Who I am.

I write about the landscape of grief, nature, and the wisdom of fools. The author of four books, my essays, poems, and reviews have been published in over 50 journals, including in the Huffington Post and Colorado Review. I’ve won the River Teeth Nonfiction Book Award, the Chautauqua and Literal Latte’s essay prizes, and my work has been nominated for four Pushcart Prizes and named a notable by Best American Essays. My account of hiking in Yosemite to deal with my wife’s death, Mountains of Light, was published by the University of Nebraska Press. http://www.markliebenow.com.

Showing posts with label Divorce. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Divorce. Show all posts

Wednesday, October 3, 2018

Breaking Point

Sharing our grief is hard, no matter the cause. It could be the death of a parent, spouse, pet, or child. The death of a long-term, committed relationship can be just as devastating.

It’s made more difficult when we are sharing with someone who has never experienced a severe loss. We are trying to describe what’s going on inside, and there is nothing physical that we can hold up to show them. And if neither of us has grieved before, then we don’t know the landscape we are trying to describe. It’s like being dropped in a foreign land and trying to describe it to someone over the phone.

Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Riding Shotgun With Grief


Exploring Your Grief


Many of us go into nature to unwind and be refreshed. Some of us go into the wilderness to work our way through a problem that befuddles us at home. Yet when we try to talk to others about what we are discovering in nature, or how our experiences there are transforming us, we find it hard to express this in words.

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Head and Heart Living





Some men, perhaps most, operate out of their heads first, and then, eventually, from their hearts.  


When a wife dies, men risk losing contact with their hearts. Some put up a wall that blocks grief out and bury themselves in their work. Other men try to think their way through grief, as if it was a logical problem to be solved instead of a process to be worked through. 




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