it beckons. the moon, no matter, will seek you out. it has no agenda but to light your way. it has no preconceived notion, no prejudice. it is out there for all, for anyone who looks up. it offers stability to this good earth’s axis, regularity to the tide, illumination to the inky sky.
the moon’s romantic presence is the stuff of wishes and the pronouncement of love all the way to it and back. its moonline will find you, wherever you roam. always, always, it appears to light a path directly to you. each of us must be equally as important, then, for the moon shines for and to each of us. a gleaming line, luminous, brilliantly reaching to us. reminding us that no matter, on this big beautiful earth, we are all under the same dark sky, the same unlimited galaxy of stars, the same moon. we are closer to each other than we think and we all have even – at very least – these few things in common. how reassuring to know that we all, despite where we are, stand on different ground but gaze at the very same moon.
were the divine-in-all-the-universe to have a living room and be gazing out the window, i suspect the divine-in-all-the-universe would say, “i see the full moon out my window and in it, you.”
i sleepily rub the dreams from my eyes. coffee helps. and the snowy world outside comes into focus. no longer immersed in the land of nod, all things rush back: the casts, the worries, work task lists, bills to pay, the world around us. before i peruse the news and the weather, though, i mind’s-eye blow my children a kiss and wish them good days, i hug the dog and the cat lying by my side, i thank sweet d for the coffee with the ernie straw. it all starts. the day has begun.
this past week has been extraordinary in so many ways; more on that another time. i’m buoyed by a hopeful spirit, by connecting with people, by sheer love and the sureness-of-foot taking one step at a time, moving forward; the tide is predictable – it ebbs; it flows. i am wide awake now, thinking.
“we should be wide awake.” yes. for all things. we should have our eyes open. we should monitor our response to the positive, the negative. we should be mindful. just as worry pervades our time, so does hope. we need lead with kindness. we need remember we are sharing this good earth with a hard-to-fathom 7.6 billion or so other souls. we can’t avoid the reality that the narrative we each individually choose must be deliberately and painstakingly vetted with the truth, with awareness, with sensitivity, with fairness. not sleepily, not uninterested-in-all-but-the-reactionary-anger-dramatics, not without due diligence. we must guard against the bandwagon of lackadaisical; we must avoid the geared-down rhetoric of hatred. we are human beings and we have a responsibility.
just as certain as the tide, it is predictable that the two factions in any division will aggressively forward their agendas. it is up to each of us to stay informed, to discern, to ask questions, to speak up, to make intelligent, educated choices based on civility, impartiality and honesty, equality, democracy and freedom. no matter the venue, no matter the place of division.
to be wide awake.
woke: increasingly used as a byword for social awareness.
“when we choose to be parents, we accept another human being as part of ourselves, and a large part of our emotional selves will stay with that person as long as we live. from that time on there will be another person on this earth whose orbit around us will affect us as surely as the moon affects the tides, and affect us in some ways more deeply than anyone else can. our children are extensions of ourselves.” (mr. fred rogers)
i simply cannot think of a more succinct way to say this but for the words of mr. rogers.
forever changed, i am sensitive to every little thing my even-as-grown-ups-children are experiencing, celebrating, enduring, adventuring, loving, suffering, yearning for, achieving. i feel their joy as my joy, their sadness as my sadness.
parenthood, a profound honor, in all its diamond-facets is no small feat. the vexing complexities, the moments of sheer joy, the heart-wrenching worry, the holding-on-letting-go-ness, the unconditional love. all of it.
like the moon, their tide surely affects my tide. and i would have it no other way.
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not being a real true climber, i’m not sure if the above statement is really true. what about the “hit. climb. hit. climb.” of ice-picking your way up? what about crampons? what about ropes and aluminum ladders perched against the icy pitch?
i do, however, know this quote has good intentions.
we are hikers. trekkers. i/we have never used a rope or crampons or ladders or ice picks to get from point a to point b. and watching a mountainload of everest and k2 videos, documentaries and movies hardly makes us experts in the area of climbing. we are not even novices.
but, in terms of the metaphor of this quote, i can relate.
surely, climbing a mountain with nothing to grip onto would be nearly impossible. all organic. all analog. i’m sure alex honnold would agree that if there is nothing at all to hold, with either his hand or his foot, that would make free-climbing such a face a feat of the imagination. there has to be something. some overlap. some crevice. some tiny blip of rock. something.
so. enter the rough. or, in the case of the metaphoric quote, rough times. how would we ever get to the top without them? would we actually recognize the top? would we appreciate the top? would we scale the uphill were it smooth? could we?
or did some smart-ass mountaineer quote this just to mess with us?
clearly, the men and women who have climbed everest with all its personality traits, its twists and turns, its icefalls and crevasses, its sharp ridges and its deep snow have dealt with all of it. they have not turned away as it was too smooth. they have not turned away as it was too rough. they have persisted.
and maybe that there is the point. despite the rough, the smooth, the easy, the hard, the oxygenated, the death zone, the chilling cold, the sun heating the seracs, the avalanches, the perilous altitudinal affects, the glorious summit stands ready.
the mountaintop. it’s there for anyone who just keeps on going. through it all.
it doesn’t matter that they aren’t now attached to doors. a display of doorknobs, all lined up at an antique shoppe, beg you to wonder what doors they opened. what old house was it that had all its doorknobs changed? are the doors still there? these knobs removed; knobs that likely welcomed sticky toddler fingers, trembling arthritic hands, dutifully, solidly a part of history. what new hardware has replaced these knobs that had countless hands turning, opening, passing through?
the joy of having an old house is just that – the history of what has gone before you. how many times was this closet door opened? how many people passed through the front door? how many times did someone come home and walk in, close the back door and sigh?
we cannot think of doorknobs without thinking of doors. we have 22 doors in our old house, a few less than when we bought it, and not counting cabinetry. we have extra doors in the basement. beautiful solid six panel doors, some sporting their knobs, some knob-naked.
i think about the rooms of this home that they all have led to, these doors, the conversations that took place in those rooms. the babies, the plans, the family elders. the hugs and cherished moments, the arguments, the worry, the celebrations, each room a time capsule of lives lived in this very place. doors in, doors out. how much did a hand hesitate to open or close the door?
the metaphor is obvious – doorknobs and doors. the old and wise adage – “when one door closes, another opens.” the words sometimes seem like hollow reassurance. and i look up the adage and realize that there is more to this and is quoted by alexander graham bell, “when one door closes, another opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us.”
the patina of the knobs shows wear. hands, hands, grasping and turning, opening. each door an invitation to the next moment, whatever that moment might be. choosing a door, choosing to walk in. standing. waiting. hesitating. we often wonder about the doors. maybe paralyzed with indecision, with grief, with confusion, we often pine after a door. we are often blind.
those doorknobs. if only they could speak. the stories they could tell, the lessons we could learn.
recently i heard someone say that she was glad her parents weren’t here to see what is happening. i would have to agree. my sweet momma and my poppo would be appalled by today’s incessant and prevailing lack of decency. it’s embarrassing and mind-numbing to witness. this is not just a simple lack of kindness for others; these are displays of a complete lack of regard for the sanctity of human life, the privilege of living together on this good earth.
i am relieved that my children are grown so that i don’t have to explain to them the ugliness that is pervasive, accepted, even overtly encouraged. name-calling, lying, undermining, blatant cruelness aimed at others; egregious acts aimed at those less fortunate, elitist prejudices and judgements loaded into automatic weapons spewing vitriol at others, vindictiveness toward people who have a different opinion, who stand up for something different, who live different lives, who are courageous and whose bravery shows up in truth-telling.
we find that this is not just poisoning the outer limits – the circles we don’t belong to, the social or financial ladder-rung we have not reached, the country we belong to but the government by which we are not employed.
no. this sinister lack of decency has reached its slimy tentacles into our communities, our work, our friends, our families, our homes. people, who we would not expect, displaying reactionary anger – jousting their epee of mean-spirited words at the unsuspecting, stepping over the boundaries of democratic principles, over the clearly-now-elusive stopgaps of doing-what’s-right, over the limit of how-i-would-want-you-to-talk-to-me-is-how-i-will-talk-to-you or how-i-would-want-you-to-treat-me-is-how-i-will-treat-you. there is no conversation. there is righteous indignation, cavalier disrespect, face-down-i’m-not-listening-to-you body language. there is anger. there is hate.
and, instead of being struck down by an army of goodness, a wealth of kindness, even a modicum of fairness, this indecency has become normalized and it seems rewarded. whether outwardly applauding or quietly complicit, the indecency is forwarded on. and the tentacles of this corrosive nastiness, unchecked, reach both inward and outward into the concentric circles surrounding each of us; the incivility is a contagion and it wins.
“i shall pass this way but once. any good that i can do, any kindness i can show to any human being, let me do it now, let me not defer nor neglect, for i shall not pass this way again.” (etienne de grellet)
this saying is tucked into my wallet. it hangs in our kitchen. it was my sweet momma’s favorite and she lived by it like a mantra. she did not procrastinate kindness until it was convenient; she lived it.
we pass the deer tracks at bristol woods. often we are first after the deer. i wonder what they are like as they pass each other, as their paths converge and diverge.
we were watching out the window. a balmy 35 degree chicago late afternoon and we were waiting for The Boy to get home from work. the bus went by touting an ad for one of the universities. “you be you,” it read.
i personally cannot think of two people more dedicated to being themselves than my children so this post is in honor of their fierce ‘being you-ness’. it is celebrating their ever-continuing search for who that is and their ability to both stand in and walk through the fire of growth. it is lifting up their spirits of adventure and knowledge of what’s important. it is acknowledging that they often walk outside what would be comfortable or secure for others, confident that they are finding their way in the space beyond the edges. it is reveling in their zeal. i am infinitely proud of them. my beloved children.
too old. too young. too busy. too tired. too apolitical. too rabid. too conservative. too liberal. too artistic. too left-brained. too analytical. too kinesthetic. too emotional. too opinionated. too apathetic. too uneducated. too educated. too poor. too rich. too believing. too agnostic. too manipulated. too manipulative. too confident. too tentative. too work-engrossed. too free. too lofty. too basic. too orthodox. too unconventional. too open. too closed. too rigid. too fluid. too not-from-here. too down-home. too much. too little. too far-reaching. too little impact. too intentional. too haphazard. too unknown. too anticipated. too cavalier. too afraid.
d’s master’s degree embraces the organization of whole systems; when i recently read this it felt like everything he has said in a nutshell (and i, not being a nutshell person, embraced this nutshell with the glee of change). here is what i read about systems theory:
‘our family systems. our work systems. our neighborhood and community systems.’ our country. our world. the system reeling inside ourselves.
too trouble-making. too resistant. too dysfunctional. all good reasons for a system not to be too chicken to change.
life. too short. too fleeting. too few golden opportunities to learn. too few possibilities to stand tall and face down adversity. too few windows to be kind. too few chances to say ‘i love you’. too many people to laugh with. too many places to see. too many moments to miss.
all good reasons for us to be “not too chicken to change”.
we are watching. two lovely young women, the daughters of dear friends, will be married this year. we will be attending each of these weddings. i will have the honor of playing at them. they are excited, immersed in the details of their ceremonies and their receptions, the times that people will gather around them and celebrate their joining of lives, of families. it is a time of immense joy for them and it’s certainly fun to be included, hearing about gowns and venues, songs and vows. they are amazed at how quickly these days are approaching. it’s that life thing. it keeps moving. faster and faster.
when my niece got married on the beach, she had her dj play instrumentals of mine as her bridal party, including me, walked across the sand. but a couple weeks ahead, when we were talking about all the tiniest details, she asked if maybe, just maybe, i could write her and her husband-to-be a song, something that would be solely hers as she walked toward him over the warm beach, bright sun low in the sky.
this is the song i wrote for them. no time to run to nashville or even chicago, i ran to a studio in town and quickly recorded it, just piano and voice, nothing fancy. i was moved to hear it broadcast over the sound of waves, watching as she walked into a new chapter of her life, directly to her best friend. and now, there’s so much more. life keeps going.
i wore a pink dress with puffy sleeves (yes, shockingly, a color) for my other sweet niece’s wedding. twice as long ago, i was touched at being included. i have watched her grow (she’s amazing!) and have watched as she and her husband have built a home together and lovingly raised their two boys. life. keeps moving on.
i recently heard from a nephew of mine after a pretty long time of silence. he sent a picture of he and his husband together and i was thrilled to see him looking so content, so in-his-life. it keeps moving.
we are at the age when many friends’ children are marrying. each time we attend a wedding or send off a gift we watch as two people decide to be together, through thick and thin. we wish them more of the best than the challenges, but we know that the challenges are also the glue.
each story is not as simple as it sounds. we know that. moving in together, whether post-wedding or no wedding at all, sharing a sink, worrying about life’s constant worries, dividing up household responsibilities, traversing family dynamics, navigating gigantic decisions, choosing which direction to put the toilet paper on the roller…life as two is both more difficult and less difficult than life as one. and, in the way of how it all works, the time of life both moves in slow motion and flies by.
it helps when you choose it with your best friend.
download the single MY BEST FRIEND on iTUNES or CDBaby
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