumped at the opportunity to write a grant to turn one of the only green spaces downtown into a native plant landscape.

The property is at the corner of 7th and Washington, near the north end of the most heavily trafficked section of downtown. It hosts an old limestone building, over a century old, that was originally the post office. There have been many owners and uses over the years. Most recently, it was converted into the Fresh Start Recovery Center, owned by Volunteers of America, to support women recovering from opioid and other drug addictions. Pregnant women and mothers, along with their young children, are welcome for long term housing as they work towards sobriety.

When I approached staff at Fresh Start, the supervisor immediately had the vision of the project providing opportunities for horticulture therapy for the women staying at the shelter. So after signing a Memorandum of Understanding, acquiring grants, hiring a landscape architect, renting a sod cutter, purchasing plants, and recruiting volunteers, we were ready to transform the turf grass surrounding the beautiful building. On the United Way Day of Caring in May 2021, a TV crew showed up, the volunteers poured in, and the installation was installed within 8 hours. Now butterfly weed, coreopsis, New Jersey tea, spicebush, blue mistflower, columbine, prairie dropseed, and other native plants are thriving.

Native landscapes, while they may appear intimidating to maintain, are actually relatively easy to manage. Native plants have evolved to our local environment over thousands of years, and are an important part of healthy local habitats. In their native region, they are the most sustainable plants, growing deep roots and rarely requiring extra water or fertilizer. And almost all native plants are perennial, meaning that you don’t have to plant them over and over each year by seed or with plugs purchased from a store. After they are established, the primary maintenance is pruning when they get a bit unwieldy and adding mulch to suppress unwanted weeds.

Around the time of the original planting, I helped host a documentary of a film called “5 Seasons” about the landscape architect, Piet Oudolf. He is most well known for the High Line trail in New York City and the Lurie Gardens at Millennium Park in Chicago. Piet is credited for starting the “New Perennial Movement,” focusing on the structure of plants throughout the year – appreciating not just the color of flowers, but also the colors and textures of seeds, stalks, and leaves throughout all seasons. In fact, five seasons refers to planting in the spring and not cutting plants back until the following spring- a nod to appreciating plants for their beauty in all 12 months of the year & acknowledging the ecological value of the plants by not cutting them down after their flowers fade. The seeds, stalks, and leaves are very helpful food and shelter for insects and animals in the fall and winter. The film helped me focus on the entire plant and not just the flower, when considering what it means to be beautiful.

Native plants can take care of themselves in the wild without any human intervention. However, when they are brought into more formal settings – such as being neighbors with prestigious architectural surroundings – they require more maintenance to, shall I say, be more “civilized”. Some native plants may grow to be 8’ tall or higher. Downtown Columbus, known for its famous mid-century architecture, requires a bit more manicured look to be considered attractive.

The maintenance for the native plant landscape at Fresh Start is the responsibility of a combination of community volunteers and the women who live at Fresh Start. In early spring, after not cutting the plants back over winter, it is time to get the pruning shears out. In early March, on a crisp, sunny afternoon, I arrived for the year’s first maintenance job. The women from the shelter were on break outside when I arrived. One of them asked if they could help me out and I gladly welcomed her to join me – in what is always for me – horticulture therapy.

So I gave her the pruning shears, explained what we were doing, and we worked together, with a supervisor from Fresh Start monitoring her work. The woman helping me had recently become a resident at Fresh Start and she spoke constantly throughout the hour that we worked together. I gladly listened and interjected at times when breaking her stream of consciousness seemed appropriate. She was too focused to take up my offer to wear gloves.

She bounced from plant to plant, making quick work out of what was essentially giving a 3 inch from the ground haircut to each plant. She recalled gardening with her grandparents when she was young, her appreciation for flowers, and the peace she felt in the moment. She was presently dealing with addiction and told her supervisor that this could be one of her coping mechanisms. After doing a great job for over an hour, she had to go back inside. Her hands hurt after her enthusiastic work.

While beautifying downtown with a non-traditional landscape was the original goal of the project, witnessing the therapeutic benefits for the women volunteers at Fresh Start is an equally important blessing that the plants provide. It is a reminder that taking care of the plants – as with taking care of the environment – is not a mindless task, but an opportunity for building community connections. I will gladly trade my blood, sweat, and tears for projects like Fresh Start to help beautify areas and build relationships with those who share a passion for lush, colorful, and somewhat wild landscapes.

Bare hands grab grasses
Pruning shears scalp last year’s growth
Eager haste, she bleeds

HAIKAST XVII – Mental Health at Work

September 2, 2024 Eric Riddle 11:27 Comments Off

After 7 years, I walked away from my longest held job on Valentine’s Day 2023.

I started at COSCO in January 2016 as a temporary worker. COSCO, whose name is a sort of acronym for Columbus Specialty Company, began in Columbus, IN over 80 years ago. To be clear, I do not work at Costco, the popular club store started on the west coast, known for being a slightly elevated version of Sam’s Club.

If you know COSCO, it is likely as a manufacturer of folding tables and chairs or, more recently, as the creator of a very impressive hand truck that you can buy at …. Wait for it…. Costco!

So how did I, a proud Indiana University alum from the Kelley School of Business MBA program, start out as a temporary employee?

In the summer of 2007, I started my first year in the MBA program as a married man with 2 kids, 5 years of banking management under my belt, a homeowner, and a leader of the youth group at my church. I received a scholarship and can still remember reading in my acceptance speech that I was prepared to manage my priorities of “family, church, and school” with an emphasis on that order.

By the end of the first semester, I had spent most of the 4 months in an insomniac stupor, fueled by uncontrollable anxiety, resulting in a debilitating suicidal depression. The unexpected fall into the nadir of my life included spending Thanksgiving break at the Mental Health Unit of our local hospital, separating from my wife, moving into my parents’ house, taking a leave of absence from the MBA program, and nearly losing my faith. I was divorced 9 short months after the first day of class.

It was an absolute tragedy.

By the time I started at COSCO, 8 years had passed.

During that intervening period, I had some significant accomplishments – writing a book about a major flood disaster in my hometown called “Watershed: Service in the Wake of Disaster,” marrying the beautiful Jennifer Anne Johnston, remaining a loving and engaged father of my 2 children, finishing the MBA degree through the IU evening program, and joining a church where I met a great group of new friends.

What did not happen during those 8 years was a significant stride in career growth. I held down a full time job as a care partner at the hospital for 3.5 years, a year stint as an assistant manager at Walmart, a 3 year full time contract job as a grant writer at a local youth serving organization, and a 1 year temp job at Cummins in their HR department. I had yet to earn a salary that exceeded what I earned at the bank before I started as an MBA student.

The stress of not keeping up with my friend’s career trajectories, not living up to the potential after being a straight A student throughout my life, and failing to make progress after completing my MBA were all crushing to my self esteem.

I had two more stress unit visits during this time and lived long stretches with severe depression.

… And then I started as a temp worker at COSCO, helping out as a part time Administrative Assistant, committed to finding a way to be optimistic and gain full time employment. A few months later, I was offered a full time job and over the years had multiple promotions until ascending to the Marketing Manager of the furniture department in 2022. Who could resist the new “Trusted Solutions” marketing slogan of the COSCO tables and chairs!?

Something else had happened over those seven years with the company – I rekindled my professional self-esteem, found a deep passion for environmental work in the community, and started a weekly mental health recovery group at my church.

I became a member of The Stability Network, a national organization with a vision for “People experiencing mental health challenges to thrive in supportive workplaces and communities.” To join, I needed to publicly recognize my mental health diagnosis on their website, attend mental health advocacy training, and be willing to share my mental health diagnosis in the workplace. I attended retreats in New York City and San Francisco with members of The Stability Network to learn how to effectively share my mental health journey in a way that demonstrated how mental health struggles and professional success can coexist.

When I came back from the second training, I was only about 1 year into my job at COSCO. I decided to disclose my mental health diagnosis with my manager, Brennan Eckelman. My prior experience revealing to a manager that I had a diagnosis was to alert them that I needed time off for an in-patient hospital stay due to major depression. This time was very different. I was healthy. After scheduling a meeting with Brennan, I rehearsed my talking points with a member of The Stability Network.

Vulnerability – the uneasy feeling that most of us do not like to experience at work – was essentially what I was walking into, instead of away from, when I stepped into Brennan’s office. After a few minutes of casual conversation, I broke from the regular agenda to ask if we could talk about a personal topic. “Of course!” she replied, with her usual positive energy.

I referenced my trip to San Francisco and then jumped into the reason why I was there. I told her that The Stability Network encouraged me to share my mental health diagnosis at work and I felt most comfortable starting with her. I emphasized that my mental health was stable. She replied with the utmost respect for my disclosure and with gratitude that I trusted her to keep the information confidential. We talked for about 30 minutes on the topic and I felt her support throughout the conversation.

Light through her window
Difficult topic discussed
Coworkers- now friends

Sharing the challenges of mental illness is not easy, especially in the workplace. However, doing so is one of the best ways to reduce stigma in our society. My time with Brennan was a turning point for me – I no longer needed to hide behind a professional veneer that neglected a significant part of my life story. This experience helped me develop a “vulnerable-ability” in the workplace. An ability to discuss, with the intention of helping others – at the right time and place, the experience of living with a diagnosis.

Being able to share my story with Brennan, and eventually other colleagues at COSCO, gave me the confidence to start this Revealing Voices podcast without risk to my professional career. My transparency helped me build repertoire and deepen relationships. I became a leader of a corporate initiative to encourage coworkers to focus on wellness, including their mental health. I was grateful that sharing my bipolar II diagnosis helped others feel comfortable being more vulnerable and allowed me to continue to grow professionally.

So why did I leave a workplace that played a profound role in my stability?

I admired my co-workers and their critical role in helping me reestablish my career. However, as many of us did during the pandemic, I reevaluated my career path. While many struggled with isolation during the pandemic, my mental health thrived during that time. I discovered the bedrock of my stability was my connection to nature. Gardening, landscaping, hiking, writing haiku, and working with advocates to protect our natural resources were an endless source of joy and hope during those difficult days in 2020 and 2021. Doing these activities was therapeutic for me and I wanted to share that appreciation with others.

My growing commitment to environmental advocacy turned into a recognition of a soulful desire to do environmental ministry work. I discovered a grant writing opportunity with a company called Faith in Place that supports environmental work in Indiana, Illinois, and Wisconsin.

I knew of Faith in Place through a recent merger with a nonprofit called Hoosier Interfaith Power & Light. I had participated in some of their virtual meetings during the pandemic to learn how they were supporting environmental advocacy within spiritual communities that ranged from Baptist to Buddhist.

I applied and devoted many hours to devouring the content on the Faith in Place webpage, podcasts, and social media. I had never been that prepared for an interview.

On a cold January morning, I took the day off from COSCO. I was volunteering to go to Indianapolis to meet with state legislators to discuss renewable energy. Before I left, I checked my email. There it was – a job offer from Faith in Place! I wholeheartedly accepted the invitation. When I arrived in Indianapolis, I serendipitously met three Faith in Place staff in the Capitol building. We gathered for an impromptu group photo with glowing smiles of surprise as they welcomed me to the team.

Later that week, I joined my co-workers at COSCO to paint a new large meeting space. As we worked together, we talked about my job transition. I spoke with gratitude about my time at COSCO, sharing parts of the career metamorphosis that led to this opportunity for me to spread my wings.

After the painting was finished, I stood in the room for a moment as we were cleaning up. The laser level that we used to paint the dividing line between gray and white sections of the wall was perfect. I thought about how this would be a vibrant space for the COSCO team – where important discussions and fun team building activities would lead the company into a profitable future. This place that was the foundation for so much of my healing, however, would no longer be my home away from home. It was time to retire from this chapter in my career and embark into completely new territory. I was confident that my mental health was ready to endure the journey. In a quiet moment after my COSCO colleagues departed, I stood alone in the large unfurnished room. I was so grateful for what was and what will be.

Meticulous line
Paint dries, new conference room
I turn towards the door

Episode 68 – Healing Journeys with Skye and Beth

July 30, 2024 Eric Riddle 32:40 Comments Off

In this episode, Skye Nicholson and Beth Hughes from the new Breaking Patterns podcast join Eric in Studio E in Columbus. Skye and Beth are 13 episodes into a podcast that explores how to recognize, change, and develop patterns in our lives to make us healthier and happier.

Recent topics on the Breaking Patterns podcast include:

– Self-love through chronic illness

– Help! Why can’t I just ask for help?

– Breaking Patterns with alcohol

– Are you a Fixer?

This is Revealing Voices first “mashcast” collaboration episode and we’re grateful for how much fun we had with this interview. Let’s do It again!

To hear more from Skye and Beth, tune into the podcast feed at: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/breaking-patterns/id1740750976

HAIKAST XVI – Yahoo Hike

July 8, 2024 Eric Riddle 12:19 Comments Off

I have been hiking the Sheltowee Trace Trail in Kentucky over the past 8 years. The 300 mile trail from Morehead, KY to Rugby, TN goes through the heart of beautiful rolling woods- hugging Cave Run Lake, meandering through the epoch Red River Gorge, and then tightly winding around the perimeter of Laurel Lake. After hiking across the dam at Laurel Lake, the Sheltowee follows the Laurel River 2 miles where the trickle of a tributary empties into the majestic Cumberland River. From there, the trail heads south to Cumberland Falls, the premiere tourist destination of southeastern Kentucky. The trail goes west to the South Fork of the Cumberland River and then south until it reaches its final destination in northeastern Tennessee.

Three hundred miles is a long way and so I hike it in increments. I have led 8 unique trips with 17 friends and family members since starting the hike in November 2016. I am most proud of going with my son, Isaac, on three of those journeys. He has joined me for 57 of the 191 miles that I have completed thus far.

It was in the Big South Fork National River and Recreation Area of the trail where I found myself in May 2024 with my friends Slater, Jason, and Clyde. We were prepared for the most ambitious hike that I have ever planned – 43 miles over 4 days. As we neared our drop off point, we saw a black bear scrambling into the forest as our van rambled along the gravel road that terminated at our trailhead, Peter’s Mountain. None of us had seen a bear before in the wild. It was relatively small, but I am sure bigger than my 200 lbs frame. We were thankful that it was about five miles from our starting point AND we would be walking in the opposite direction. Clyde dropped us off and we confirmed our plan to meet up at Yamacraw Bridge – 42 hours and 29 miles later.

Three miles into the Sheltowee, we encountered another black bear, about the same size as the first, that ran uphill and behind a large boulder as we unsheathed a hatchet and prepared for the worst. We neither saw nor heard any more of the bear after we passed the bend where it emerged. Quickly, we descended to Desperation Creek and on towards the Cumberland River.

The wildness represented in an animal like a bear is distinctly different from the wildness of a unique ecosystem, far from civilization. A beautiful, remote landscape elicits the joy of being the audience of a rare spectacle, while an animal strikes the fear of being part of the spectacle, where actions have real consequences in a unique and unpredictable situation. Wilderness is the setting where our historic relationship to nature can be experienced. In a controlled environment, a zoo for example, the wildness of a bear is obscured by the domestic surroundings. With the trappings of safety, it is impossible to truly feel the nature of the animal. Hiking brings you into the liminal space of wildness and unforeseen scenarios.

We all stepped to that threshold before the bear – and the feeling it elicited – passed and was not seen again.

At sunset, we found a beautiful beach camp location along the Cumberland. We woke to rain. And it rained, with a few hours of reprieve, for the next 24 hours. We were prepared for the weather, but it was nonetheless painstaking. When attempting to hike 18 miles in a day, there are many decisions to be made around conserving energy, pushing through pain, finding ideal rest sites, and understanding the needs of fellow travelers. Even very practical decisions like following a map are not always straightforward.

The rain abated early on day three, but within 2 miles, we had to cross a creek carrying the previous day’s rain – waist deep. Despite the challenge, we made it to our rendezvous point at Yamacraw Bridge on time with Slater departing and Clyde joining us for the remaining 14 miles of the trip. We had hopes of potentially, with good weather, finishing the trail a day early and heading back home to appreciate the luxury of dry clothes.

Good fortune eluded us as we hiked into the Yamacraw Trail Race, a 40 mile out-and-back trail run competition. On a muddy trail. What you might call a quagmire. In hopes that we would not be following the racers, I made a wrong turn that led us almost a mile off trail. When we returned to the Sheltowee, the three of us, each with heavy packs on, were intermittently being yelled at “Runner behind” or – spotting a runner in front – we would shuffle into the mud at the edge of the trail. I had never experienced anything like this traffic. The trail conditions, physical tiredness, and general chaos of sharing the trail confounded us.

Mud slicks and loose rocks
Rambunctious runners on trail
We’re slow and steady

We lost sight of the river and walked into the hills, again mistakenly off trail, but luckily hiking more or less parallel to the Sheltowee and without the disturbance of runners. However, as we veered back towards the main trail 4 miles later, we discovered on the map a spaghetti section of overlapping trails in the area of Yahoo Arch and Yahoo Falls. We were close to the largest campground in the area and there were many trails between us and the Cumberland River. We merged into this poorly marked trail system at Yahoo Arch.

This part of Kentucky is known for its monumental rock formations. The epicenter, about two hours northeast of us, is named “Natural Bridge State Park” for the extraordinary sandstone arches emerging from the forest. Only the iconic Arches National Park in Utah contain a higher density of these geological marvels.

Yahoo Arch, in my estimation, is the most impressive arch that I have seen in Kentucky. There are multiple levels, caves, and a spiral path that conjured the impression that we were in a sort of M.C. Escher.prehistoric rock sanctuary – impossible to capture on camera or video. It was our first pause for true enjoyment since falling asleep along the river two nights before. A kind of stare up towards the heavens and slowly rotate in place kind of pause. Being here was not part of the plan, but the gravitas of this place would ultimately help us find our way out.

Reluctantly, we continued- not 100% sure how to link back to the Sheltowee. We saw our first non-runner on the trail in over 24 hours. A guy from Charlestown, IN with a curious Caribbean accent. Being tired, I took a bit of a break to talk to him while Jason and Clyde walked on. The conversation sparked when he mentioned that he was dabbling in semi-professional photography. Before going our separate ways, I formally introduced myself and he gave me his name- Mike.

When I caught up to Clyde and Jason, it began raining again. The best we knew to do was to walk north and hopefully the spaghetti would straighten out. We headed down towards the creek that would eventually lead to the Cumberland. Crossing the water, Jason fell. Clyde unbuckled the pack from his waist and Jason staggered to the creek edge. He laid there. We were lost. Darkness was approaching. We were still 6 miles from our final destination.

While not spoken, I felt our motivation to complete 43 miles was broken.

We crossed another creek and then I scouted for a trail by climbing a steep hill to what was hopefully the Sheltowee. This was not the way.

Wet toes, muddy boots
Gingerly placing trek poles
Feet throb, descending

We hiked back to where Jason fell and then south in the direction of the campground. We heard noise nearby and hoped we were close. Once we turned a corner on the spaghetti trail, we realized that we were at Yahoo Falls.

The waterfall was majestic. While not wide like Cumberland Falls, it more than makes up for it in height. And the previous day’s rain flowed from above. The noise we heard were boys playing at the base of the falls. Unfortunately, this also meant that we were still not imminently close to the campground.

The rock shelter behind Yahoo Falls contained a wide arcing trail. Far on the other side, I saw a man taking photographs. It looked like it might be Mike.

I yelled, “Mike, is that you?”

“Yes,” he responded.

“Good to see you again. May we talk?”

“Of course,” he affirmed.

I quickly walked over, wincing at the pain in my feet. Jason was stationary and Clyde assessed other pathways.

I laughed with Mike for a moment, not sure how he had photographed Yahoo Arch and returned to this spot, ahead of us. Gazing upward, he told me it was the highest waterfall in Kentucky. He had planned to go straight back to his car, but felt inclined to photograph these falls one last time.

I told Mike what had transpired over the last hour. In a moment of full transparency, I acknowledged the awkwardness of what I was about to say and then did my best to tactfully state that, ideally, we would like to get back to our car- ASAP. I asked if he would be willing to drive the three of us and our backpacks the 15 minute drive from Yahoo Falls campground back to the church where our van was parked. Without hesitation, he said yes. I yelled across those beautiful falls for Clyde and Jason.

We followed Mike to his car, giving him time to take more photos as he guided us on the trail. Clyde asked him how to view his photography and he told us to check out Mike Heaven on Facebook. We had to clarify that his last name is Heaven. Indeed it is, he assured us. Jason may have made a remark about him being an angel.

On the fifteen minute car ride, we learned more about Mike. He is from Brooklyn and the youngest of 9 brothers. He moved to Louisville to go to college. After graduating, he became an accountant and began doing travel photography. With humility, Mike mentioned how surprised he was to gain an online following of 25,000 people in less than a year.

When we returned to our van at Flat Rock Missionary Baptist Church, Mike reluctantly took the money that I offered him for his nearly miraculous assistance. Before getting back into his car, he walked over to a long, intact snake skeleton in the church parking lot to take one final photo before being on his way.

Across the wide arc
I call to photographer
Yahoo Falls angel

HAIKAST XV – Moon Phases

June 18, 2024 Eric Riddle 00:08:07 Comments Off

I wonder if our cultural understanding of heaven is associated with an ascension from the earth because humans for millennia were excited to join the nightly parade of sublime light?

With the glow of city lights, the night sky does not speak as it did to our ancestors whose lives were accustomed to the astronomical events that defined so much of their seasons, calendars, and religious life. As an electrified civilization, we are so far removed from the moon and stars being a reliable navigation system and source of nightly beauty, that what are sometimes called “heavenly bodies” are, in some ways, forgettable. We don’t really pay attention to them, partly because we don’t need to, and, as is often the case, because we just can’t see them anymore.

The moon is an exception, practically, because it is just so large. It demands attention. Especially when its preparing to eclipse the sun.

In summer of 2023. I was working with a team of volunteers at the Touch The Earth nature preserve just outside the city. The conversation turned to the expectation of uncontrollable crowds of people flocking to Columbus for an eclipse. I thought they were joking. Six years earlier, a partial eclipse was destined for Columbus and I didn’t even think to put it on my calendar. In this case – with a full eclipse coming our way – I was told this would be different. A big deal.

Websites began popping up. Greatamericaneclipse.com clearly delineated the “zone of totality.” The black line spanning a few miles wide and arcing across the United States from southern Texas to Maine would pass directly through Columbus, IN. My work colleague near Carbondale, in southern Illinois, who is an avid photographer, touted the town’s merchandizing slogan, “Eclipse Crossroads of America” for having the unique distinction for being in the zone of totality for both the 2017 and 2024 celestial events. Everywhere I read, for communities in this special zone, tourism directors claimed tens of thousands of people may be coming to their city.

So what is the zone of totality? It means approximately 4 minutes of the moon totally covering the sun, casting a shadow over the land. In the case of Columbus, the eclipse would reach its peak just after 3 PM.

Five months before the big day, Monday, April 8, my friend announced he was organizing a Renaissance Festival at the Columbus Airport. He was planning for thousands.

April 2024 was all about the moon.

When the day finally arrived, I worked until noon, put on my Welsh dragon t-shirt, and jumped on my bike. My good friend joined me on our voyage to the Airport property. It was a beautiful day. Fears of a cloudy day that had circulated for the past week were dispelled. There were thousands of people. We bumped into many friends, none of us knowing quite what to expect. What we did know was that there were jousting competitions, falconers, knights beating each other relentlessly with swords and maces, troubadours doing improv comedy, and much more. The human spectacle was preparing for an astronomical spectacle. The minutes ticked by. I found my godsons and their family and we ventured to the one hill on the property. My friend set up a camera to virtually share the event with his family in Germany.

Wind whipped flags, then stopped
I stand on my moon shadow
360 sunset

Later in the afternoon, my friend and I hopped on our bikes, joyously journeying across town to another friend’s house to recount the wonders of the day. I was elated. It was better than I had expected- sharing a surreal experience with a silent multitude.

While we saw the moon during the day, it was a new moon that evening – invisible.

The following night, Tuesday, April 9, at the first sign of the waxing crescent moon, Ramadan ended. A Muslim colleague explained to me that one of the 5 main pillars of faith of Islam is fasting, most notably during Ramadan, when Muslims across the world commit to abstaining from food and drink during daylight hours for one month. The month is considered the time when the angel Gabriel appeared to Prophet Muhammad and revealed to him the Quran, the Islamic holy book. Because the Islamic calendar is based on the phases of the moon, the fasting ends after the moon is once again visible in the night sky – signifying the beginning of a new month – a time of celebration. The moon ushers in Eid al-Fitr, a holiday nicknamed Sweet Eid, for its association with the many desserts customarily created to end the time of fasting.

Later in April, I attended the interfaith Bridge Builders Conference in Columbus. As a grant writer for Faith in Place, a multifaith environmental and racial justice nonprofit organization, I work towards ecological restoration as an outcome of harmonious relationships between people of different faiths and spiritualities. I seek wisdom from those that find solace in spiritual traditions different from my own. We watched an extraordinary documentary called “Strangers at the Gate” about how the radical hospitality of the Islamic Center of Muncie turned a would-be bomber of the building into a devout member of the congregation. During the second day of the conference, I learned that the moon is considered a Navagraha, one of the nine heavenly bodies and deities that influence human life on Earth according to Hindu astrology.

Converted Muslim
Speaking above Hindu chants
Two floors, one building

Following the conference, I was invited to celebrate the Passover by a friend from the local Jewish congregation. On Monday, April 22, I participated in my first Seder, the dinner that celebrates the Passover – the exodus of the Hebrew people from Egypt. I was curious why the Jewish Seder and the Last Supper of Jesus were celebrated on different days – even though both religious events are associated with the Old Testament Exodus story. They never occur on the same day. Why? Because of different relationships to the lunar calendar.

I was honored to join in the Jewish rituals expressed in the Haggadah with all the food and drink corresponding to elements of the Exodus story. The Seder’s resonance echoes with themes of liberation, perseverance, and social justice as a response to their historical experience of slavery. The Seder meal is an invitation to a solemn solidarity with those who suffer from inhumane conditions.

As I left the Seder, I contemplated the ancient roots of these themes and their significance in our contemporary society. The sun was setting behind me. The month was almost over. I looked toward the heavens – a familiar reflection illuminated a deepening blue horizon – the beginning of a bright night sky that has led many to freedom.

Holding matzah bread
I am welcomed by full moon
Free to return home

HAIKAST XIV – Origin Story

April 10, 2024 Eric Riddle 00:07:11 Comments Off

I recently went on a search for my earliest recorded haiku from what I shall call the “Opening Era”. That era began with the death of my last grandparent, Amos Harlan Rippy. After his funeral on the hillside cemetery in Tell City, Indiana in 2013, I felt a commitment with an origin outside of myself to dive into my feelings and express them poetically.

Rippy and Rip were the common nicknames for my grandfather, who was called “Pop” by my siblings and me. The last name of Rippy is Irish in origin. We have records dating back to the late 1700s when the Rippy family immigrated from Ireland to Orange County, North Carolina.

Upon his death, having had 2 daughters, his surname was now locked in time as my middle name, Eric Rippy Riddle, and further honored as my son’s middle name.

While it is impossible to say the nature of the poetic calling upon my life, I do think the passing of his generation summoned in me a need to bring definition into my own emerging adulthood. Perhaps the subtle influence of the Irish ancestry beckoned an articulation of the poetic impulse. I began to call the art flowing out of me, “Openings.”

I had dabbled in poetry for years, always seeking to capture the emotions of important moments or diving into the depths of predicaments that I found myself bound. First, in the form of rhyming couplets and then in free flowing gifts to my first wife, inspired by the style of Beat generation author, Jack Kerouac.

It never really occurred to me that I was in the minority of people who choose to use language in this way. As one compelled to write on occasions of heightened awareness, desire, or emotional resonance, it seemed only natural that much of humanity would be ushered into the same necessity of poetic expression. That is not the case.

The longer form poetry that I was accustomed to writing became more difficult to conjure as I grew older. With adult responsibilities, even when I did feel the inspiration, I rarely had the time to capture the moment. I needed to lower my expectations to reignite my creative output. I chose haiku.

I began writing a daily haiku with a commitment to maintain the practice for a year. I started a Google Drive document that I could easily type on my phone. My formal haiku writing journey began on September 9, 2016.

However, in my recent research mission into writing “openings” following the death of my grandfather, I found scattered haiku that started in May 2014.

The occasion of the first haiku was a trip that I took with my then 7-year-old son and 10-year-old daughter to Red River Gorge in Kentucky. It was our first big trip together, just the 3 of us. I had started camping with friends in this part of Kentucky a few years prior and instantly found it to be one of my “happy places”.

The Red River on the day of our kayak trip was shallow. On many occasions, my kayak would bottom out. Under the much lighter weight of the kids, they even had to get out at times and drag their kayaks on the meandering stream. It wasn’t until we got to the jumping rock that we hit deep water.

That day, at that rock, became one of those moments that I knew would last forever in my memory. It holds the joy of a hot day in the growing late spring where droves of rock jumpers and observers on the beaches huddled around a deep watering hole. Jumpers waited as kayakers like the kids and me passed through. We decided to stay. My daughter found a nice spot on the beach in view of the jumping rock.

My son wanted to jump. He and I climbed to the top, feeling the communal anxiety of the 40 ft drop. Many grown adults waited as others stepped to the edge, stalled with apprehension. After watching many take the leap, my son and I made our way to the spot. We joined hands, but then he wanted me to go first. I had to wrestle my own fears to take the leap, trusting he would come after me.

And then there I was, submerged, the water deep enough to not even tickle my toes. I came to the surface and stretched out my arms. With no hesitation, Isaac jumped. My son’s youth, alive with the thrill of gravity plunging him under water for a moment. People cheered us on for his courage.

Later in the day, we camped for the first time together as a family. My daughter led the effort to build a roaring campfire on the edge of a large field, where we watched that same river winding its way past our tent. I taught the kids all the basics of camp life, profoundly grateful that I could spend this time with them, aware that I may be initiating a new tradition in our family.

That evening, as the stars basked in a clear sky, the hot embers were ready for smores. We gathered all the needed supplies and reveled in that glorious delight best reserved for moments such as this.

Haiku moments may serve as emotional images, memorable markers along life’s journey. I am thankful that my 2 original haiku capture the essence of that lovely day back in 2014. It was good to enjoy such a sweet opening and experience of fatherhood with my two beautiful children.

Water kayak you
Rock jump into waiting arms
Eight mile memory

She ate half the smore
Dark Chocolate and cracker
Marshmallow for dad

HAIKAST XIII – Life Verse

March 6, 2024 Eric Riddle 00:09:56 Comments Off

I have a “life verse.” Before adopting this so-called life verse, I always thought of people who said they had one as being a little woo-woo. I didn’t understand how to claim something from the Bible as my own. I’m sure I was a little cynical about life verses before finding mine, because I assumed that people would find something they liked without a deep personal story and just roll with it. I was dismissive of the randomness of picking a verse.

I want to apologize to anyone that I didn’t pay attention to because of that attitude.

A life verse can be consequential and anyone who claims one may have a story that is worth considering. Really, anything that is a lifelong commitment is worthy of our attention because of the great care it takes to select and cultivate.

I tend to not want to make life defining pronouncements. This is probably because they may be more of a fleeting fancy than something with the substance of a true resolution.

As I write this, it is Lent in the Christian calendar. I normally honor the season by stopping or starting a habit as a way of focusing on the coming of Easter. This year, I decided to start reading the four Biblical gospels and stop eating food after dinner. Little more spiritual nourishment and a little less dessert nourishment. I picked them as short-term commitments.

It seems logical that a long term commitment like a life verse would require even more consideration than what to do for Lent. However, what I’m about to tell you isn’t so much about me picking a verse, it’s a story of a verse picking me.

As I was going through graduate school, I also worked full time at our local hospital. To manage my stress level, I gravitated towards a hybrid role that was a mix of a floor secretary (processing medical orders from doctors and nurses), a Care Partner (having direct patient care responsibilities in partnership with the nurses), and, for difficult patients, a Sitter (literally sitting with them and carefully watching so they wouldn’t fall, pull out their IVs, or commit self-harm). I sat with lots of people who were in critical condition. While I never saw someone pass away, there were a number of patients who I spent the last days or hours with – being on high alert monitoring the patients’ vital signs and taking care of the family’s needs.

On my last day at the hospital – a day that I had no idea would actually be my last – I brought my Bible. It wasn’t ever my expectation to read to the patient, but some days when I was responsible for sitting, I needed a good long read. I would only read the Bible to the patient if they directly asked me to share with them. It happened to be on this day, the patient was curious about what I was reading. So I read to them this passage:

“Then we will no longer be infants, tossed back and forth by the waves, and blown here and there by every wind of teaching and by the cunning and craftiness of people in their deceitful scheming. Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will grow to become in every respect the mature body of him who is the head, that is, Christ. From him the whole body, joined and held together by every supporting ligament, grows and builds itself up in love, as each part does its work.”

My Bible does have lots of notes scribbled on the margins of the pages. However, it rarely lists the time and place when a verse carried indelible personal significance. I did make a note of this verse that day. March 2010. Soon after reading to the patient, I was asked to go to HR. I had been in two patient fall cases in recent weeks when I misjudged when I should give them privacy while they were using the bathroom. It was time for me to resign.

Four years later, after a long bout of depression, I found myself on the edge of another resignation. I didn’t know when it was going to happen, but it definitely felt like there was a strong possibility that I would need to step down. Many of my coworkers knew that I had been hospitalized the previous year and I had felt alienated from them for months. It was eerily similar timing to me resigning from the hospital nine months after a hospitalization for severe depression. I was hanging on to a job that I think both my contractor and I knew could not last.

I was reading a daily devotional that year. On the day that I was asked to resign, I went home for lunch and read the devotional. The same verses from Ephesians popped up again – this time beginning at verse 14, “Instead, speaking the truth in love…..”

When I went back to work, I met with my supervisor and we had the difficult conversation of me needing to resign. I was numb, feeling like I had already been grieving an inevitable end to another promising career path. I wept in the car in the parking lot, unable to collect myself to drive home. I wondered how I was going to recover from my ongoing mental illness and my second job loss in 4 years. That day, I felt like I had lost nearly everything, but I had gained a verse. It was the day my life verse was born.

I slowly rebuilt my life, with my wife, friends, and extended family offering unconditional love through the process. I took solace in contemplating what it means to speak the truth in love. I discovered that the Ephesians passage is the only verse in the Bible that is directly translated as speaking the truth in love. I knew that my recovery needed to include the way that I spoke to myself.

In depression, it is easy to embrace certain “truths” about who I am that do not take in the full picture of my humanity. My negative self-talk that fueled so much of my depressive episodes was full of self doubt and fear of failure. I can get tied up in negative emotional attachments to experiences of when I felt like I could have made better decisions, been more sensitive to others, or put forth more effort. I don’t give myself grace for my natural limitations or lack of knowledge. In short, it is truth without love.

The Ephesians passage allowed me to pause and rethink how I talk to myself. It gave me the insight that I’m only one part of an entire Christian community and that it’s ok if I only play a small part, as long as it is in earnest and pursued in a spirit of unconditional love. The truth, when considered in love, is full of grace – it does not condemn or isolate, but points to each of us being connected to a sacred community. With this affirming perspective, I began to love myself and accept my diagnosis.

I started a practice of studying the Bible using the lectio divina. It is a practice of reading small sections of the Bible multiple times and paying attention to words or phrases that resonate with the reader. I would then write reflections on what I read. I began practicing lectio divina with verses that included the word “humility.” I recovered by understanding and practicing humility.

It took almost a year to feel ready to reenter the workforce, and when I did, it was with a renewed sense of self-respect and trust in my wherewithal. I am grateful that I have not slipped back into depression since reentering the workforce.

After 7 successful years working in product development and marketing at Cosco, I was incredibly thankful for the stability, job advancement, and relationships I had built. However, in 2022, I sensed that I was being called to a new career path. I decided to go on a retreat to St. Meinrad in southern Indiana to spend time in solitude and prayer. While there, I often go to the Arch Abbey Sanctuary where the monks gather to pray multiple times per day.

As my 2 day retreat came to a close, I went for a final prayer hour. Nearing the end of the hour, the Bible was opened and a monk began reading.

“Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will grow to become in every respect the mature body of him who is the head, that is, Christ. From him the whole body, joined and held together by every supporting ligament, grows and builds itself up in love, as each part does its work….”

There it was again. I found peace and resolution in that moment as my life verse was spoken in the sanctuary. This time, I was ready for new work.

Ephesians 4 read
The verse about Truth in Love
Monks gave me a gift

Episode 64 – Riddle Letters

February 27, 2024 Eric Riddle 00:26:08 Comments Off

Jen and Eric Riddle pay tribute to one another by reading their letters from Hope for Troubled Minds.

Hope for Troubled Minds is a trove of tributes, collected to celebrate the lives, legacy, and strength of those who lead brave lives in the face of brain disorders and mental illness. These are testimonies and shout-outs to the ones we love who have supported us, or we have supported, through some of the most testing lifelong trials that come with having these kinds of health conditions.

Throughout this anthology, you will hear from parents, children, spouses, siblings, and friends who have been inspired to share their hope for a fulfilling life, in spite of their ailments. Each tribute has been a carefully prepared gift waiting to be held in your hands to send a message of resilience in the midst of suffering, and hope in the midst of hardship. Most of all, these stories thematically resound the truth that we are here for one another, and never alone.

All net proceeds from the sale of this book will be evenly distributed to three vital mental health causes: the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI), the Treatment Advocacy Center (TAC), and Delight in Disorder Ministries (DiDMin).

For more information and to find the order link, go to

https://delightindisorder.org/hftm-order/

HAIKAST XII – Sweet Seventeen

January 29, 2024 Eric Riddle 00:07:35 Comments Off

The 5-7-5 syllable format is not respected by all haiku enthusiasts. It took me 5 years of laboring away in private before I seriously began studying the centuries long history and learned how much of a rookie I really was in this poetic form.

Now, for example, I tune in to a podcast about haiku called “Poetry Pea” (that is pea as in p-e-a, please don’t ask me where the name originated). The British moderator, recording from her home in Switzerland, conducts lively conversations with guests from around the world. It’s not as pretentious as it sounds. I appreciate the haiku that are submitted for analysis and judged for publication in the Poetry Pea journal. I encourage you to check it out if you have an interest in learning more about haiku.

I was listening to the highlighted haiku on a recent Poetry Pea episode and counted out the syllables on my fingertips. 11 syllables, 10, 12, 12, oh…. there’s a 14 syllable one. Nothing came close to 17. It is clear that professionals in the artform of haiku are not incredibly fond of the 5-7-5 arrangement.

In Japan where haiku originated hundreds of years ago, they traditionally stay consistent with 17 onji. While they contain similarities, the Japanese onji and English syllable do have significant differences. Onji normally represent a much shorter sound compared to an English syllable. By an academic analysis that I read, 17 onji actually average closer to 12 English syllables. I discovered this comparison of the two languages in a book published in 1985 called the Haiku Handbook by William Higginson and Penny Harter. Obviously, this notion of the differences in syllables has been well documented for a long time. This is the primary rationale why most professionals limit their syllable count.

However, in popular culture, everyone will gladly agree with you when you confidently remember the 5-7-5 standard format. Haiku are the de facto elementary school introductory poetic form – inspiring the kind of school work that sentimental parents often keep to embarrass their kids at high school graduations. For young writers who are introduced to the notion of syllables at a young age, haiku could nearly be considered a bridge between math and phonetics. Since it doesn’t take much time to finish your assignment, no wonder it is so appreciated and remembered by students! Who wants to remember the more complicated standards of limericks, acrostics, and kennings?

I think many adults have come to consider haiku child’s play – while they may remember with fondness the introduction of haiku as a young student and the fun notion that they had a quick portal into Japanese culture for a moment, it is largely dismissed. Often in an elementary English unit, haiku will be introduced along with other forms of poetry and then steamrolled by the Shakespearian sonnet – which is often considered “real poetry” because of its English heritage, complexity, length, and rhyming schemes.

But I challenge that assumption. The brevity of the haiku is its beauty. A great haiku can stand alone, with few words doing the work, giving the reader a space to contemplate, compare to their own experiences, and appreciate the beauty and delicacy of the subject matter.

In communication, we are often told that less is more. Haiku has helped me to quiet my thoughts, concentrate on the small things, write shorter emails, become a better conversationalist, and look for natural moments of beauty all around me. It has taught me how to look and listen with more acuity for beauty.

Back to the 5-7-5. I was well into utilizing my rudimentary understanding of haiku before Higginson and Harter enlightened me on the onji and how it throws a wrench into the assumptions of our school teacher’s common practice. I defer to the authors of “The Haiku Handbook” and the many other scholars who long ago made clear that us English speakers are not actually adhering to traditional Japanese haiku by using the same sound count.

Poetry Pea is doing an excellent job of showcasing the talent of modern masters of the form. I have the utmost respect for fellow haiku writers who may think going over 12 English syllables is testing the limits. Perhaps I’m the iconoclast. I’ll stick with the 5-7-5. There is a certain amount of joy in staying with what I learned at Sutton Elementary School. I do like throwing my fingers in the air and pumping my fist when my first impulse yields the correct amount of syllables.

There is much more to know about the nuances of haiku and I look forward to sharing them with you. In a later podcast episode, we’ll get into the Japanese term of kigo – the use of seasonal words. Kigo is another recent introduction into my literary lexicon that has since been shaping my style by incorporating more traditional elements of haiku writing.

The haiku that I chose for the end of this brief lesson on haiku is, yes, adhering to my 5-7-5 style. I need these 17 syllables to give myself enough room to capture the moment in a way that 12 would just not allow.

This might be my favorite haiku that I have written. Why? Because when I read it, I remember exactly where I was and the beauty of the moment. Some writers describe a “haiku moment” like a photo, except in words. For the writer, and potentially for the reader, the brief writing carries the resonance and the feeling of a particular memory, in a way that perhaps a picture could not even convey.

A well written haiku challenges the assumption that a picture is worth a thousand words – reducing that cliche into an advertisement for the photography industry. While a picture anchors the mind to a particular place, the use of language gives the reader flexibility to color in the details from their own experiences of similar moments that may have been long forgotten. While I yearn to give you details for the time, setting, and occasion for this haiku, I withhold the additional context to give your imagination more liberty to make it your own.

As full moon rises
Silver Lake water ripples
Pale glow floats towards me

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