Who I Am

Hi, I’m Robert—though you can call me B.R.
Storyteller. Mischief-maker. Reluctant Rock-Hauler.

I created Empathy on the Rocks to share the kind of stories that don’t just pass through—they linger. They stain the memory like red wine on linen. They’re jagged with humor, softened by love, and stitched together with a stubborn thread of justice that refuses to unravel.

I was raised on a farm just outside Carlinville, Illinois—a place where corn grew tall, expectations even taller, and my destiny was supposed to involve tractors, not taglines. Spoiler alert: I was never meant to plow anything but emotional terrain. The early plan was ministry, but once I realized I was gay, I figured the pulpit wasn’t exactly rolling out the rainbow welcome mat. So I pivoted—hard.

Cue a thirty-five-year career in education: teacher, counselor, principal, assistant superintendent. I wore every hat except lunch lady, and even then I had opinions about the tater tots. After retiring, I dove into health care, because apparently I enjoy chaos with a side of compassion. And just when I thought I’d earned my exit music, I took a final bow as a lead trainer for cruise line port agents. Yes, I’ve taught people how to wrangle luggage and lost tourists with flair.

Now? I kick back with my laptop, a cocktail, and a head full of stories. I spend my days reflecting, rewriting, and reveling in the absurd beauty of it all. Michael—my husband, co-conspirator, and fellow frequent flyer—and I travel as much as our calendars and knees allow. We feast, we laugh, we gather. Life is good. Not perfect, not polished—but deeply, defiantly good.

And that’s what Empathy on the Rocks is all about. It’s a place for the beautifully broken, the gloriously odd, and the unapologetically real. It’s where casseroles meet protest signs, where grief gets a punchline, and where every story—no matter how messy—deserves to be told with heart, humor, and a splash of something strong.

Why This Exists

The idea for this blog was born in the emotional fallout of the 2024 election. Like many, I was equal parts disappointed, enraged, and existentially hungover. Instead of letting MSNBC melt my eyeballs, I grabbed a pen (or keyboard) and started writing.

At first, it was survival. Then, it became joy.
Some of the stories here are true to the letter, others are “emotionally accurate but factually flexible” (a family specialty). All of them are stitched together from real feelings, lived experience, and the occasional exaggeration that makes the truth easier to swallow.

What You’ll Find Here

Think of this blog as my open journal, my pocketful of stones, and my invitation to wander the rocky trails of being human. And every now and then, we’ll skip a stone across the surface—because even the heaviest truths deserve a moment of lightness.


Expect:

  • Stories that carve deep

  • Sass that soothes like river stone pebbles

  • Honesty that shows up raw, sharp, and unapologetically real

  • Reflections that connect and challenge

  • A little mischief, a lot of meaning, and zero filters

This isn’t a place for polished perfection. It’s a place for messy humanity—the kind we all carry and the kind that binds us together.

Why I Write

I write because empathy isn’t soft—it’s strong.
I write because laughter and grief often hold hands.
I write to connect, to question, to rebel against despair, and to remind myself (and maybe you) that we’re not alone in this wild, beautiful mess called being human.

Pull Up a Stool

You’re welcome here anytime. Seriously. Whether you’re carrying a boulder of grief, skipping pebbles of joy, or just sitting with the jagged edges of a day that didn’t go as planned—this is your place. Set your stones down. Stack them, sort them, chuck one if you need to.

Feel free to make a comment—because the best stories deserve a little back-and-forth, a few shared rocks, and maybe a smooth one to pocket for luck.

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