Here I go again

I know, right? Whitesnake? I'd like to say otherwise, but this one came from within during my bike ride to work this past week (I'm not finding summertime particularly conducive to blogging this year so I'm slow to get this one posted). The internal jukebox (this song would never have made it through the internal switch from jukebox to ipod so I'm using the old terminology) has been relatively silent lately, though, which makes me especially inclined to figure out what it's trying to say:

No, I don't know where I'm going
But, I sure know where I've been
Hanging on the promises
In songs of yesterday
An' I've made up my mind,
I ain't wasting no more time
Here I go again
Here I go again

I reckon it's more of the same message I talked about a couple of posts back, the one that says: "Hey girl, you know how to be happy, and it isn't by shutting down, going away, or numbing out of fear. It's reaching out, it's leaving space, it's staying open out of love."

So when next I hear Whitesnake reverberating from the inside:

An' I've made up my mind
I ain't wasting no more time

I'll remind myself just what road I've pledged to walk down -- the one that leads to happiness.

Hard to Say I'm Sorry

I was just remarking yesterday that I've now blogged enough songs that I sometimes can't remember which I've used and which I haven't, and today when I was checking to see if I'd already used this song I was surprised to see that I haven't used any Chicago songs at all yet. Man, I used to love this band.

It's true, that was a long time ago, but hearing this song this morning was like turning on a faucet -- as I started to sing, I started to cry. Why, exactly? A couple reasons, I reckon...

1) I sure can relate to this verse:

Everybody needs a little time away
I've heard her say
From each other

Even lovers need a holiday
Far away from each other

And I've needed a fair amount of time away as I've tried to navigate my current love relationship. Or should I say I've taken a fair amount of time away? Although it often feels like the simplest way to handle difficulty in wading through this post-divorce love affair, I'm starting to feel like it's mostly counterproductive, and maybe even a little damaging to both the one I love and the love I'm trying to cultivate. Which leads me to my feelings of regret about that, eloquently expressed in this verse:

Hold me now
It's hard for me to say I'm sorry
I just want you to stay
And after all that you've been through
I will make it up to you
I promise you, baby

And after all thats been said and done
You're just the part of me I can't let go

Couldn't stand to be kept away
Not for a day
From your body
Wouldn't want to be swept away
Far away from the one that I love

Hold me now
It's hard for me to say I'm sorry
I just want you to know
Hold me now
I really want to tell you I'm sorry
I could never let you go

2) I think the second reason is related to being confronted once again with something that I know is a good thing overall but can also be pretty messy, especially where the kids are concerned, and that is the fact that my babydaddy and I just weren't the parts of each other we couldn't let go. We thought we were, and we tried to be, but ultimately, we just weren't.

Nope:

And after all that's been said and done
You're just a part of me I can't let go

Let go I did. And I know we're all going to get to a place where on balance, that's a good thing. We might even be there now...

Somebody that I Used to Know

This song seems to be getting a lot of air time these days, both inside my own head and on the radio. I became aware of it a couple of months ago when my love sent me this amazing cover by Walk Off the Earth in which a guitar and five people manage to have something akin to a whole band. Totally worth checking them out.

Whenever I hear it, it reminds me of what I do not want: for someone I love so dearly to become a stranger. And in the wake of hearing that he might not be able to continue to live here, although I wasn't that extreme, I definitely pulled away emotionally, and we started to seem more like strangers than two people who knew each other so intimately:

Now and then I think of when we were together
Like when you said you felt so happy you could die
I told myself that you were right for me
But felt so lonely in your company
But that was love and it's an ache I still remember

You can get addicted to a certain kinda sadness
Like resignation to the end, always the end
So when we found that we could not make sense
Well you said that we would still be friends
But I'll admit that I was glad that it was over

But you didn't have to cut me off
Make it like it never happened and that we were nothing
I don't even need your love, but you treat me like a stranger
And that feels so rough

It did feel really rough, and I got a series of messages that maybe that wasn't the way to go. The most eloquent message came in the form of a Ted Talk by Brene Brown on vulnerability. It is also totally worth checking out, but I can tell you what struck the loudest chord with me: the idea that there are two kinds of people in the world, people who know that they are worthy of love and belonging and are thus capable of behaving in vulnerable ways and those who do not and are not. She gave the example of loving someone when you don't know what the outcome would be, and I realized that although my childhood placed me firmly in the camp of those who do not know they are worthy and thus continually refuse to be vulnerable, after all this healing work I've done I realize that I now have the power to place myself in the other camp. And that means allowing myself to remain vulnerable and open even in the face of some pretty massive uncertainty about the future of my relationship with my current love.

Postscript in honor of my non-iversary today: When my husband and I were going through the divorce, someone said to me that I was lucky to have kids with my ex-husband because it meant that we would always be in touch with each other. He told me how sad he was that his second wife, whom he had loved dearly, was not interested in remaining in contact. At that time, overwhelmed with all that I had to deal with in order to find my way to a (mostly) peaceful coparenting relationship with my ex, I thought that sounded crazy. The idea of being able to walk away and wash my hands of what was undoubtedly up to that point the most significant love relationship I'd had seemed so much easier.

But now I understand what he was saying, and although it seems my ex-husband and I have both since found love that extends beyond the capacity of our particular partnership together, I feel profoundly grateful for the children we created together and continue to love and support. Apart, but together. And not as strangers.

We are Young

My kids and I heard this song in the car the other day and before we knew it, all three of us were singing along:

Tonight
We are young
So let’s set the world on fire
We can burn brighter than the sun

It is super rare for all three of us to like the same song, and I, for one, appreciate not just the sound of this anthem but also the sentiment: we can burn brighter. And I feel like we have been lately. Maybe it's the increased sense of presence I feel during this cleanse, I'm not sure, but I'm liking it.

Reading these lyrics, I can't help but appreciate another, more literal sentiment, and the fond memories it brings up of when I was considerably younger:

So if by the time the bar closes
And you feel like falling down
I’ll carry you home tonight

Yes, it's true. When I was a freshman in college I carried my friend's little brother (who wasn't little at all -- 6'1" 180 pounds) home on my back from frat row because he was drunk and said he was too tired to walk. I'd had a few myself, which was why I didn't feel the pain from that heavy load until the next day. Couldn't move around much for a couple of days, but it was well worth it for the fame I enjoyed as "the coolest girl" my friend's little brother had ever met.

Help!

Yesterday my daughter and I had quite an adventure. Her Dad dropped her off shortly before her soccer game started, but she still wanted to bike, and I was game because I thought it was at a school just a couple of miles away. When we arrived at the field, already 10 minutes late, no one was there. I quickly called to find out which field it was, and when I realized it was even further west, I decided our best bet was to bike there.

That was a miscalculation.

Fast forward 28 minutes -- I have bike grease all over my leg, she is crying -- I see a clock and realize there is no way we will be there before the game is over if we keep riding.

I decide we need help:

Help, I need somebody,

Help, not just anybody,

Help, you know I need someone,

Help!

I make a couple of desperate phone calls while riding but neither person picks up. Right after crossing an intersection, I decide to ask someone for a ride. I use my intuition to pick some nice people and explain the situation to them. They agree to drive us to the soccer field, so I lock up our bikes while my daughter tries to take in what is happening. "I'm not getting in that car," she said:

When I was younger, so much younger than today,
I never needed anybody's help in anyway.
But now these days are gone, I'm not so self assured,
Now I find I've changed my mind, I've opened up the doors.

"Ok," I say, "but then you're not going to make it to your soccer game either." So she gets in, we get delivered safely to the game, the coach puts her in, and not even two minutes later, she scores a goal and I'm redeemed. 

Another parent pointed out how we teach our kids so much about not talking to strangers, but sometimes, they can be the ones to help! when you need it most.