Send My Love to Anyone

guest post by Kathryn Mockler

Laura celebrating life in front of a waterfall in Munduk, Western Bali, moments after she climbed under it.

I’ve been meaning to ask you is an interview series where Kathryn Mockler invites people to answer questions on being human. I was honored to be the subject of her interview this week:

What is your first memory of existing?

My first memory of existing is of being born too soon, forced through the birth canal, torn away from the arms of my identical twin sister into the cold, bright, unimaginable world. I weighed 2 pounds, 12 ounces, decades before babies that small regularly survived. They whisked me into an Isolette with tubes up my nose, wires on my skin, untouched for six weeks as I struggled to survive. I wanted to leave, to join my sister, whom I never saw again, but part of me was meant to be here. There was something I was supposed to do and so I stayed. My mother kept me in this world through sheer force of her will. I tell this story in the opening scene of my memoir, The Burning Light of Two Stars. And although I can’t say I remember my birth in the traditional way we remember things, my body has never forgotten it. And looking back from the perspective of 68 years, I’d have to say that this experience shaped my spiritual and emotional life more than anything else. It was foundational.

What is your first memory of being creative?

I grew up in an incredibly creative home and for that I am extremely grateful. My father was an instrumental music teacher, and we had a baby grand piano in our living room with more than a dozen different musical instruments stored under it: accordions, clarinets, flutes, a trumpet, a French horn, a piccolo, and a few more. I never learned to play any of them, but my house was infused with music. My father was in a recorder ensemble that practiced in our living room, and I’d sit on the top of the steps, out of sight in my footsie pajamas, listening to the wonderful melodies. My mother was an actor in community theatre. She always played the leading roles, and I helped her learn her lines lying on the big bed upstairs at 255 Park Avenue. I always memorized the scripts before she did: Death of a Salesman, The Tenth Man, The Crucible. Classic dramas. I spent many nights silk screening and making woodcuts with my dad in the basement. We were always creating. I was read thousands of books, we always made up stories as a family, and we always sang in the car. My creativity was celebrated and cherished. My writing was supported from the time I was eight and composed my first short story. Creative expression and encouragement were two great gifts of my childhood.

Laura writing in Tirtagangga, eastern Bali

Do you have a preferred emotion to experience? What is it and why? Or is there an emotion that you detest having and why?

Awe, of course. That amazing feeling of oneness when I’m out deep in the natural world. Knowing in my cells that I am connected to everything. Feeling that deep union with all that is, so far away from the usual confines of my busy, worrying, planning mind. My least favorite emotion is anxiety, a visitor I have known most of my life. Anxiety is the opposite of awe. When I feel anxious, I feel like a little speck of dust floating alone in the universe, as separate and isolated as I was as a tiny preemie in that incubator.

Can you recount a time (that you're willing to share) when you were embarrassed?

Yes. In seventh grade PE class, we had a huge gymnasium with three electric folding doors that separated one area of the gym from another, so that several different classes could meet simultaneously. They were like accordions folding toward the center on a set track until they clicked tightly together in the middle, creating a sealed wall. One day, I was wearing my poofy green cotton bloomers, our gym uniform, and I rode one of the walls as it began its inexorable path toward the center. I didn’t hop out in time and was pinned in the middle, half my body and face in one gym, half my body in the other. I think that was my worst moment of embarrassment because of my age. The other instance that comes to mind is when I got a tampon stuck inside me at 15 and I had to ask my mother to come pull it out. That was traumatic for both of us.

What do you cherish most about this world?

My family. My wife. My three children. My three grandchildren. My dearest friends. The ocean. The woods. That I can walk. That I can see. That I can hear. That I can think. That I have the capacity to create. Bald eagles. Schools of fish when I’m scuba diving. The silent awe that follows a powerful piece of writing read in one of my classes—that deep human connection when the truth is spoken. Laughter. Campfires. A good home-cooked meal. Shopping for and cooking that meal. Card games. Mahjong. Rumiqub. Trees. Swimming. A good hike. A great novel. My brother, the last member of my nuclear family, whom I have finally learned to truly love. A good TV show to binge on, but not too often. The movies. A perfectly made morning cup of tea. Obviously, I could go on and on. Thankfully, today, the things I have to cherish outweigh the many things there are to grieve.

What would you like to change about this world?

I’d like to see the greed and cruelty pervading our current politics transform into deep concern and empathy for all people, all creatures and the planet. I want compassion, not hate, to prevail. Right now that seems like a pipe dream, but we have to keep envisioning and creating the world we want to see. If I can’t see this change in my lifetime, I want to work toward it for my children and grandchildren, for all children.

What advice would you give to your younger self? Your younger self could be you at any age.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re going to be okay.”

If you could send your love to anyone, who would it be and why?

The people of Gaza who are being starved and annihilated right now as I write these words.

Tell me about your latest project.

I take writers around the world on cultural adventures that spark awe, creativity and deep relaxation. In August, I’m bringing a group to Bali to study Balinese spirituality and meet with Balinese healers. We’ll be exploring three diverse “back roads” areas of Bali, meeting with artisans, hiking through coffee and clove plantations, experiencing the transformation that occurs when immersing in a culture that celebrates sacred creativity. And of course, we’ll be writing every day—writing together creates an intimate traveling community and gives people the opportunity to digest and integrate their experiences. This is my tenth time taking writers to Bali—obviously I feel a deep affinity for the stunning beauty and spiritual power of that island and its people. There is one final spot left on this trip.

After being blessed by the high priest in Bali

About Kathryn Mockler:

Kathryn Mockler is a writer, screenwriter, experimental filmmaker, editor, and publisher and the author of the story collection Anecdotes (Book*hug Press, 2023), which won the 2024 Victoria Butler Book Prize and was a finalist for the 2024 Trillium Book Award, 2023 Danuta Gleed Literary Award, 2024 Fred Kerner Award, and 2024 VMI Besty Warland Between Genres Award. She co-edited the print anthology Watch Your Head: Writers and Artists Respond to the Climate Crisis (Coach House Books, 2020). Her films have screened at TIFF, EMFA, the Palm Springs Film Festival and most recently at the Arizona Underground Film Festival and REELPoetry/HoustonTX. She runs the literary newsletter Send My Love to Anyone and teaches screenwriting and fiction in the Writing Department at the University of Victoria.