Interview with Michael Ritoch
Each one of us is broken in some way or another. We are damaged goods. But that’s the beauty of it. You and me, we get to play creators. Every day is an opportunity to create a new us. The present another chance to change the world, to be happy, to jump into joy, and start over.
Michael Ritoch I am falling short of words in introducing Michael as he is an amazing writer, poet, and a great thinker. I came across his profile while reading some of the poems on Medium and I knew since then, I visit his profile once in a week to set my feet on fire.
I have always been admired by him for my work and what makes it more special that his words stay with you and encourage you to do more good in this life. I admire him for his in-depth and soulful write-ups. I have equally rejoiced reading his poetry on love, life, and relationships. I am his huge fan because he always has something new to offer in the form of advice and meaningful words to this world.
He has been helping people in building professional resumes too which I find as an enticing task because we live in a world where people are only bothered about themselves. I admire people who help others without seeking any interest. He is one of them. I am stunned reading the responses to my questions by him and I hope you find bliss in them too.
- Where do you belong to? Is there anything you would like to change about the place you belong to?
This is an interesting question. When I allow the inner child to reply, his answer is…nowhere. The story of my life is paved with mistakes and misdeeds. I have not always been a good man. I have never felt as if I belong anywhere or to anyone. Another way to put it is that I don’t feel I deserve to belong anywhere or with anyone. Even that truth evolved over the years. First, it was a matter of self-image. Of my esteem. Then it grew out of emotional and spiritual survival. I realized a place means nothing, or should I say, I mean nothing without someone to love and die for. More important, where and whom we belong to only matters when we are willing to live, to truly live, for someone else. I carry no possessions other than the love of my wife and two daughters. Everything else is just stuff that does not matter.
When I delve deep into what it means to belong, I don’t think of where anymore. My sense of belonging is tied to the love and security of my family. I am extricably linked to the happiness and welfare of my children, and the smile of my wife. The state of their being dictates the level of my joy and the depth of my life’s purpose. I can be traveling to the basecamp of Everest or completing a 1000-kilometer pilgrimage in Spain, but as long as my children live in joy, and my wife beams with pride and love when I send her an I love you text, my life has meaning.
I would change nothing about the place or people I belong to.
2. What sets your soul on fire?
My family. My friends. A touch from my wife. Reading Seneca or Foucalt. Or any philosopher. Writing a poem that breaks hearts, heals them too, and causes the masses to tear down statues. My writing is not that good, but in my dreams I am that poet. I have read poetry that set my heart on fire. Mary Oliver. Yeats. Heaney. Lanston Hughes. Terrance Hayes. Gwendolyn Brooks. They set my soul on fire. And a dozen other writers on Medium as well. Travel changed me. I travel to see the magic of the world. That particular brand of sorcery is called people.
3. Which one is your favorite family memory and why?
I was 11 years old. My family and I were living in Iceland at time. It was two days before Christmas. My father was in the Air Force, which meant we traveled a lot. We lived on a military base most of my childhood.
At the time home was not a sanctuary. My parents believed in their lives more than the dreams of their four children. The level of abuse came short of being chained to a toilet and told to drink from it. The children were gladiator puppets in my mother’s Coliseum we called the living room.
Growing up there was no sense of permanence, whether in a location or love from a parent. I could not go to my brothers or sister either. They were trying to survive themselves.
That day I was walking around in the dark. Trying to find any reason not to go home. The cold would not deter me. During the winter, the sun sets early in Iceland. Around 3 or 4 pm if I remember right. It was snowing and up until that moment, I had never seen a white Christmas. Iceland was the first place I felt the fluff of white sky melt on my tongue.
Snowflakes fell slow. Each one dropped with a careful rhythm and danced in unison with a million other partners. I stood there wearing a green parka two sizes too big for my skinny body. My mouth popped open. My eyes even wider. The snowflakes twirled and flicked and bounced around me. With a silent invitation, I joined the dance. It must have been something to see. Boy and snow moving in slow step with other.
A second felt like a day. Minutes were years and decades. Lifetimes passed as I careened and moved between the snow. For a moment, or was it a century, I was old and young. The Earth was my mother and my brothers rode the wind. My father was the sun and he was asleep. In that instant I belonged. I had a connection. I was smaller than the universe, and yet, I was part of something bigger than myself. It was the first time I remember being happy. Though no one shared the moment with me, it was also the first time I remember not feeling alone.
The spell was broken when I heard my older brother call out my name.
4. Is there anyone in your life you could give your life for? If yes, why?
My wife and two daughters. I would die for them. That is the obvious answer. It a very Hollywood movie sort of answer. Everyone I know would die for someone. The question no one asks: who would you live for? By living, I do not mean to breathe and continue existing. How would your life make that person better? How would you change their world? Dying is a one-time act. It is the ultimate expression of love. But so is living…when done right. Some days, the Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. comes to mind. His life made us better. His death accomplished nothing. We still have not changed. There have been too many George Floyds.
I would give my life for my family and friends. They are my world, my breath, the reason I exist. But I also live for them. My prayer every morning is that I can make their lives better in some way.
5. Do you pour love into self from time to time?
The demarcation of who I was years ago and the man I am now is a reflection of the self love and loathing I pour into my life every day. Once I was a selfish man. I was prone to silly temper tantrums, chasing women, walking over the homeless man on the way to the bar, and living a storied life made of lies. Then one day, I met a woman who whispered in my ear I love you. I see the real you. Somehow, I understood to be worthy of that sort of love I had to stop seeing beyond my wants and midnight escapades. I began to loathe the man in the mirror. But that wasn’t what she wanted either. To be worthy of any sort of love, I had to learn to forgive the sin and love the sinner.
This is a very long answer to a question that deserved a short one. Yes, I do. This exercise you gave me is an exercise in self love. In some ways, writing depicts the evolution of self-loathing. It grows from anger and disgust to an understanding of worthiness. Writing is pouring love into one’s self. Other than writing and spending time with my family, another way I show self-love is reading. I read over 200 books a year.
6. How often you observe the people near you?
I love watching people. The why and how of people, of our species, are two of the world’s greatest mysteries. I love to sit in coffee shops around the world watching men and women standing in line for their morning coffee. I try to understand the why’s of the their life, and how they go about to that purpose. Sometimes, if I’m lucky, I learn who they are and who they are not. Our lives defined as much by who we are not as who we are. Every once in a while, the people I met helps me discover my own understanding of the world.
Once, I was in a nowhere town in Spain. It was six in the morning and I was drinking cafe con leche with a crazy German. This man knew what he was about. More important, he understood his why. At the same table sat a woman from Moldova. I called her the Little Buddha. Her soul is that old. That five minute conversation grew into friendships that spanned countries and continents. Do I watch people? Yes, I do. In their stories lie the answers to my questions.
7. Why do you hope for? Does it change something within you or around you?
I hope my daughter will never get cancer again. It is a silly hope, but I drop to my knees every night and pray for it.
The definition of my life changed when a brain tumor wrapped in and out of my 4 month old daughter’s brainstem. If you know me then your life has been changed by that one silly hope. It is silly because she will get cancer again. I hope, again, it will wait until she is 102 years old. I hope. And pray.
8. How does it feel like being a woman to you?
I cannot answer this question. I am not woman. And I will not mansplain how a woman feels to another woman. I am not that smart or have the courage to tell any woman how to feel. When I am in a room full of women, I understand I have been given a blessing and should keep my mouth shut. I learn more that way.
So, I will change the question. How would you hope a woman feels being around you?
The most important people in my life are women. My cats are female. Estrogen rules my house. The best and strongest people I know are women. I am okay with that reality.
I hope the three women in my life, or any woman for that matter, know they have the power to be their best selves. They do not need me, or anyone, to justify or make their lives great. Each woman is powerful enough to make that happen. My job is to get out of their way as they change the world.
On Medium, the poets that inspire me the most are women. Their poetry is fearless and powerful. These women are are badasses. I am awed by their use of the language. The rhythm, flow, and power of their poems astounds me. Follow them.
R Tsambounieri Talarantas, Gabriela Rosales, Amy Marley, Gurpreet Dhariwal
9. What you would like us to remember you for?
Once I believed a legacy was important. I wanted to be known for the deals I closed, the cars I owned, the women I loved, the books I wrote, and the people who followed me. That belief led to an overblown sense of self. It painted a picture of a man insecure in his place and sense of belonging. Nothing I did, will do, or words I say will be remembered 1000 years from now. When I tend towards pettiness, a quote from Buddha comes to mind.
Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.
How I am remembered, my legacy, is not my intention or end game any longer. My focus extends beyond my selfish needs and complaints. What matters is if I am compassionate today. What is important is if I do something, large or small, this day, to end or partially ease the suffering in another person. Thinking about how I will be remembered is silly and a bit conceited. I think about that question the same number of times my cats think of me as an equal. Not at all.
10. How would you describe your life?
I am a simple man who reads too much, but can never love his wife, children, and friends enough.
11. What keeps you on your toes and how do you like to spend your time?
My girls keep me on my toes. They are amazing women, hellbent on changing the world. I am in constant awe of them.
I like to read philosophy. I find joy in discovering new (or new to me) poets. My wife says I exercise too much and my cats dominate my house. I love traveling with my wife, traveling by myself, going on long hikes (100+ km), sitting in the park and doing nothing. And writing. I like to write, though I don’t share most of what I scribble down.
12. When life gives you lemon what do you make out of it?
I make lemon tarts. Literally.
A good friend told me a career is in the telling. So is a good life.
13. What mystery of life you would like to have an answer for?
I have two mysteries I want answers to.
First: The corpse flower. Why?
Second: Did I do enough?
14. How were you different five years ago from what you are today?
Last year I met a brilliant woman in Spain. Natalia is her name. My nickname for her was Little Buddha. We were both walking the Camino de Santiago, the Via de la Plata route. It is a 1000 km hike. The Crazy German walked with us. On our second day walking through Spain, Natalia asked me a very serious question:
Who are you?
I told her, I am Michael.
Natalia shook her head and said, “No, no. You are not Michael. Who are you? The real you.” She wanted an esoteric answer to what she perceived to be an existential question.
I looked at her and said, “Little Buddha, everything I was, am, and ever will be is encapsulated in those three words. I am Michael.” It took the entire walk for the Little Buddha to understand what I meant. Her last words to me were I am Natalia.
I am grayer, older, a touch more wrinkled, and not as stupid as I was. I hope I am kinder, patient, and more aware that life is short.
If there is a huge difference between the person I am now and the person I was 5 years ago, it is my level of gratitude. I wake up in awe I am alive. I am blessed with a beautiful wife and amazing children who grew into unbelievable women. I am grateful for each moment. Other than that, I am still Michael.
15. What would you like to leave as your legacy? Is there any message you would like to communicate to us?
My response to question 9 answers the first part of this one.
Each one of us is broken in some way or another. We are damaged goods. But that’s the beauty of it. You and me, we get to play creators. Every day is an opportunity to create a new us. The present another chance to change the world, to be happy, to jump into joy, and start over.
I cannot change how my life began. My parents were who they were. My daughter lived with cancer twice. I cannot change what the world gives me, but I decide what kind of man I will be. I determine who I will be today and how I will live up to my tomorrows. I will not allow the words or deeds of another person, good or bad, to dictate the language of my soul.
Thank you, Gurpreet Dhariwal, for giving me the opportunity to share my story.
Michael Ritoch is a Father and husband first. A thinker, writer, and sometime poet. Leadership and philosophy are my passions. — https://www.linkedin.com/in/michaelritoch/