Forgiveness, Family, and Finding Freedom Through Storytelling- Kennerly Clay EP 429

You know you need something, you're just not sure what. You've been listening, you're doing the work, but there's still this feeling that you're circling the same place, like you're waiting for the thing that finally moves you. Now maybe you've thought about working with me one-on-one. Maybe something's held you back, the timing, the money, or you're just not sure you're ready yet. I get that. And I want you to know there's still a place for you. I built a resource for exactly this moment, guided meditations for when the waves hit and you just need to breathe. Workbooks to help you get out of your head and onto the page, ebooks on what near-death experiences tell us about the people we've lost, and whether they're really gone, a full course for widows and widowers who are ready to find their way back to living, and a full course for the evidence of the afterlife. And all of it is available for pay what you want. Nobody gets turned away because of money. I think these resources are valuable, but I don't want to hold them back because you don't have the money to pay for them. You don't have to wait until you're ready for coaching. The next step might be a lot smaller than you think. To find out, go to grief2growth.com/store. That's grief, the numeral 2, growth.com/store. And check out the resources I've made for you. Close your eyes and imagine. What are the things in life that cause us the greatest pain? The things that bring us grief are challenges, challenges designed to help us grow, to ultimately become what we were always meant to be. We feel like we've been buried. But what if, like a seed, we've been planted? And having been planted, we grow to become a mighty tree. Now, open your eyes. Open your eyes to this way of viewing life. Come with me as we explore your true, infinite, eternal nature. This is Grief to Growth. And I am your host, Brian D Smith. Hi there, I'm your— I'm Brian D Smith, your host, and I want to welcome you to Grief 2 Growth. So whether this is your first time tuning in, you've been walking this journey here with me for a while. What I'd like to let you know is this show is all about helping you navigate life's toughest challenges: grief, trauma, transformation, and understand the deeper questions of who we are, why we're here, and where we're going. Today's guest is Kennerly Clay. Kennelly is an author, a thought leader, and a storytelling strategist who has turned personal pain into powerful purpose. Her award-winning memoir, Letters from East of Nowhere: Daddy's Words to Live, Drink, and Die By, dives into the tangled territory of— or tangled territory, I should say— of family, addiction, and forgiveness, all through the lens of intimate letters from her father. Kennelly's story is raw, it's honest, and it's surprisingly full of humor and hope. In this episode, we'll explore how she used these letters not only to make sense of her past, but to transform it. We'll talk about how writing became a lifeline, how forgiveness became a superpower, and how even the most dysfunctional stories can be framed into something redemptive. If you've ever struggled with forgiving a loved one or yourself, you want to stay tuned. Kenoli opens up about the freedom that comes from embracing your past instead of running from it. And how storytelling can be a profound tool for healing and for self-discovery. By the end of our conversation, you'll walk away with inspiration, and maybe even the courage to look at your own story a little differently. And don't forget, after the episode, continue the conversation with me and our other listeners in our community, community space at grief2growth.com/community. It's where we dive deeper, we share our stories, and we support each other on this journey. So with that, I'd like to welcome Kennerly Clay.

I'm really honored to be here, Brian. Really great introduction as well. I'm like, wow, that really nails it. Yeah, thanks.

I appreciate that. Uh, you know, it's really interesting, Kimberly, when I do these podcasts, I think they seem to come in like themes or waves or something. And just yesterday I interviewed someone who had a really, uh, crazy story with his father and a story of forgiveness and, and trying to heal that family trauma. And I understand that's, that's a lot what your story is about also. So tell me about your, about your father.

Yeah, well, thank you. And, um, you know, my, I grew up, um, you know, my, my father left when I was really little, and by left I mean like he kind of just sort of drifted away because he was a long-haul truck driver and he was out on the road for many, you know, weeks and months at a time sometimes. And then ultimately he went on to start his own family and start another family with her. And, um, and it really, throughout my childhood I, I had a relationship with him, but I also It was very not consistent. You know, it wasn't like we had like alternating weekends or something like that. It was more like whenever my father could find a few hours in his life to come see me or to invite me to his house or whatever. So he was really absent from my life for, you know, a large part of my childhood. And when, you know, he was also— he was also a drinker. Both my parents were drinkers. And, you know, as as a child, you know, oftentimes I'd have those moments where it's like I'm sitting and waiting all Sunday, you know, waiting and waiting for my father to come, right? And sometimes he would come and sometimes he wouldn't. You've heard these kinds of things, right? And, um, my mother shielded me from what was really going on. And oftentimes it was, you know, he was probably too inebriated to drive to come see me, or he was dealing with the very real challenge of two families and making sure everybody's satisfied, you know, and he's got one day off a week, if that, you know. And, um, but that kind of— those kinds of moments of me waiting for him and feeling like he didn't honor me built up into, you know, resentment towards him. But a very complicated sort of feeling too, because I was also very grateful for any time I got to spend with him, right? And if you don't spend— if you don't live with that parent and, you know, it was almost like a getting to know you over again every single time, you know. And I didn't want to rock the boat. That's kind of, you know, that's how you become, you know, the, the divorced kid, single mom family, you know. It's like going back and forth. It's like you become that kid who doesn't— who wants to keep the peace and doesn't want anybody to get upset with each other and all that kind of stuff. So, um, but, uh, You know, long and short of it is I, I myself, uh, became an alcoholic at a young age, and I got sober at a young age as well. And in doing the work to acknowledge those places in my life where I needed to forgive myself or others, right, was actually a moment with my father. And I'd love to share this passage with you at some point, but, um, it was also like a moment where I got to say to him courageously, this is what it was like to be your kid. This was the impact on me. It really sucked, you know. And I never had the courage to say that before. And now I've said it, right? Um, and, and frankly, that opened up— opened something up for me for the rest of my life with my father. Um, because if I hadn't had that moment and that courage, um, I wouldn't have a full self-expression in the relationship, right? Which means I just wouldn't have fully been myself with him for the years to come. So, um, yeah, and, and, um, yeah, so I'll, I'll pause for a moment.

And yeah, so what age were you when you had that conversation with your father?

I was 21. I was, uh, 21 years old when I got sober. I was 21 years old when I had that conversation with him. Yeah. And, um, It's interesting. The— yeah, yeah, just, uh, it really opened something up for, for many years to come, like I said before. Yeah.

And how did he respond?

Um, that is another story. Um, I would love to share with, share with you a little passage about that because it was, it was significant. And, um, you know, they say, um, you know They say that, uh, you can't always expect people to react the way you want them to react when you have those kinds of conversations. So it was very much like that. Um, so I'll just read a short bit here. So in, in sobriety, I saw that there were things I needed to say to my father that hadn't been said if he and I were ever to have an authentic relationship. One time when I was home from New York and visiting at his house, we went for a drive so I could talk to him privately. We parked in some field nearby. Daddy popped a beer as I proceeded to tell him about my long my history of drinking from adolescence in high school into the college years, and about getting sober. I also told him what it was like to have been his kid, to live with all the disappointments and unmet expectations, the missed visits, the promises not kept, the sitting around all day waiting for him to— not waiting for him to show. We both just sat staring straight ahead at the field, never making eye contact, as I talked and he listened. I just wanted you to know I forgive you, I said, turning to him this time. I just never had the courage to say anything before. Daddy took a swill of beer and puffed out his chest a bit. If I had known it was that bad, he said lamely, I would have... And all I heard after that was blah, blah, blah. Daddy making some suggestion that if he had been involved in my upbringing, none of this would have happened. An immediate signal that he wasn't getting me at all. There was nothing he could have done about anything. I chose to drink, and that wasn't the point of this conversation anyway. In his deflection, there was no apology. Nor any excuse. So I let his response wash over me like an ocean wave. And that's what the fourth step was like sometimes, I've been told. The people make amends— you make amends with— either they don't get it or they won't accept your amends, or in some cases they're just not around or alive to make the amends to. What did happen from that conversation, however, is that the burden of suppression and lack of self-expression with my father was lifted. And from that time on, I felt I had the courage to be straight with him and say whatever was on my mind. I also knew that to have any kind of relationship, I'd have to take him as he was. And that, that, that's kind of the segue into like, how did he take it? You know, it's like, um, it was more like, how did I take it that he wasn't going to respond the way I wanted him to respond? You know, and so I think oftentimes, um, so in my case, I felt like, you know, I really had a choice with him. And it's that his drinking got worse. I mean, it devolved into, you know, he lost everything. He lost, you know, his license, he's lost his family, he lost his home, he lost it all. And, and over that time, you know, even though it was difficult at times to embrace having a relationship with him, you know, the drunk calls and this and that, and, you know, I chose to have that with him. Like, I have to take him as he is and as he is not— he's made it clear he's not interested in changing anything. So it's really up to me to decide. I could walk away and be like, you know, screw him, I don't want to talk to you ever again. And some people do that with family members who've been, you know, just afflicted with addiction and these repeat behaviors and so forth. But, um, for me, it was important to still have some relationship with him. So it was an abundance thing, you know.

Okay, interesting. So before, before the forgiveness, before you forgave him, how were you feeling about your father up until that point? Was there anger? Was there resentment? Or what were your emotions?

Yeah, it was— it wasn't, it wasn't angry so much, but it was definitely resentful. A lifetime of resentment sort of built up around these sort of unmet expectations and, you know, unkept promises and so forth. And I was a bit dismissive of him when speaking about him with others, right? You know, kind of, kind of a put-down or a, you know, like that. Um, and, uh, I certainly didn't have any tools for how to, you know, reconcile any of this with him until, until I started in a 12-step program and started getting some of that awareness and language and so forth, you know. So I would say it was mostly resentment. Yeah. And a sort of suppressedness. Okay. You know what I mean? Like, you know, I was afraid to push him away by saying something that could potentially be like, she doesn't want to be with me or something, you know. And so it was just a very, you know, very, you know, emotionally, I was just a child with him, you know what I mean? Like, versus like being sort of on par with, you know, as I grew into adulthood. So I'd say that was kind of a big turning point, you know.

Stay with us.

We'll be right back.

You know, one of the hardest things about grief, most of the people in your life just don't get it. They want you to be further along than you are. They get uncomfortable when you bring it up. So you stop bringing it up. And that's why I started writing. My Substack is where I go deeper. Thoughts I don't always get to on the podcast. Essays on consciousness, on continuing bonds, on what it actually means to carry a loss and still build a life. The stuff that used to keep me up at night, written out in a way that I hope meets you in the morning. But here's what I didn't expect when I started it. The community that showed up. People who are doing exactly what you're doing. Listening, learning, trying to find their footing, readers who comment, who share their own stories, who remind each other that none of us are as alone in this as we feel. And that's what the Substack has become, a place to go deeper with me and to find your people. It's free to subscribe. Find me at grief2growth.com/substack. That's grief, the numeral 2, growth.com/substack. Or just go to Substack and search for Grief to Growth. I hope to see you there. So you felt like, and I think from the passage you read, after you had this conversation, you could be more of yourself with him. Um, and how did he accept the way that you were after that? Did that change that dynamic?

I think so. I think that he, he really grew to appreciate me as, as one who forgives and accepts him and gets him. And I did actually get him, you know, I really did get him. And this book is an honoring of who he was, you know, flaws and all, you know. And we became closer and closer throughout the years, even though he became a wet-brain alcoholic, and, you know, at times was barely lucid at all, you know. Through the, through the art of letter writing, you know, which is sadly a dying, a dying form, or already a dead form pretty much. Um, we wrote these letters back and forth, and he would share his life with me and his memories. And, um, a lot of that formed the foundation for this story that I wanted to tell, you know. Yeah.

So, so tell me about the letter writing. How did that, how did that begin?

Yeah, it actually began, uh, when I was, when I was pretty little. And interestingly, when I came to put this book together, I had all these letters, you know, from over the decades of adulthood. And my siblings also had their letters. And the reason that we saved the letters was because they were good letters, like he was a writer, you know, so he wrote good letters. And he sort of, you know, he flexed that muscle in letters, you know, even though he couldn't, you know, pull off the great American novel, he could pull off a really good letter, you know. And so we had all these letters. But interestingly, when I started the book, I said to my mother, you know, and they've been, you know, apart for many years. And I said, hey, by the way, would you happen to have any letters from like back in the day, you know, when you guys met in college? And, you know, maybe, you know, a couple of letters from, you know, many years ago. So would you believe my mother, she comes back with— she's an organizer, right? And so she comes back with a decade's worth of letters from like 1965 to like, you know, 10 or 12 years in chronological order, right? Every single letter that he'd written to her, and then to me as he was, you know, leaving us sort of to get on the road and whatever. So I then I had this treasure trove of letters that reflected who he was as an 18-year-old man afraid of being drafted for Vietnam, to, you know, being in love with my mom and this kind of love that they had that I actually really never was present to because all I heard was the narrative of the single mom and the struggle and the deadbeat dad sort of thing. And then letters that actually were coming to me as a young child and reading these letters started to, you know, kind of poked my, my memory and opened up some very old wounds. And I would love to share another passage about that. But it was like, I started to remember having read the letters as a child. Like, I could remember those letters, and I didn't even remember that they existed, nor did my mother, mind you. So it's like, it was remembering what it was like to receive that letter from my father, who was always gone, and to wish and hope that there's, there's going to be time with him, and there never was, you know. So it was really powerful. And I'd like to share a little bit about that because it points to something else. And, you know, when you start to— I'm sure, you know, you've probably done tons of work on yourself. You've had, like, you know, spiritual reflection and, you know, you know, self-development and professional development and all that kind of thing. And you do all this work over the years. And then a memory of something, you know, kind of gets right in there and reopens a wound that you didn't even know you had. You know, in my case, it was very much like that. It was like 2-year-old pain that I didn't have any idea even existed, you know.

Sure.

Um, this is really, really raw. And so here's a letter from 1973. So I would have been about, um, you know, not even 5 years old. So, dear Kennerly, I'm visiting grandmother and grandfather Clay in Florida. It was nice to visit with you. I wish we could be together all the time. I might be coming through Salisbury sometime in April. If so, maybe we can get together. Take good care of yourself and your mama. I love you, pumpkin. And then Daddy— love Daddy. P.S., I'm starting work tomorrow. I will send a hunk of green within 2 weeks. So at this time He lived in Florida and we lived in Maryland. I scanned the letter again, a vague memory making its way back from the recesses of my 5-year-old mind, remembering what it was like trying to comprehend what he meant by hunk of green.

Yeah.

And I wish we could be together all the time. His words are now hanging around my heart, weighing it down with such heaviness. I struggle to make sense of where this hurt is coming from. I have expletives in my book. Do you want me to— you want me to point those out? Okay. I've already had to forgive myself for being born, for fucking up the trajectory of my father's young life. I've had to forgive my mother for going off birth control. I'll forgive her for entrapping him, even though that wasn't her intention, and forgive her for not forgiving him for his abandoning her during the pregnancy that he didn't sign up for. From the very first letter in December '65, a new story has unfolded for me, one that has never been told before because I never even knew it was there to tell. My father wanted to be with his wife and little girl and, quote, loved us more than anything else on earth. Letters like this continued right into 1975, in which he alluded to a big decision he would have to make once and for all. Within a year, he would be remarried and my baby brother would be on the way. This leaves me a crying mess, completely, utterly without reason, without rationality. I am suddenly a 52-year-old child who wants her daddy, armored up my whole life to be just fine without him, to to be stellar, in fact, to be exceptional, extraordinary, high-achieving, successful, in pure defiance of my father having walked out on us. And my mother had a strong hand in this, of course, grooming me to be independent, to learn how to play by myself, to travel by plane at 3 years old, chaperoned by the pretty Delta stewardesses all the way to Fort Lauderdale and later to see New York City and Europe and reach for a world much bigger than my small hometown. 'While I never once allowed myself to even wish for my parents to be together again, I find myself in awe of the bond that was formed when they were young and why it continued throughout the years in spite of the contentiousness of the child support era that was to come.' Um, I, I'll, I'll fast forward just a little bit, but, um, one of the things that occurred for me in the receipt writing, rereading of these letters is it now occurred to me there's something else to forgive everyone for that I never knew I missed out on. The love and devotion I would have gotten from my father had he been around. And that was something that was completely invisible to me in the past, right? It was like, you know, you know, you can't— it's in your blind spot, right? You can't see it. You don't even know it's there. But the loss of his love in a close, potentially close childhood relationship became so clear to me, you know. And then, and I know he was present to this too. I mean, we did talk about it through the years, you know. There was a lot lost between us, you know, and it was heavy, but it became even heavier when I started to read these letters that he had written. Um, and some of them were really heartfelt to my mother, you know, and she, she, uh, she had already moved on. She knew that, frankly, it was going to be a train wreck, you know, if she stuck around with him and so forth. But as an, as an adult, I was seeing and hearing something that I'd never— had never been part of my— the narrative of my upbringing. I never heard my parents, either one of them, talk about, you know, we— you know, he had this deep love for her and really wanted to get back with us. None of that was communicated to me as a child. Right. And your logical, rational brain goes, okay, well, whatever. Your mother did everybody a favor. But the child, that little kid in me is still going, oh my God, he was so in love with you and he wanted to make a go of it. And why didn't you hear what he was saying? And she was oblivious, you know, and thankfully I had my mother to, you know, talk to a lot through the processes of writing this book. But I think it's really a powerful thing, you know, to realize that you really do— you as a child, you're in survival mode, right? You armor up against the hurts or the perceived slights or whatever they are, right? And, um, you might be aware intellectually that those things happen, but when you actually start to feel what the feeling was that you suppressed as a child, it just comes oozing out of your pores, you know? It's like, oh my gosh, it's in your molecules, it's in your bones, and it's like coming out everywhere, you know? So it was a very cathartic experience, you know, to write about some of these things, you know?

Yeah, I think that the child in us never really goes away. I mean, yeah, yeah, even as we grow up, we have— we, you know, we— and a lot of times, as you said, we kind of, we kind of put it aside and we bury it until something kind of brings us right back there. And there's something about children, you know, you mentioned your mother moving on. As adults, we get divorced, we realize, okay, I have to move on. But as a child, you can't, you know, you're— there's a bond between a child and a parent, no matter Yes, how absent the parent was, no matter what the right parent does, you know, there's, there's still that desire to, to be, you know, Daddy's little girl, to see your parents together. I think all children have that desire.

Yes.

You know, so I could imagine, you know, as you open these letters, because we know they can take you right back to that moment.

Exactly. Oh my gosh, you hit the nail on the head. I've said that a number of times myself in this journey. It's like, I think every child, regardless of what you know about your parents, the dynamic, it's like there's that, that deep yearning to know that, you know, that to have them be together in some way, you know, even though, you know, it's logically, it just wouldn't work at all, you know? Right. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

So you forgave your father while he was still, still with us. And you had that, you know, they had that conversation, which is great. But then I assume it was after his passing when you started going through the letters and processing all that again. And we talked about this a little bit, but I know it takes you kind of back there. But as you were saying that, and I was thinking way back when I was young, 40 years ago or so ago, I took a course called What You Are Is Where You Were When. And this guy, the training was like, people, we don't— we see people, we see them as we perceive they are, but we don't know where they came from. And as you were reading these letters of your father as an 18-year-old worried about the Vietnam War, Did it give you a better understanding of like maybe why? Because we always, we always want to know the why. Why did this happen? Why did he do this, right?

Yeah, that's a really great question. And that was one of the, I think, really one of the most rewarding aspects of this endeavor. And I really did set out to understand who he was from many different vantages, right? Not just my own. So I interviewed family members across the board, people who knew him as child and, you know, who knew his upbringing and with my grandparents. And, and certainly the letters revealed something. And one of the things specifically to the letters, you know, it was, um, it was really something to, um, it was like you could see the sort of the optimism almost, even though it was a very challenging time culturally in this country, right, and politically and, and so forth. Was like there was a spark there of, you know what I mean, of engagement in the world as it was. And then you can see this sort of gradual sort of, you know, moving away from what was real, um, you know, the sort of the, the, the kind of lying to oneself about— lying to himself about what was going to do or thought he could do, or, you know, making those false promises, right? And it's like, it's like you almost realize that maybe he knows he's pretending and he can't pull it off. And it's like, what— at what point did that start happening, right? Was it the alcohol? Was it just the overwhelm of and stress of two families and little kids and all that? Or, you know, what was it? Probably a combination of those things, you And, and my mother also, she had a really powerful experience to going back through those letters, because she, she too is a sober person. And she could see the degeneration, you know, in him, develop, you know, really falling deeper and deeper into alcoholism in these letters and the way he wrote and, and so forth. And he wrote to her actually for many years, you know, even up until almost the time he died as friends, you know, after. And it was, it was for her very sad. She felt very sad. And she felt that she, she said that she said to me that this project really impacted her a lot because she was able to see that she, she had lacked compassion for him. And then through these letters and the hindsight of history, she she, she really became compassionate for, um, you know, what he, what he put himself through in many cases, but just, you know, who he was and, um, uh, as a human, you know. And that was really something for me to hear that, that the book affected her like that, you know.

Sure.

Yeah.

So when it comes to alcoholism, I, I think we have a better understanding of it now than maybe we did at the time when your father and your mother worked together because we now understand that it's, it's a disease, it's an addiction. And back then, a lot of times it was seen as a, as a character flaw. It's like, you know, just, just stop.

Yes.

Um, so do you think maybe your mother, that was some reason why she had a little bit difficulty having compassion for him? Because I, I, it's— it was considered that— I think people just thought it was a choice.

Yeah, that's a really great point. We know so much more now. And of course, if if you get sober, you're actually in that process, you really get an understanding of it. So, yeah, it was a completely different time that they were sprung from, too, right? It was hard, you know, sex, drugs, and rock and roll. And it was just kind of like a cult part of that subculture anyway. And my mom also partied for many, many years. So it took her a long time to even to get sober as well. And so it certainly could have been a bit of what you're pointing to, that lack of insight into the disease of alcoholism, probably paired with simply her own survival mechanism as a mom, trying to raise a kid on her own, dealing with very small contribution from him financially, emotionally, otherwise, right? And, um, so she was just oblivious to his, his maybe inner world, I guess. It maybe is the best way to put it, you know.

And it's— I find, you know, you talk about what a great letter writer he is, and I wonder, did he use his words like that when he was with people in person, like with, with other people? Because, you know, sometimes we can we can kind of take our mask off a little bit when we're writing something and we're putting it on paper, as opposed to when we're saying it, you know, face to face. So do you think maybe he was a little bit different person in the letters than he was, you know, interacting with people face to face?

Interesting. You know, my father had a great sense of humor. I mean, like, and so his witticisms, he would come out in his speaking with people anyway, right? You know, people enjoyed that, you know, being around him in that way. But I think in the writing, certainly he was able to say things, you know, at length the way he'd like to say them. And he'd like the world to, you know, hear his words, you know. So he did have an interesting way with words. Of course, I read you a letter from like, you know, he was just reading, writing to me as a child. But, you know, he often started a letter, you know, with some kind of pontification or, you know, you know, greetings from the Southwest Bad Boons asshole or wherever he was. If he was in jail, he might have said it like that. Or I have a fine view looking over the whatever from my, or he'd write from San Francisco where he met, he went back to many times hitchhiking and even into his later years, you know, I'm sitting where Steinbeck, John Steinbeck's last rites were and da da da. Throw from where we lived in 1968 or whatever, you know, so kind of set the scene in some way, you know. And, and often he would write poetry and he sometimes wrote things that now when I look back at it, I have to make sure that it's actually his writing because sometimes he would weave in his own words with what was already a song written by Bob Dylan or somebody, you know what I mean? But But oftentimes he wrote pretty original things, you know, and the letters were engaging like that, or he'd tell a memory, he'd share a memory, you know, and it would all be almost like this, the memory would be written in story form, you know, and, and that was his, his way of expressing, you know, all of that. And in fact, so my father's His great American novel that was unfinished, and also most of the manuscript was stolen in a bag, you know, that when he was traveling, was called East of Nowhere. Oh, okay. So the book that I've written is called Letters from East of Nowhere. And so he, he did sort of write passages of, of this book to me in letters. So when I went back to look through it, I thought, oh my gosh, gosh, look what he was doing. He was actually laying it down for me, maybe not consciously, but maybe subconsciously, handing over the story and the origin of his life and who he was in these stories and these letters for me to put it together. Wow. Yeah, pretty neat.

So he did begin a novel.

He did. And I actually have a couple chapters of it. Um, but again, the rest of it got stolen in a bag somewhere in like Nevada or something, you know. And he was, you know, he was, he was, um, he was kind of a hobo, you know, in later years, you know. He would, he'd thumb it, he'd thumb from Florida all the way out to California, and he'd stop off in El Paso and sleep on rooftops and, you know, go see a friend in Denver. But he always ended up in San Francisco and Um, and then he'd make his way back at some point and go again. And so, yeah.

But somehow you were in contact with him throughout, through all those years.

He still wrote letters. Yeah, he still wrote the letters. And, you know, if he'd get to San Francisco and have some kind of, you know, address at some soup kitchen or somewhere that he was helping out or whatever he was doing, I would have— or maybe a PO box he'd have, and I'd be able to write to him. There, and he'd write to me.

And wow.

Yeah, that went on for years. Yeah.

So I know you, you gathered letters, I know, from your, from your mother, or he wrote to your mother and to you. What other people were involved in the project?

Yeah, great. Um, so, you know, of course my, my siblings, and some of them, um, were very keen on talking about all this. Some— I don't know when I say siblings, these are my half-siblings, but I always call them my siblings. And some of them were really keen to share and be interviewed and others were just like, I don't really want to even go there, you know, for them. They grew up with him in a way, and, and they really got in many ways the worst of him, you know, because he was in their household, you know, and, uh, really impacted their childhoods in ways that were far different from mine. Um, but, um, I, uh, I spent many— 4 hours interviewing my mother. Um, I interviewed my father's first cousin that he was very close to, and then he spent, you know, childhood summers on North Carolina farm with their family. And I interviewed an old college buddy and an old trucking buddy. And wow, yeah, just kind of trying to get these sort of different, you know, aspects of who he was. And, um, and it was successful in, in that way because I learned from a memoir writing course, you know, that the more alternate points of view you can present, the more believable you become as the narrator, you know? So, you know what I mean? So it's like, don't just take— don't take my personal perspective only, right? Let's, let's give him some breadth here with all these other viewpoints. And that was, that was really what I set out to do, like to do that for myself. To be able to see him in all these different ways and to do that for everybody who read it, especially people in our family, you know, because when you have a relationship with someone, you only kind of know them, you know, one directionally, right? You know, exactly who you see them as, not all the different ways that they are seen by others, right?

Yeah, that's exactly what I was going to say. We, we, especially I think with our parents, as, as children, we see them in a particular way.

Yes.

And I, I would make this motion, we kind of look up to them.

Yes.

And it's really interesting to talk to, like, cousins or siblings or, you know, college buddies or whatever, because we're all multifaceted beings. Yes, exactly. Much more faceted than, you know, everybody knows a little bit of us.

Yes.

But nobody really knows us completely. So I would imagine through this project you got to fill out the picture on your father.

Yeah, that— you articulated it beautifully. I, I— that's exactly how I've seen it as well. And, uh, I do feel like I got fill out the picture for myself. And, you know, I've had many, you know, you know, people in the family or friends say, I didn't know all these things about your father. Good, bad, right? You know, it doesn't matter. It's just like, just, I didn't know all of that, you know, about him. And, and he was an interesting person. You know, he was, you know, he was an interesting person. He's very, very gifted intelligence and musically very passionate about music. And knew a lot about music and, you know, socially relevant things and historical things. He was just— had a brilliant mind in terms of what he was able to remember and what he knew. And then sadly, that was dampened a lot by the alcohol, you know? Yeah.

And I wonder sometimes if people like that, like, this world is just too much for, you know, people that are sensitive. You know, we want to reduce people like to say, Okay, alcoholic, you know, did this, didn't, you know. And I think sometimes it's like those people are just too sensitive for the world. And I imagine that time we talked about, you know, it was a time of a lot of hope, but it was also a time of a lot of trauma. And I think a lot of people were bitterly disappointed with the way things turned out.

Oh yeah. Oh yeah, totally. Wow. I just got chills when you said that because number one, you're absolutely right. It's like I write about that for myself in this book as well. And in my coming to know him, I do believe that. I mean, I feel things very deeply, and I understand. He used to say, they asked me why I drink, right? And we're like, eye roll, come on. But now I look at it and I go, I do. I see why you drank. I know why you drank. I'm sad that you couldn't stop drinking, but I do know why you drank. And, um, that sensitivity to the world and being that creative, sensitive soul that he, he was. Um, and also you just said you hit the nail on the head about that just deep disappointment of what came out of the '60s, you know, like, wow, all that. And yeah, you know, and then was it for? What was it for? Right. Yeah.

I look at so many of our artists that we lose early to alcohol and to drugs, and we look at them again, we're like, why would you have everything? Why do you do that? And I think, again, I think it's because they feel the pain that a lot of us can kind of block out, and they might turn to something like that to numb it. So yeah, I think it's really important to share. Like your father, you said he was an interesting person. I think everybody's an interesting person.

You're right.

Everybody has great talents and just some of us have different talents in different ways. And some of us, again, just have trouble really dealing with the insanity of this world. You know, it's a great feat to be sane in a world that's crazy, right? To be well-adjusted in a world that's crazy.

Absolutely, absolutely, absolutely. Um, you know, you know, I also explored my father's upbringing, and, uh, you know, he had a— you know, I was, I was very close to both of my paternal grandparents, um, even though they were separated when I was pretty young as well. But my, you know, violence in that household, uh, in his upbringing because everybody in the family knew and heard about that. And so I explored some of that also in the, in the book, you know, and just trying to make sense of, you know, what are all the, what are all the magic ingredients that go into making somebody the way they are when it comes to, you know, it's nature-nurture, right? Whatever. And, you know, so there was a lot of that, but I heard something from one of the interviews, and it was from the, you know, the cousin of his who you know, knew him as a child. And she saw that family, my grandparents and my aunts and uncle, aunts and uncles, uh, and uncle and my father around the dinner table dynamic back in the '50s. And she said something to the effect of like, it was not a happy home, even though they had everything. They had everything. They were the picture of perfection. Beautiful, good-looking people, you know. And, and then, and yet it was— the family life was just bad. And, uh, and then she also said that my father was put down and humiliated by my grandfather. And I, I felt so sad. And I, I, uh, I had never heard that before because I could never imagine my father, who was sort of a little bit cocksure, if you will, to to, you know, take any kind of, you know, allow putting down to get into him. But surely it, it really must have gotten into him to the point where, you know, well, um, what I perceive is, well, it doesn't matter how much I try for anybody, nobody is never going to be good enough for anyone. And I knew exactly where that came from, exactly where that came from. And I, I was really sad for the child, for him as a child. To, you know, he was a great kid. I could see this, like, he was a great kid, you know, here from what she was sharing. He was an awesome kid, you know, bright, funny, sweet, well-mannered. And yet, he was told that he was nothing. You know, and it's like, okay, I really get that aspect of you now, you know?

Yeah.

Yeah.

So I know when you were— you said you were 21, you had this conversation with your father, and you forgave him. I wonder what it was like when you, again, you start taking this journey, you really got to know him through the letters and the interviews and all that stuff. Did, did it reach a different level of forgiveness or understanding or something like that?

Ah, interesting. Um, well, I, I think that, uh, more than anything, it's like it? Because I, I got to tell his story in this book, you know. I felt like, like I really did right by him. I don't know if that, that makes sense, but like, I feel like I really— not only did I pull together the fragments of the story that he had set out to tell in East of Nowhere, yeah, but that I, I honored him in all these different tellings of him, you know. And, um, and therefore, like, just really feel, feel like I know him so completely. And I, and I also felt that when I, when he was still alive, like, he'd write, he wrote me a letter one time that said, you know, dear oldest daughter of mine, I mean, oldest child, right, you know, I write to you because you know me well. And in the event of my death, you know, I want you to know this so you can share it with your brothers and sisters kind of thing. And I don't remember him writing me that letter, you know, however many years ago, but when I read it, it was like this message from the grave, you know, like, oh, he actually designated me to tell his truth. Yeah, you know what I mean?

Yeah.

And it was just really 'Cause when I, you know, went through the letters, you know, in this process, it was like reading them all for the first time. You know, you read a letter and you set it aside, you go on your life, you know. But this time I was listening for something, you know, much more deeply. And yeah, so I just feel like I really honored him and did get to know him in ways that I didn't— never knew before and heard stories of his life that I never knew before. And of course, I had many questions. Oh man, I wished that I could have conversations with my father after having written this book, you know.

Sure.

So many things I'd love to ask him now.

So yeah, well, when it comes to forgiveness, and it's— I said it's really interesting because literally yesterday I was interviewing a person whose father actually ended up murdering his mother, and, and he lived with that, of course. And his father was a very angry person, and we talked about the different levels of forgiveness and how it's a process and everything. Anything. And so one of the things about forgiveness is people need to understand is it's, it's for you. It's not necessarily for the other person. You're letting that— you're letting that burden that you have go. So there is the level of acceptance, okay? I'm going to accept that this is who you are, and then I'm not going to change you, and it's not my responsibility how you respond to this. I'm just going to lay this out here and then I'm going to walk away. And that's one level. But I think there's another level that if we can understand— and I, and I've heard it said, if we could understand perfectly, there would never be a need to forgive. Because if we could really put ourselves in the other person's position— and as I'm talking to you and I, and I see your, your emotion and your, and your love for your father, I just, I just imagine that the, the more you understand him, the stronger that bond becomes.

Oh, I love the way you put that. It's really true, isn't it? Like, if it's It's, uh, it's— I know it's cliché to put yourself in another's shoes, but it's like if you really put yourself in that person's world and all of their— the influences and all of the life experiences and everything, um, that's where you, you can't help but have compassion for them, right? And they're in— and forgiveness to me is kind of springing from that compassion for their humanity right? Um, and he was deeply flawed, and, um, so are we all. I mean, really, like, it's like, yeah, it's like, yeah, you know, um, what I wouldn't— there's so many things I'd like to be forgiven for as a parent, you know? Um, and so it's like actually seeing my parents as, you know, um, as myself almost, you know, like, you know, just trying to, trying to get through it all, you know. And, uh, they did what they did and they didn't do what they didn't do.

And yeah, so Carolyn, I know you're— you have quite a varied background in terms of your professional career. Um, what— and you, you put this project together, you start reading a lot of stuff. What was it that made you decide you wanted to write it, that you wanted to share it with the world? And how was that process healing for you?

Yeah, um, I think that, um, you know, I'd heard myself say over and over again with my siblings, oh, we have to put the book together, we have to put a book together with all these letters, right? And it was kind of like, uh, hearing myself saying it yet again in January 2019. I was like, all right, I gotta do something with this, you know, I have to put this together. But interestingly, you know, at the time It was kind of like we thought, oh, we'll just put together some sort of, you know, collection of letters from my father. But it was— it became clear to me as I started reading through the letters that it was like, oh, this is much more than a collection of letters. This is a story that's never been told. That's my truth as it pertains to my father. And I don't know if, you know, other people can relate to this, but often, you know, it's like as a child, uh, being that, you know, the single parent divorced child family, it was like I, I suppressed certain aspects of myself, especially when I was around his other family, or, you know, you know, I never shared about my mother or shared about memories they shared with me or stories I was told. Told about my childhood. I just sort of had to live the new family's life, right? And so when I started to kind of unravel this whole thing, I realized, wow, there's— this is my story. It's yearning to come out. It's like this story of my parents who were hippies and part of the counterculture. And, you know, I was, you know, conceived in the height of that era in San Francisco. And, you know, it was a magical time. And and there was all this stuff going on that they were a part of, and I got to— I want to tell that story, you know, like, I want to express who I was in relation to them and what I knew of them into relation, relation to one another. And it became very interesting to me to even know about their relationship prior to my coming along, you know, which I, I don't think I really even was present to it, you know. So I just got really interested in telling that angle, um, which I, I knew that my siblings had little understanding of, you know. And I too had never gotten to tell it. It was, it was deeply suppressed, really suppressed, um, even though I knew pieces of it, you know. They would— he would share something, or my mother would share something, and, you know, I had these kind of grandiose those, you know, oh, there was the time you were almost kidnapped at Altamont, you know, at the, the festival. And, you know, like, just these big stories. Or, you know, we, we took you to see, go, you know, Quicksilver Messenger Service in, in Golden Gate Park. And, you know, all these kind of wild stories. But like, but they were also a unit. They were a couple. Like, they, you know, they met at college and on the East Coast, and then he went out on the motorcycle and she followed him and what was that all about? And, you know, just, I wanted to tell that story, you know, and then also the story of him and me as it, as it evolved over the years, you know, so, and the letters are like the thread that keeps it all together, you know, kind of takes place over the course of many, many decades, but the thread, the letters are sort of that, you, you know, hold the, hold the book together, you know.

Yeah, absolutely. So, Kennerly, what, what would you hope of people when people read your memoir? What would you hope they'll take away from it?

Oh boy. Um, well, and two things. I just wanted to share something else that I, that's really, really cool that I'm working on and that people might be also interested in, is that we are creating an audio series of this book whereby we've brought to life my father's voice through the power of modern technology, and he is reading the poems and letters in this audio production. And then I am the narrator, and we brought to life my mother's voice and my grandmother's. And it's a pretty unique thing where it's like you're hearing preserved voices from the past.

Wow, you know, that sounds cool.

Yeah. And so to answer your question, what I would hope people take away from this book is, um, uh, I firmly believe that— well, to get a little woo-woo on you, right? I think we pick our parents. I think we choose them before we get here. And maybe there's some aspect of them choosing us too. But I believe that my parents were exactly the parents I was supposed to have to make me who I am, right? And warts and all, whatever. The struggles that I was dealt are the ones that I was supposed to be given so that I could become who I am. And so, or if you don't like the woo-woo stuff, it's simply like, I really feel like embracing every aspect of our existence, including whatever trauma, pain, challenges, whatever we had to go through, is really foundational to who we become. And that who we become is a choice. Right? I could choose to be some kind of victim. Well, oh, he was a jerk and, you know, screwed up my life, or, you know, whatever. I mean, I don't even— I don't actually even feel like that, but I mean, you could develop a story like that, right? Versus like, you know, this is who he was and this is how I contributed to my life in ways that made me the way I am. And it's really my responsibility to continue making me the way I am, you know?

Yeah.

So that's, that's what I love to leave people with.

I think that's excellent. And by the way, I like the woo-woo. I'm very, very much into that. But I, I tell my, all my clients the same thing. You can look at it from the woo-woo perspective that this is— these are the parents you chose. And when I first heard this concept, I was like, why would I have been— why would I have chosen to have been born in Columbus, Ohio if I could have been born anywhere in the world? That doesn't make any sense. Um, but I do believe that we, we chose our parents for the, the things we're gonna have. But if you don't believe that, you know, fine. The thing is, it is your choice what you choose to do with it. And speaking with you today and speaking with the guy yesterday whose father literally murdered his mother and it was angry and all the other stuff, this guy turned up to be a beautiful human being, uh, and he made that choice. He made the choice to forgive his father. He's learned so much talking to you. Like, you, you've turned out to be an amazing human being. The, the love that you have for your father comes through. And I think it's really important for, for us who have trouble forgiving little things, you know, we, we have trouble forgiving our parents because they, you know, they were— they made us eat our vegetables or whatever it was, you know. We all have criticisms of our parents, it's really great to see someone who says, okay, I'm going to choose to forgive even this. And you're— what I would hope people would take from, from your memoir is that it's really important to try to understand where people are coming from, you know, before we judge them. It's really important that we forgive them for, for our benefit as, as well as therefore their benefit. And you can choose to take whatever your life gave you and turn it into whatever you want to make out of it.

Yeah, exactly. That's perfect. You nailed it. Yeah.

So I, I, I— we're coming to the end of our time. I thank you for being here today. Remind people of the name of your book and where people can find out more about you.

Yeah, sure. So it's, it's called Letters from East of Nowhere, and the subtitle is Daddy's Words to Live, Drink, and Die By. Um, I recommend you go to lettersfromeastofnowhere.com.

Com.

You can get it through your favorite bookseller, uh, indie bookstores or the major booksellers. And also sign up for my updates so that you can hear about the audio series. It's pretty exciting.

Yeah, that sounds great. Kimberly, again, thanks for being here today and enjoy the rest of your day.

Yeah, you too. Thanks.

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