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The Moth Presents: Occasional Magic: True Stories About Defying the Impossible
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER - From storytelling phenomenon and hit podcast The Moth--and featuring contributions from Meg Wolitzer, Adam Gopnik, Krista Tippett, Andrew Solomon, Rosanne Cash, Ophira Eisenberg, Wang Ping, and more--a new collection of unforgettable true stories about finding the strength to face the impossible, drawn from the very best ever told on its stages
Carefully selected by the creative minds at storytelling phenomenon The Moth, and adapted to the page to preserve the raw energy of stories told live, onstage and without notes, Occasional Magic features voices familiar and new. Inside, storytellers from around the world share times when, in the face of seemingly impossible situations, they found moments of beauty, wonder, and clarity that shed light on their lives and helped them find a path forward.
From a fifteen-year-old saving a life in Chicago to a mother of triplets trekking to the North Pole to a ninety-year-old Russian man recalling his standoff with the KGB, these storytellers attest to the variety and richness of the human experience, and the shared threads that connect us all. With honesty and humor, they stare down their fear, embrace uncertainty, and encourage us all to be more authentic, vulnerable, and alive.
Carefully selected by the creative minds at storytelling phenomenon The Moth, and adapted to the page to preserve the raw energy of stories told live, onstage and without notes, Occasional Magic features voices familiar and new. Inside, storytellers from around the world share times when, in the face of seemingly impossible situations, they found moments of beauty, wonder, and clarity that shed light on their lives and helped them find a path forward.
From a fifteen-year-old saving a life in Chicago to a mother of triplets trekking to the North Pole to a ninety-year-old Russian man recalling his standoff with the KGB, these storytellers attest to the variety and richness of the human experience, and the shared threads that connect us all. With honesty and humor, they stare down their fear, embrace uncertainty, and encourage us all to be more authentic, vulnerable, and alive.
348 pages, Hardcover
First published March 19, 2019
692 people are currently reading
7,868 people want to read
About the author
Catherine Burns
3 books70 followersCatherine Burns is artistic director of The Moth and the editor of The Moth: 50 True Stories, The Moth Presents All These Wonders, and The Moth Presents Occasional Magic.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 397 reviews
March 30, 2019
Why live just one life, when I can live so many, through the voices of others' stories?
July 30, 2019
I always listen to The Moth Radio Hour and have been to (and performed at) some live shows. I always felt that much of the magic of The Moth was the energy in the room when somebody stands up in front of hundreds and sometimes thousands of people and tells a very personal and specific story that somehow resonates with every single person there. Suddenly there's a profound connection between strangers in a room and it's a very unique experience. So I wondered what it would be like to read these stories on the page--no storytellers making eye contact with the audience, no way to see the storytellers' body language or hear their delivery, no shared laughs or cries or groans of recognition from fellow audience members. Well, the magic is still there in the printed version. In fact, there's a new kind of intimacy in reading these in the privacy of my living room. There's the luxury of being able to absorb something that might have whizzed by on the stage, or go back to a line that moves me or makes me think or identify with the storyteller. Having the story in front of me allows me to hold space for something I might have missed and to sit with it (and the storyteller) for a beat or two longer. The title "Occasional Magic" is beautifully apt for this collection. The stories are funny and heartbreaking and so, so human. I know I'll be returning to them over and over.
June 24, 2021
Q:
So he decided to follow his heart, and his heart led him to robbing banks.
Now, as it turns out, he was good at it; he was great at it; he was an inventor, an innovator.
He was the Elon Musk of the stickup job. (c)
Q:
I call her my quiet fire... (c)
Q:
Israel, being a small state surrounded by enemies, has its own ideas about prison. Prisoners get one weekend out of the month off to go home on vacation, the logic being that the country only has one airport, and it’s extremely secure, and if you want to go ahead and try to escape through Gaza or Syria, you know, be our guest! (c) LOL!
Q:
Since then I’ve come to think that in times of war it’s very hard to tell the good people from the bad people. And if you’re gifted with the opportunity to help another human being, you do it. Because that’s how you serve—not a faction, not a party, not a cause, but the people. (c)
Q:
A friend of mine is Bosnian, and he married a Serbian, and together they had a child. They had to flee their country, because their child—being of mixed race—was in danger by just being. (c) Actually, no, that child wouldn't be of mixed race, being a kid of a Caucasian and Cauccasian. Mixed heritage, nationality or ethnicity, yep.
So he decided to follow his heart, and his heart led him to robbing banks.
Now, as it turns out, he was good at it; he was great at it; he was an inventor, an innovator.
He was the Elon Musk of the stickup job. (c)
Q:
I call her my quiet fire... (c)
Q:
Israel, being a small state surrounded by enemies, has its own ideas about prison. Prisoners get one weekend out of the month off to go home on vacation, the logic being that the country only has one airport, and it’s extremely secure, and if you want to go ahead and try to escape through Gaza or Syria, you know, be our guest! (c) LOL!
Q:
Since then I’ve come to think that in times of war it’s very hard to tell the good people from the bad people. And if you’re gifted with the opportunity to help another human being, you do it. Because that’s how you serve—not a faction, not a party, not a cause, but the people. (c)
Q:
A friend of mine is Bosnian, and he married a Serbian, and together they had a child. They had to flee their country, because their child—being of mixed race—was in danger by just being. (c) Actually, no, that child wouldn't be of mixed race, being a kid of a Caucasian and Cauccasian. Mixed heritage, nationality or ethnicity, yep.
January 6, 2020
Occasional magic refers to those moments of beauty, wonder, and clarity, often stumbled upon, where we suddenly see a piece of truth about our life. As Moth directors we spend our days helping people shape their stories. We help people identify the most important moments of their lives (as we sometimes put it, “the moments when you became you”) so the audience will understand why they mattered so much.
This is the second “The Moth Presents” collection that I've read (after All These Wonders), and although I deeply appreciate the candour and vulnerability shown by these forty-seven authors in sharing those seminal moments that represent a major shift in their lives, as with the earlier collection, there is definitely something missing when oral storytelling is translated to the page. Each of these short vignettes is interesting and worth a read, but the format does rob them of magic; what's weird is that you feel that absence. And yet, still worthwhile. A few highlights:
Theory of Change, by teenaged storyteller and community activist (whose stated focus is “holistic health for the hood”) Journey Jamison, shook me with her casual recounting of how she had put a first aid course to good use when a neighbourhood shooting victim stumbled through her front door (and how she later used that experience to fight for local change):
You hear all the time that children are the future. But I refuse to settle for being the future when I can be the right now.
I was touched by the humanity in Mike Destefano's The Junkie and the Monk (about learning to live again after incredible loss):
You have to have amazing karma, they say, to have a lama actually want to do tonglen with you, which is giving and taking. When they put their head to yours, what they are doing is saying, Give me all your pain, and I'm gonna give you all my joy.
I was inspired by Krista Tippett's spiritual journey in Gaggy's Blessing and appreciated the light that journey shone on her relationship with her strict Southern Baptist grandfather:
I think that Gaggy held the strength of his mind in tension with his faith – and not a creative tension. He held it off to one side of the passions and beliefs that were so important to who he was in the world. I don't believe he ever felt that his mind – and its questions – were invited into his faith.
It's probably not surprising that a highlight would come from George Dawes Green, the founder of The Moth, and he tells a story that is weird, funny, and touching in The Haunted Freezer. Songwriters also tell stories that translate well to the page (Roseanne Cash's Until the Real You Shows Up is very thoughtful and Beth Neilsen Chapman's Seven Shades of Blue is a very affecting story of love and death). Comedians probably tell the best stories, and some of my favourites were: David Montgomery's Spice (about channeling your inner Spice Girl in order to take back your life); David Litt's Have You Met Him Yet? (about working in Barack Obama's White House); Jon Bennett's Curses (what it takes to push one's religious father to swear); and Mary Theresa Archbold's Our Normal (about the challenges of one-armed motherhood.)
There are many stories about families and the process of becoming parents, and I found a nice irony in comparing a gay man challenged by his mother's oft-repeated phrase, “The love you have for your children is unlike any other feeling in the world, and people who don't have children never get to know what it is like”, in Andrew Solomon's My Post-Nuclear Family and its opposite: a woman who never wanted children but who finds herself pregnant, whose own mother warned her, “Never get married and never have kids. They'll ruin your life!” (Ophira Eisenberg's Inside Joke) Spoiler: Both end up as parents, wonderfully happy and fulfilled. And there are many stories that I found uniquely intriguing: Terrance Flynn's C'est La Vie (a close encounter with a serial killer); Ann Daniels' Living in the Extreme (a mother of triplets becomes a polar explorer); D. Parvaz's Bearing Witness (an Al Jazeera reporter is held in a Syrian prison).
There are many stories with international themes that expand understanding – from escaping South Vietnam before the country collapsed to being a Saudi Arabian student in Boston post-9/11 – but I really don't know what to think of Fatou Wurie's When the Heart is Full: about a liberal-minded woman returning to her home country of Sierra Leone and reconnecting with her roots at her grandmother's funeral.
Lots to think about here – I'm trying to pinpoint the moment at which I became who I am today; it's not easy in the absence of some big event– and despite the feeling of something having been lost in putting these oral stories down on paper, I'm happy to have picked this up.
March 24, 2019
These stories made me smile, laugh, gasp, and cry. Sometimes all in the same one. (Sorry to the folks sitting near me on the plane tonight - I was a mess!)
Notable:
Charlie Ravioli
Inside Joke
Honku
Love Wins
Roadside
Favorite line: “If everything fell apart, if everything went to hell in the worst way possible, would I think to myself, I am so glad I did not let myself experience joy or enthusiasm in the good moments because it really protected me from the future?
No. Life doesn’t work like that. Nothing protects you.
So I practice enjoying.”
Notable:
Charlie Ravioli
Inside Joke
Honku
Love Wins
Roadside
Favorite line: “If everything fell apart, if everything went to hell in the worst way possible, would I think to myself, I am so glad I did not let myself experience joy or enthusiasm in the good moments because it really protected me from the future?
No. Life doesn’t work like that. Nothing protects you.
So I practice enjoying.”
October 30, 2022
So many of these brief biographical glimpses were poignant and relevant and deeply emotional. Hailing from all across the world, the featured storytellers did an exquisite job of capturing moments and making them magical. My only disappointment was that most of the stories were not about “defying the impossible,” they were simply beautiful biographical snapshots. Also, many of the authors have famously recognizable names; I was yearning for more average, relatable authors. I’m really just being picky, though; this collection is well-worth anyone’s time.
March 5, 2020
A collection of true and inspirational stories, all truly amazing in their own way. In the everyday, there is, indeed, occasional magic.
August 4, 2020
I read one of the stories in a Readers Digest lying around my parents' house. It intrigued me so I found the book in my local library.
What I liked about it was the personal story aspect. I love reading or hearing people describe their lives, or certain experiences in their lives.
Most of the stories' topic matter was predictable since it is put out by NPR: people of minority races, homosexual, or female overcoming oppression by the evil white society.
However....
There were some real gems nestled in their midst. Stories about people whose hardship in their own countries led them to this country to escape persecution and to gain opportunities denied them in their own country of origin. Their gratitude is palpable.
And there were a couple I appreciate by women who decided that having a baby did not interfere with fulfilling their personal dreams, in fact, having children turned out to be a greater dream than personal ambition.
One particular story was quite powerful. A woman became pregnant and due to her age and early sonograms was told she needed to abort, first because the baby had Downs Syndrome, then later because, actually, the baby had Edwards Syndrome and was going to die anyway.
Her response was unforgettable: Since he was going to die anyway, couldn't she at least meet him first?
The pressure to abort was intense and my hat is off to her determination. Then she had her baby. In her own words:
"He. Was. Perfect."
Her son was ten years old at the time of the story and a perfectly healthy baby boy.
Which begs the question, how many other perfectly healthy babies have been aborted due to pressure by health professionals based on faulty testing?
There were a couple of other gems: The man remembering his time with friends playing poker until five pm, the next day. All of his friends have passed on,, but he has his memories of them and it's good.
The story that led me to checking the book out was about a young boy taken from his home in Alabama by his mother and stepfather to live in California. Severely homesick, in Junior high, fat and awkward, his misery is alleviated by his grandmother back in Alabama who sends a giant Christmas package via Greyhound Bus, which brought home to him. She did this every year until she died.
Even though I know most of the stories are going to be stamped with NPR approval, I still want to read the other volumes because human interest stories are wonderful and I love reading them, regardless of who puts them out.
What I liked about it was the personal story aspect. I love reading or hearing people describe their lives, or certain experiences in their lives.
Most of the stories' topic matter was predictable since it is put out by NPR: people of minority races, homosexual, or female overcoming oppression by the evil white society.
However....
There were some real gems nestled in their midst. Stories about people whose hardship in their own countries led them to this country to escape persecution and to gain opportunities denied them in their own country of origin. Their gratitude is palpable.
And there were a couple I appreciate by women who decided that having a baby did not interfere with fulfilling their personal dreams, in fact, having children turned out to be a greater dream than personal ambition.
One particular story was quite powerful. A woman became pregnant and due to her age and early sonograms was told she needed to abort, first because the baby had Downs Syndrome, then later because, actually, the baby had Edwards Syndrome and was going to die anyway.
Her response was unforgettable: Since he was going to die anyway, couldn't she at least meet him first?
The pressure to abort was intense and my hat is off to her determination. Then she had her baby. In her own words:
"He. Was. Perfect."
Her son was ten years old at the time of the story and a perfectly healthy baby boy.
Which begs the question, how many other perfectly healthy babies have been aborted due to pressure by health professionals based on faulty testing?
There were a couple of other gems: The man remembering his time with friends playing poker until five pm, the next day. All of his friends have passed on,, but he has his memories of them and it's good.
The story that led me to checking the book out was about a young boy taken from his home in Alabama by his mother and stepfather to live in California. Severely homesick, in Junior high, fat and awkward, his misery is alleviated by his grandmother back in Alabama who sends a giant Christmas package via Greyhound Bus, which brought home to him. She did this every year until she died.
Even though I know most of the stories are going to be stamped with NPR approval, I still want to read the other volumes because human interest stories are wonderful and I love reading them, regardless of who puts them out.
April 17, 2021
On the weekends while driving around doing errands, I listen to a radio show called The Moth Radio Hour. It features every day people talking about aspects of their own lives. Their talks are about some turning point or unique experience that was quite meaningful for them. The stories they tell are fascinating to hear and in turn, can be funny, painful, illuminating, inspiring, poignant, etc.
Since I like the radio show so much, I wanted to read "The Moth," which is a collection of some of the most compelling stories. I soon was noting which stories I liked best. However, almost every story made my list.
I savored these essays much like another person would appreciate fine wine. The stories can be better appreciated by reading a few at a time. If there is an audio version, I would recommend listening to the story tellers tell their own tales rather than reading their words. This is the best way to enjoy them.
The stories run the gamut of: a boy raised by a super- macho dad who, as a man, reconsiders just exactly what macho is; a teen who learns CPR and has occasion to save a man's life; a gay young man who finds a bond with the Spice Girls; a young homeless boy who enjoys outdoor camp with his school class; a talented song writer whose husband is her biggest fan; a little girl whose imaginary friend is always too busy to play with her; a cancer survivor who is stunned to learn that she is pregnant. The book is full of surprises.
Since I like the radio show so much, I wanted to read "The Moth," which is a collection of some of the most compelling stories. I soon was noting which stories I liked best. However, almost every story made my list.
I savored these essays much like another person would appreciate fine wine. The stories can be better appreciated by reading a few at a time. If there is an audio version, I would recommend listening to the story tellers tell their own tales rather than reading their words. This is the best way to enjoy them.
The stories run the gamut of: a boy raised by a super- macho dad who, as a man, reconsiders just exactly what macho is; a teen who learns CPR and has occasion to save a man's life; a gay young man who finds a bond with the Spice Girls; a young homeless boy who enjoys outdoor camp with his school class; a talented song writer whose husband is her biggest fan; a little girl whose imaginary friend is always too busy to play with her; a cancer survivor who is stunned to learn that she is pregnant. The book is full of surprises.
August 7, 2019
The third “Moth” book that I have read recently and I think, my favourite of the lot.
Almost every story was great but there were four or five that were absolutely amazing and pretty unforgettable. You’ll need to read them yourselves as I don’t want to give away any spoilers but there was one section leading up to a Barack Obama related story where three out of four in a row were exceptional.
I love the way you can read these on the move as it only takes a few minutes to read each one but also how they lead you into so many other books as many of the writers have written their own books. All three books are highly recommended and I hope they publish some more sometime soon!
Almost every story was great but there were four or five that were absolutely amazing and pretty unforgettable. You’ll need to read them yourselves as I don’t want to give away any spoilers but there was one section leading up to a Barack Obama related story where three out of four in a row were exceptional.
I love the way you can read these on the move as it only takes a few minutes to read each one but also how they lead you into so many other books as many of the writers have written their own books. All three books are highly recommended and I hope they publish some more sometime soon!
January 8, 2024
This wasn't a slog to get through, it was the kind of book that you start reading, and it's mesmerizing and then you forget about it, and then you find your way back to it one day and you're mesmerized again and then -- you forget about it, until you need it. Somehow this book kept me company over the past few days, and before I knew it I was at the end.
All the stories are magnetic in a variety of ways. There's a lot of magic in human beings and if you're looking for magic, you'll find it in this book in droves. I love the format of The Moth. I love what The Moth makes of individuals - the confidence it gives to people to engage in the hardest task of telling their truths, and sharing their vulnerabilities through deeply personal stories.
Occasional Magic is a charming read and if human stories are the pick up you need from the onslaught of negative news and devastation, this might be the book for you.
All the stories are magnetic in a variety of ways. There's a lot of magic in human beings and if you're looking for magic, you'll find it in this book in droves. I love the format of The Moth. I love what The Moth makes of individuals - the confidence it gives to people to engage in the hardest task of telling their truths, and sharing their vulnerabilities through deeply personal stories.
Occasional Magic is a charming read and if human stories are the pick up you need from the onslaught of negative news and devastation, this might be the book for you.
January 31, 2020
A lovely collection of very short stories, of real people in real life, some profoundly moving, some endearing, and at least one seriously disturbing.
My struggle with reading short stories is the need to transition from one to the next, when each could carry such different emotions. I definitely experienced that here. A few of these left me in tears, and I could not just turn the page to move on to the next. I need to sit with the story, with the people I’ve just read about, and more than once I found myself reluctant to sweep aside what I’m feeling but irritated that I need to if I want to keep reading in that one sitting.
My struggle with reading short stories is the need to transition from one to the next, when each could carry such different emotions. I definitely experienced that here. A few of these left me in tears, and I could not just turn the page to move on to the next. I need to sit with the story, with the people I’ve just read about, and more than once I found myself reluctant to sweep aside what I’m feeling but irritated that I need to if I want to keep reading in that one sitting.
February 9, 2022
3.5 Stars
I hadn't heard of the radio show called The Moth Radio Hour so I didn't know what to expect when I chose to read this book. What I found was a collection of stories that left me feeling amazed, shocked, inspired ... and one that infuriated me.
The very first one, the tear gas story, was hilarious!! I laughed so hard when she had to repair her skirt with staples and tape before her job interview! There was an exceptionally touching story about a woman who wanted to give birth to her child so that she could meet him, even when he was predicted to pass away immediately. I also loved, loved the story about a songwriter whose husband was her biggest fan. The one that infuriated me, however, was the one that had to do with female mutilation. From that point on I started doing some skimming.
I hadn't heard of the radio show called The Moth Radio Hour so I didn't know what to expect when I chose to read this book. What I found was a collection of stories that left me feeling amazed, shocked, inspired ... and one that infuriated me.
The very first one, the tear gas story, was hilarious!! I laughed so hard when she had to repair her skirt with staples and tape before her job interview! There was an exceptionally touching story about a woman who wanted to give birth to her child so that she could meet him, even when he was predicted to pass away immediately. I also loved, loved the story about a songwriter whose husband was her biggest fan. The one that infuriated me, however, was the one that had to do with female mutilation. From that point on I started doing some skimming.
January 4, 2022
such a beautiful combination of stories wow
May 12, 2019
Wonderful collection of stories to remind you that real life is infinitely more absurd and improbable than imagination.
August 22, 2020
This book contains 50 little stories (about 10-15 min reads each) about significant moments in people's lives (and when i say 'significant' that includes being told, as a 5-year old, that you look nothing like your self-portrait). They are true stories that people shared in front of live audiences in the past through the non-profit organisation The Moth, that were edited together in this collection. They span a wide range of characters and events... people dying of disease, in wars, homicides; people going through hardships of all untraditional kinds; and people that simply went down the less traveled road and have something inspiring to share.
Whereas I'm mostly used to a book trying to sell me on one or a handful of characters to get attached to through the course of a long and complicated narrative, this book is the complete opposite and merely for this different experience it is worth a read. The beauty in discovering so many stories and their protagonists, concisely but intimately, is that it makes you connect to what all of them (and you) have in common - the human experience.
Whereas I'm mostly used to a book trying to sell me on one or a handful of characters to get attached to through the course of a long and complicated narrative, this book is the complete opposite and merely for this different experience it is worth a read. The beauty in discovering so many stories and their protagonists, concisely but intimately, is that it makes you connect to what all of them (and you) have in common - the human experience.
January 13, 2020
I fully admit to being a people watcher. I love being a fly on the wall, watching people interact with one another. If someone is near me having a conversation on their phone, you bet I'm listening and passing my own personal judgement. So I adore hearing people's personal stories. It's like having permission to read their journals. It gives me insight (whether real or imagined) into people's lives and minds. Give me a book like this any day.
November 8, 2021
This is a delightful collection of true stories, told in the first person, by (sort of) regular people.
It’s deeply satisfying to read such a wide range of personal experiences, especially when they’re told by people who’ve had professional guidance on getting their stories into perfect, snappy little packages.
There’s an ER doctor who has to learn to use the word “died” with grieving families. Not “gone,” not “passed away.” The families need the finality of a word that’s hard to say and harder to hear.
There’s a mother and child who make Christmas for each other out of magazine pictures. A college student who removes her prosthetic arm at night, under the blankets, in a desperate grasp for normalcy. A presidential speech writer who goes speechless on meeting the actual president.
A comedian writes in Inside Joke about the very unfunny topics of cancer and miscarriage. “I hate saying that word. I know you hate hearing it,” she says. “It’s so common, though. It makes me think we should talk about it more.”
But she refuses to stop pursuing joy, even when staring at the chance of losing everything. “Okay, if everything falls apart, if everything went to hell in the worst way possible, would I think to myself, I am so glad I didn’t let myself experience joy or enthusiasm in the good moments because it really protected me from the torture? No. Life doesn’t work like that.”
It’s hard to choose, but her story was among my favorites, along with The Freedom Riders and Me, The Magic of Maggie and The Patriots’ Game, in which a young man who can’t find his place in his home country of Saudi Arabia comes to Boston for college. “I was looking for my people, and it took me a second, but then I found them in the comic-book lovers, the Dungeons & Dragons players, and the video gamers. It turns out that my people are what you guys call nerds.”
It’s never a bad thing to take a few minutes to look deeply into a life that’s utterly different from your own and get just a flash of what it feels like. Occasional Magic gives you 47 chances to do just that
It’s deeply satisfying to read such a wide range of personal experiences, especially when they’re told by people who’ve had professional guidance on getting their stories into perfect, snappy little packages.
There’s an ER doctor who has to learn to use the word “died” with grieving families. Not “gone,” not “passed away.” The families need the finality of a word that’s hard to say and harder to hear.
There’s a mother and child who make Christmas for each other out of magazine pictures. A college student who removes her prosthetic arm at night, under the blankets, in a desperate grasp for normalcy. A presidential speech writer who goes speechless on meeting the actual president.
A comedian writes in Inside Joke about the very unfunny topics of cancer and miscarriage. “I hate saying that word. I know you hate hearing it,” she says. “It’s so common, though. It makes me think we should talk about it more.”
But she refuses to stop pursuing joy, even when staring at the chance of losing everything. “Okay, if everything falls apart, if everything went to hell in the worst way possible, would I think to myself, I am so glad I didn’t let myself experience joy or enthusiasm in the good moments because it really protected me from the torture? No. Life doesn’t work like that.”
It’s hard to choose, but her story was among my favorites, along with The Freedom Riders and Me, The Magic of Maggie and The Patriots’ Game, in which a young man who can’t find his place in his home country of Saudi Arabia comes to Boston for college. “I was looking for my people, and it took me a second, but then I found them in the comic-book lovers, the Dungeons & Dragons players, and the video gamers. It turns out that my people are what you guys call nerds.”
It’s never a bad thing to take a few minutes to look deeply into a life that’s utterly different from your own and get just a flash of what it feels like. Occasional Magic gives you 47 chances to do just that
January 14, 2020
I began reading Occasional Magic at a difficult time in my life - a time that rarely occurs when reading feels like work, rather than pleasure. At first, I assumed that the book was the cause. Maybe I just didn’t connect to the stories. Now, picking up Occasional Magic months later, I am surprised to have felt that way at all. I devoured it, and I shared the stories with friends.
A five star book. I couldn’t believe the people I met through these short, emotional, inspiring, terrifying, rare, heartwarming, unique stories. I always say that I want a taste of what it feels like to be in another person’s shoes, and this book, in some ways, took me there. I appreciate, also, that the stories were spoken by the people who lived them. In itself, an intimate and personal experience.
I highly recommend this book for anyone who is looking for a brave and more diverse “Chicken Soup for the Soul” experience.
This book satisfies the “book with more than 20 letters in its title” category of the PopSugar 2020 Reading Challenge.
https://www.popsugar.com/entertainmen...
A five star book. I couldn’t believe the people I met through these short, emotional, inspiring, terrifying, rare, heartwarming, unique stories. I always say that I want a taste of what it feels like to be in another person’s shoes, and this book, in some ways, took me there. I appreciate, also, that the stories were spoken by the people who lived them. In itself, an intimate and personal experience.
I highly recommend this book for anyone who is looking for a brave and more diverse “Chicken Soup for the Soul” experience.
This book satisfies the “book with more than 20 letters in its title” category of the PopSugar 2020 Reading Challenge.
https://www.popsugar.com/entertainmen...
July 17, 2020
So many people who know how to tell such beautiful stories, but these really stood out:
Charlie Ravioli (I, too, had imaginary friends, and I love hearing the psychologist's explanation - plus it was funny!)
How to Say It: what she learns from another ER doctor while in residency "Don't you EVER pretend that grief belongs to you when it doesn't" - gives her the ability to walk away and treat the next patient
What I Wore to My Divorce: simply for coining the word, wasband
Inside Joke: "But now I understand what that's about, because it really doesn't matter if you think positive or negative. It has zero influence on the outcome, but it certainly changes how you experience the moment."
And my absolute favorite, Roadside
Charlie Ravioli (I, too, had imaginary friends, and I love hearing the psychologist's explanation - plus it was funny!)
How to Say It: what she learns from another ER doctor while in residency "Don't you EVER pretend that grief belongs to you when it doesn't" - gives her the ability to walk away and treat the next patient
What I Wore to My Divorce: simply for coining the word, wasband
Inside Joke: "But now I understand what that's about, because it really doesn't matter if you think positive or negative. It has zero influence on the outcome, but it certainly changes how you experience the moment."
And my absolute favorite, Roadside
March 18, 2022
A great collection of stories from real people. Some I loved, some made me cry my eyes out, some were inspiring. A few I didn't connect with but all in all it was an interesting collection. The first part had some truly magical stories and I kept reading them out loud. The book also covered some difficult topics like war, (racial) injustice and the death of loved ones.
If you happen upon it, give it a read. You can dip in and out by story, but also read a 100 pages in a row.
If you happen upon it, give it a read. You can dip in and out by story, but also read a 100 pages in a row.
November 20, 2019
The Moth never disappoints.
The stories they collect are always so raw an honest. You can't help but get sucked into the small vignettes and moments of these peoples lives. From a famous singer songwriter dealing with the sudden death of her husband, to a young fifteen year old girl who takes first aid classes to help in her inner city neighborhood.
A beautiful book that you won't regret reading.
The stories they collect are always so raw an honest. You can't help but get sucked into the small vignettes and moments of these peoples lives. From a famous singer songwriter dealing with the sudden death of her husband, to a young fifteen year old girl who takes first aid classes to help in her inner city neighborhood.
A beautiful book that you won't regret reading.
December 19, 2022
9/10. Loved this book! All of the stories contained within the book were pretty short but I enjoyed learning about the lives of so many different people. I also thought it was helpful as a writer to read from the voices of so many.
February 9, 2023
This was really cool!
May 5, 2019
All these stories feel so close to me when I was reading them. They can take you from sobbing to loudly laughing in a few seconds.
February 2, 2023
Again and again, The Moth touches my heart and I have tears streaming down my face as i write this. In moments where it seems that there's no reason to try to go on, I'm reminded of the beauty that lies within the human existence. These stories were unbelievable and unforgetable.
November 27, 2019
This collection of stories is a lot like pizza.
There's a couple that I devoured and loved. And even the ones that weren't the greatest - they were still pretty damn good.
I love pizza, and I loved this book.
There's a couple that I devoured and loved. And even the ones that weren't the greatest - they were still pretty damn good.
I love pizza, and I loved this book.
September 17, 2024
Then I realized that instead of focusing on memorizing, I should focus on memory.
I would say to anyone who is thinking of getting up onstage and telling a story: what you
Occasional magic refers to those moments of beauty, wonder, and clarity, often stumbled upon, where we suddenly see a piece of truth about our life.
The feeling that the person onstage isn’t presenting a story, but sharing one, the same way we might with a friend over dinner.
in times of war it’s very hard to tell the good people from the bad people. And if you’re gifted with the opportunity to help another human being, you do it. Because that’s how you serve—not a faction, not a party, not a cause, but the people.
You hear all the time that children are the future.
But I refuse to settle for being the future when I can be right now.
It’s a Spice World.
We’re just living in it.
I’d met this funny, handsome, tall man when we were in our twenties. He was quite bald then, because he had just survived cancer. And I was quite sad then, because my mother had just died of cancer. I think we thought we would heal each other. But the sweetness of our early days had diminishing returns.
I loved him madly. Slavishly. And he loved me, too. We just loved each other wrong, and I always loved him more.
I just want to give him a small, sad smile, the kind where the corners of your mouth turn down. Just some kind of respectful closure for the decade we spent failing to love each other properly.
what seems to fit you now may not suit you at all a season hence, and you’ll outgrow old favorites and slip effortlessly into something new.
How To Say It
I know what happens after you die.
I take your family into a quiet room, with Kleenex, and then I say the word “dead.” Not “expired” (because you are a person, not milk), and not “passed on,” because families always want to believe that means I just transferred you to another hospital.
Dead.
I have to say it.
That’s basically all they taught us about how to deliver bad news in medical school. A one-hour lecture.
So we learned by watching our teaching physicians. We were their constant companions in this sort of theater of the bereaved, lurking in doorways and at bedsides and the hospital’s ER, waiting to see how soft they made their voices. When did they touch someone on the shoulder? How much medical jargon did they use before getting to the word “dead”?
When you train to become a doctor, they don’t really teach you about death. They teach you how to prevent it, how to fight it, how to say it, but not how to face it.
So on one of my first nights as a teaching physician in the emergency room, as we work on the body of a sixteen-year-old boy with eight bullet holes in his chest and abdomen, we are almost angry at his body for not responding to our efforts.
Is he breathing? Is he bleeding? Is his heart beating?
I go to the head of the bed, and I hook him up to a respirator that breathes for him.
We put tubes…everywhere. A large-bore IV goes into each arm, an even larger one into his groin, and through that we start pressure-bagging type-O-negative blood, trying to replace what he’s lost. I call for another unit of blood, but no matter how fast we work, we can’t work fast enough.
The monitor begins to sound this shrill insect whine meant to alert us that the patient is crashing, which we already know, so it feels less like a warning and more like a rebuke.
Then we lose his blood pressure and his pulse.
But he’s sixteen.
So I perform a trauma Hail Mary. I grab a ten-blade scalpel and make a deep incision from the nipple all the way down to the bed. I take the scissors and cut through the intercostal muscles. I take the rib spreaders, push them between the ribs, and crank his chest open.
There’s a giant gush of blood and then a moment of stillness, like the second after a lightning strike. Even his blood smells metallic, like ozone.
I reach my hands into his chest, and I put them around his still heart. I begin pumping it for him, feeling for damage. I slide my fingers down the length of his aorta, but it is so riddled with holes that the frayed pieces disintegrate in my hands.
The first time I had to be the one to break that news to a family, I was in my second year of residency. I remember I had to do it in the patient’s room, because his adult daughter refused to leave his bedside.
I said, “I’m sorry. He’s dead. We did everything we could.”
And then I was supposed to step out of the room, give her a few moments alone. But I was paralyzed, rooted to the spot by a sense of failure and loss. When I looked at the bed, I couldn’t stop imagining my own father lying in it.
My attending physician must have seen what was going on in my face, because she grabbed me by the arm and she dragged me outside.
She said, “Don’t you ever do that again. Don’t you EVER pretend that grief belongs to you when it doesn’t. One day the person you love will be in that bed. But today you say you’re sorry, you mean it. Then you have to walk away.”
I look up from the sixteen-year-old boy and see that my own audience has formed. They wait to see what I will do next.
I realize that in front of me is a gaping hole, and the boy’s family will probably be here very soon, so I turn to the surgery resident, and I say, “Listen, you have to get this kid closed up as fast as you can.”
Not ten minutes go by when we hear the sound of a woman demanding to be let in.
We are not ready.
We are shoving tubes and gauze and surgical supplies into giant trash bags. Security is trying to keep her out, but she is a tsunamic force. We barely had this boy closed up and half covered with a sheet when I see her standing in the doorway.
Clearly his mother. And she goes absolutely quiet.
“I’m sorry. He’s dead. We did everything we could.”
She takes a running leap toward the body. The nurse at the head of the bed sees a large needle still attached to the sutures holding him together and plucks it off the table just before his mother lands on top of his body, trying to protect it with her own.
She starts keening. It’s a terrible sound.
I repeat, “I’m sorry. He’s dead. We did everything we could.”
She slides off his body. I see her touch the boy’s fingers to her mouth briefly before holding them against her cheek. I leave the room as soon as the social worker enters, motioning for everybody to follow me out.
I think, That’s what they can learn from watching me: how to walk away.
And without a moment’s break, I go to see the next patient. Because there are forty people in the waiting room who all want immediate attention, and they can’t know that I still feel the dead boy’s heart in my hands like an anchor.
But I know that if I don’t put it down now, I might never remember that this loss doesn’t belong to me.
One day that grief will be mine. But not tonight.
And the advice I always got about working in the White House was “You have to act like you’ve been there before.”
So I had two choices. I’d give it up or I’d give it everything.
If you don’t know where you’re going, know from where you come.
...when the heart is full, it cannot speak.
time is finite and you have to always take action. That’s what keeps you from getting sad and stagnant.
And when you don’t give love, it rots inside you.
No. Life doesn’t work like that. Nothing protects you.
So I practice enjoying.
The surest way to abridge the rights of a minority is to allow the majority to vote on it.
I would say to anyone who is thinking of getting up onstage and telling a story: what you
Occasional magic refers to those moments of beauty, wonder, and clarity, often stumbled upon, where we suddenly see a piece of truth about our life.
The feeling that the person onstage isn’t presenting a story, but sharing one, the same way we might with a friend over dinner.
in times of war it’s very hard to tell the good people from the bad people. And if you’re gifted with the opportunity to help another human being, you do it. Because that’s how you serve—not a faction, not a party, not a cause, but the people.
You hear all the time that children are the future.
But I refuse to settle for being the future when I can be right now.
It’s a Spice World.
We’re just living in it.
I’d met this funny, handsome, tall man when we were in our twenties. He was quite bald then, because he had just survived cancer. And I was quite sad then, because my mother had just died of cancer. I think we thought we would heal each other. But the sweetness of our early days had diminishing returns.
I loved him madly. Slavishly. And he loved me, too. We just loved each other wrong, and I always loved him more.
I just want to give him a small, sad smile, the kind where the corners of your mouth turn down. Just some kind of respectful closure for the decade we spent failing to love each other properly.
what seems to fit you now may not suit you at all a season hence, and you’ll outgrow old favorites and slip effortlessly into something new.
How To Say It
I know what happens after you die.
I take your family into a quiet room, with Kleenex, and then I say the word “dead.” Not “expired” (because you are a person, not milk), and not “passed on,” because families always want to believe that means I just transferred you to another hospital.
Dead.
I have to say it.
That’s basically all they taught us about how to deliver bad news in medical school. A one-hour lecture.
So we learned by watching our teaching physicians. We were their constant companions in this sort of theater of the bereaved, lurking in doorways and at bedsides and the hospital’s ER, waiting to see how soft they made their voices. When did they touch someone on the shoulder? How much medical jargon did they use before getting to the word “dead”?
When you train to become a doctor, they don’t really teach you about death. They teach you how to prevent it, how to fight it, how to say it, but not how to face it.
So on one of my first nights as a teaching physician in the emergency room, as we work on the body of a sixteen-year-old boy with eight bullet holes in his chest and abdomen, we are almost angry at his body for not responding to our efforts.
Is he breathing? Is he bleeding? Is his heart beating?
I go to the head of the bed, and I hook him up to a respirator that breathes for him.
We put tubes…everywhere. A large-bore IV goes into each arm, an even larger one into his groin, and through that we start pressure-bagging type-O-negative blood, trying to replace what he’s lost. I call for another unit of blood, but no matter how fast we work, we can’t work fast enough.
The monitor begins to sound this shrill insect whine meant to alert us that the patient is crashing, which we already know, so it feels less like a warning and more like a rebuke.
Then we lose his blood pressure and his pulse.
But he’s sixteen.
So I perform a trauma Hail Mary. I grab a ten-blade scalpel and make a deep incision from the nipple all the way down to the bed. I take the scissors and cut through the intercostal muscles. I take the rib spreaders, push them between the ribs, and crank his chest open.
There’s a giant gush of blood and then a moment of stillness, like the second after a lightning strike. Even his blood smells metallic, like ozone.
I reach my hands into his chest, and I put them around his still heart. I begin pumping it for him, feeling for damage. I slide my fingers down the length of his aorta, but it is so riddled with holes that the frayed pieces disintegrate in my hands.
The first time I had to be the one to break that news to a family, I was in my second year of residency. I remember I had to do it in the patient’s room, because his adult daughter refused to leave his bedside.
I said, “I’m sorry. He’s dead. We did everything we could.”
And then I was supposed to step out of the room, give her a few moments alone. But I was paralyzed, rooted to the spot by a sense of failure and loss. When I looked at the bed, I couldn’t stop imagining my own father lying in it.
My attending physician must have seen what was going on in my face, because she grabbed me by the arm and she dragged me outside.
She said, “Don’t you ever do that again. Don’t you EVER pretend that grief belongs to you when it doesn’t. One day the person you love will be in that bed. But today you say you’re sorry, you mean it. Then you have to walk away.”
I look up from the sixteen-year-old boy and see that my own audience has formed. They wait to see what I will do next.
I realize that in front of me is a gaping hole, and the boy’s family will probably be here very soon, so I turn to the surgery resident, and I say, “Listen, you have to get this kid closed up as fast as you can.”
Not ten minutes go by when we hear the sound of a woman demanding to be let in.
We are not ready.
We are shoving tubes and gauze and surgical supplies into giant trash bags. Security is trying to keep her out, but she is a tsunamic force. We barely had this boy closed up and half covered with a sheet when I see her standing in the doorway.
Clearly his mother. And she goes absolutely quiet.
“I’m sorry. He’s dead. We did everything we could.”
She takes a running leap toward the body. The nurse at the head of the bed sees a large needle still attached to the sutures holding him together and plucks it off the table just before his mother lands on top of his body, trying to protect it with her own.
She starts keening. It’s a terrible sound.
I repeat, “I’m sorry. He’s dead. We did everything we could.”
She slides off his body. I see her touch the boy’s fingers to her mouth briefly before holding them against her cheek. I leave the room as soon as the social worker enters, motioning for everybody to follow me out.
I think, That’s what they can learn from watching me: how to walk away.
And without a moment’s break, I go to see the next patient. Because there are forty people in the waiting room who all want immediate attention, and they can’t know that I still feel the dead boy’s heart in my hands like an anchor.
But I know that if I don’t put it down now, I might never remember that this loss doesn’t belong to me.
One day that grief will be mine. But not tonight.
And the advice I always got about working in the White House was “You have to act like you’ve been there before.”
So I had two choices. I’d give it up or I’d give it everything.
If you don’t know where you’re going, know from where you come.
...when the heart is full, it cannot speak.
time is finite and you have to always take action. That’s what keeps you from getting sad and stagnant.
And when you don’t give love, it rots inside you.
No. Life doesn’t work like that. Nothing protects you.
So I practice enjoying.
The surest way to abridge the rights of a minority is to allow the majority to vote on it.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
February 7, 2020
Life really is stranger than fiction. You will laugh at some of the stories and cry at others, but they certainly won’t leave you untouched.
November 16, 2020
I’ve read all 3 moth books and I continue to read them over again. The best intro to anyone who says they can’t read. Start here.
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