Apologize

Up early again this morning, I decided to do a guided meditation, and as I looked through the selection in iTunes, my cursor settled over Forgiveness meditation. I didn't have a strong feeling about what needed to be forgiven, but I decided to go with it anyway. Sometimes these meditations are cathartic; sometimes I start to cry the minute he starts talking. This wasn't like that. It was almost as if I kept myself slightly removed from it, because I remember thinking during the meditation about the choice that forgiveness presents us with. We don't have to do it, no one is going to force us to either ask for or extend forgiveness (they could try, but since it has to come from the heart, it can't be forced). But we can choose it. For ourselves.

Almost immediately after the guided meditation ended, I heard, in my head, these lyrics:

It's too late to apologize, it's too late

I said it's too late to apologize, it's too late

Which I found really interesting, because the introduction to the meditation specifically says that it is never too late, as he puts it, to do the work of the heart: forgiveness. But it is work:

I'm holding on your rope
Got me ten feet off the ground
And I'm hearing what you say
But I just can't make a sound

You tell me that you need me
Then you go and cut me down, but wait
You tell me that you're sorry
Didn't think I'd turn around and say

That it's too late to apologize, it's too late
I said it's too late to apologize, it's too late

And maybe the reason our culture suggests, in this song and elsewhere, that sometimes it is too late to apologize, is because that's easier -- it lets us off the hook:

I'd take another chance, take a fall
Take a shot for you
And I need you like a heart needs a beat
But that's nothing new, yeah yeah

I loved you with a fire red, now it's turning blue
And you say sorry like the angel
Heaven let me think was you
But I'm afraid

Awww yeah, there it is, in that last lyric. That's what keeps us from forgiving. Fear.

I remember when I first started to consciously work with my fear. Wise people told me two things that have stuck with me, nuggets that continue to guide me today:

One of them is that the antidote to fear is faith. Faith in something, anything, it doesn't have to be God. For me it is faith in goodness. Faith in the power of love. Faith in the force.

And the other is that we only ever operate from two basic places: fear and love. When we choose one, whether consciously or not, we block the other. I often ask myself, especially when I feel myself harden, "am I operating from fear or am I operating from love?"

Because operating consciously, I'll always choose love...

I Dreamed a Dream

I woke up before my alarm today, which I reckon is a good sign. The last few days I've been feeling like I'm fighting off some germs, but I think I've finally managed to beat it.

I also woke up with a song in my head, which is an even better sign. And though I don't often do this, this morning I found myself giving voice to the lyrics in my head, lyrics from (one of) the greatest musical(s) of all time:

I dreamed a dream in time gone by
When hope was high
And life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving
Then I was young and unafraid
And dreams were made and used and wasted
There was no ransom to be paid
No song unsung, no wine untasted

What an incredible song. I'm not an actress blessed with an incredible voice, like Lea Salonga, Ruthie Henshall, or Anne Hathaway. And I'm not a big British woman with a big voice like Susan Boyle, part of which I am grateful. But it is important to belt out a song every so often, no matter the sound, and I'm going to try to unleash mine more often going forward.

I'm also grateful that I know that love never dies, and I know God is forgiving. And although I've experienced the tigers coming at night:

But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
As they turn your dream to shame

I've also been fortunate to heal those wounds, release that shame and regain that hope. And like Fantine in the play/movie, I've had the good fortune to experience the endless wonder of a great love, and the dream of such a love sticking around is still very much alive for me:

He slept a summer by my side
He filled my days with endless wonder
He took my childhood in his stride
But he was gone when autumn came

And still I dream he'll come to me
That we will live the years together
But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather

The year that I spent in England (91-92), I saw Les Mis in London, and then I saw it again, and I listened to the soundtrack almost constantly. I remember belting out this last verse, in particular:

I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I'm living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed the dream I dreamed.

At that point in my life, though I wasn't at death's door like Fantine is, I was heavy with a sadness I didn't understand and didn't have the strength to look at. (I was also heavy with beer and chips, but that's not unrelated to the sadness.)

I think maybe this song came to me this morning, at least in part, because the dream I'm dreaming now is that I will be able to help others face the tigers and weather the storms that life so often brings, allowing them to replace that fear with both the dream and the endless wonder of a great love...

Believe

Many things about this song bug me, but I have to admit that it was well-placed in an episode of Brothers and Sisters (my new Netflix/TV candy) where one of the characters was coping with being newly divorced:

No matter how hard I try
You keep pushing me aside
And I can't break through
There's no talking to you
So sad that you're leaving
Takes time to believe it
But after all is said and done
You're going to be the lonely one, Ohh Oh

Do you believe in life after love
I can feel something inside me say
I really don't think you're strong enough,
Now
Do you believe in life after love
I can feel something inside me say
I really don't think you're strong enough,
Now

Thinking back to that time in my own life, there was a part of me that knew I was strong enough -- otherwise I wouldn't have been able to leave in the first place -- but man, particularly over the holidays those first couple of years, there were definitely times I didn't know whether I could survive:

What am I supposed to do
Sit around and wait for you
And I can't do that
There's no turning back
I need time to move on
I need love to feel strong
'Cause I've had time to think it through
And maybe I'm too good for you Ohh Oh

Over the last few days, with the holidays in full swing again, I've been feeling so much gratitude about getting to a place of peace about my divorce. I'm dedicating this last verse to all those people who are still in search of that peace, or who may not even believe, on some level, that it is possible:

But I know that I'll get through this
'Cause I know that I am strong
I don't need you anymore
Oh I don't need you anymore I don't need you anymore
No I don't need you anymore...

Heroes

Over the last few days, I've spent more time alone than I have in a while, which has been interesting and maybe useful, if not ideal, under the circumstances.

But yesterday after a morning at the climbing gym, my boyfriend and I took in an afternoon flick, The Perks of Being a Wallflower. I was excited to see it because it was being billed as "as good as the best John Hughes in his day" and I was a huge fan of movies like Sixteen Candles and The Breakfast Club.

It didn't disappoint. It was cute, had a great soundtrack, and hit close to home for both my boyfriend and I, for different reasons. It carried a powerful message about connection, and the importance of connection in keeping us sane, especially those of us who have experienced traumatic episodes, whether in childhood or adulthood.

The trauma that Charlie (the movie's hero) experienced as a child was not unlike the trauma that I experienced in my own childhood, the kind of trauma that people get really uncomfortable talking about or even hearing about. And the fear he felt years later when he began having feelings for someone of the opposite sex was hauntingly familiar. Watching him driven almost to the point of madness, I knew on a deeper level than I have before that I had to do something to help kids (and grown-ups) who experienced what Charlie and I experienced.

The only problem is, I'm not sure how. I've thought about (and started) writing a book, and I've thought about seeing people for private yoga sessions and helping them that way, but I'm not sure how I advertise or look for victims of sexual abuse who want help with healing and letting go. So I'm putting it out there here, in the blogosphere, and setting the intention that in some way, my writing and work with others will accomplish the lofty goal expressed in the last two lines of this fabulous song:

I
I will be king
And you
You will be queen
Though nothing will
Drive them away
We can beat them
Just for one day
We can be Heroes
Just for one day

And you
You can be mean
And I
I'll drink all the time
'Cause we're lovers
And that is a fact
Yes we're lovers
And that is that

Though nothing
Will keep us together
We could steal time
Just for one day
We can be Heroes
For ever and ever
What d'you say

I
I wish you could swim
Like the dolphins
Like dolphins can swim
Though nothing
Will keep us together
We can beat them
For ever and ever
Oh we can be Heroes
Just for one day

I
I will be king
And you
You will be queen
Though nothing
Will drive them away
We can be Heroes
Just for one day
We can be us
Just for one day

I
I can remember
Standing
By the wall
And the guns
Shot above our heads
And we kissed
As though nothing could fall
And the shame
Was on the other side
Oh we can beat them
For ever and ever
Then we can be Heroes
Just for one day

We can be Heroes
We can be Heroes
We can be Heroes
Just for one day
We can be Heroes
We're nothing
And nothing will help us
Maybe we're lying
Then you better not stay
But we could be safer
Just for one day

Landlocked blues

On this morning of thanksgiving, I am grateful for a lot of things -- my children, friends and family -- and I'm also grateful for this blog. Because it's times like this, when I feel overall pretty solid, but things aren't quite going the way I thought they'd go, or hoped they'd go, that music and writing are such a powerful balm for my spirit.

Up early this morning, I decided to put the ipod on shuffle and see what came up. And it was this sweetly sad song that most got under my skin:

If you walk away, I’ll walk away

First tell me which road you will take

I don’t want to risk our paths crossing some day

So you walk that way, I’ll walk this way

You see, last night, instead of having a pre-thanksgiving evening out with my man as planned, I ended up coming home alone after yoga. After getting some sleep, I'm trying to sort through the series of misunderstandings and emotional triggers on both of our ends that led to us walking away from each other last night, and I don't entirely get it, but I think this verse provides some insight:

A good woman will pick you apart

A box full of suggestions for your possible heart

But you may be offended and you may be afraid

But don’t walk away, don’t walk away

I sure hope he doesn't walk away for too long, and if he does, I hope he comes back with a clearer picture of what he wants and needs. It's hard for me to worry too much about it, because I've worked so damn hard to get to a place where I can hear my body and my heart and trust what they are telling me. And they're telling me to keep loving him, keep reflecting back his inherent goodness, and have faith that a love this powerful and this good can't be wrong...

Bridge Over Troubled Water

I got the news tonight that the sellers had countered my offer to buy the house I blogged about a few days ago. Their counter requests that I obtain a bridge loan so that I can remove the contingency of the sale of my current home from my offer.

This is the song that came to mind:

When you're weary
Feeling small
When tears are in your eyes
I will dry them all

I'm on your side
When times get rough
And friends just can't be found
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down

Here's hoping that Johnson Bank can be a bridge over the troubled water of trying to buy a bigger house by myself, on one income, cuz this silver girl's ready to sail on by:

Sail on Silver Girl,
Sail on by
Your time has come to shine
All your dreams are on their way

See how they shine
If you need a friend
I'm sailing right behind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind

Time and Time Again

My inner ipod was shuffling on the home theme this afternoon when I found myself singing these lyrics from this tune:

So when are you coming home, sweet angel?

Which is apropos because my boyfriend went to Brown County, Indiana this weekend on a mountain biking and camping trip, and today he's spending the majority of his waking hours driving back while we anxiously await him.

The rest of the song doesn't super fit -- it's kinda depressing and I'm feeling very up. So maybe I'll just close with these road trip like lyrics:

I wish I was travelin' on a freeway

Beneath this graveyard western sky.

I'm gonna set fire to this city

And out in the desert, yeah, we're gonna ride.

Time and time again...

Home

The concept of home has been a recurring theme lately, in more ways than one. I've been contemplating whether to remodel my house or move, because this house just isn't quite enough space for four of us, and it doesn't feel like the right space for me anymore, anyway.

I looked into a basement remodel, but in the last few days I've been leaning toward moving, and today I found what I hope will be our next home. It's absolutely perfect, and I'm going to put in an offer on it tomorrow. My realtor doesn't think my bid will be competitive because it'll be contingent on the sale of my current house, but it sure feels right so I'm going to put it out there and see what happens.

Home is also one of the themes in the book I'm currently reading aloud to my daughter, Homecoming. The last section we read included a scene where one of the characters reads a tombstone that says something basically equating death with coming home. The character didn't appreciate that definition of home, and it didn't work for my daughter and I either.

For me, home is a feeling: a feeling I rarely had in my childhood home; had more of sense of it but still fleetingly in my marital home; a feeling I am lucky enough to have now every time I curl up with one of my three loved ones in my current home.

And finally, my boyfriend was talking last week about being homesick. I totally get it. He misses the mountains, he misses his friends, he misses his favorite breakfast burrito. I try to be as understanding as I can, but I can't help but hoping rather desperately that he decides that his home is with me, and as long as the kids are little, that's likely to be in the Midwest. After that, I'm game to move to a place that feels more like home to him.

The other day when he was really wrestling with these feelings, we heard this song on the radio, and found that it fits the situation almost perfectly:

Hold on, to me as we go
As we roll down this unfamiliar road
And although this wave is stringing us along
Just know you're not alone
Cause I'm going to make this place your home

Settle down, it'll all be clear
Don't pay no mind to the demons
They fill you with fear
The trouble it might drag you down
If you get lost, you can always be found

Just know you're not alone
Cause I'm going to make this place your home

Settle down, it'll all be clear
Don't pay no mind to the demons
They fill you with fear
The trouble it might drag you down
If you get lost, you can always be found

Just know you're not alone
Cause I'm going to make this place your home

I did say almost perfectly, didn't I? Because although he knows he's not alone here, I can offer, but I can't make this place his home. If that's going to happen, he has to choose to do that himself. 

Don't Worry Be Happy

Cruising out to Stingray City on board the Beauty II

This is a belated post -- it has now been over a week since my daughter and I returned from Grand Cayman, but I just didn't manage to get this up here in the post-vacation frenzy.

I've never much liked this song, but I picked it to mark our trip for a couple of reasons. One, it's got an island sound -- so it's the kind of song that's more likely to pop into my head or be played on the radio -- when I'm in the tropics:

Here's a little song I wrote,
You might want to sing it note for note,
Don't worry, be happy

The other reason I picked this song is that on the last day, my daughter and I visited a turtle farm, and when we heard there was a saltwater lagoon where we could snorkel if we upgraded our tickets, we jumped at the chance. I'd had the experience of swimming with sea turtles before, but my daughter hadn't, and plus, from the number of turtles they had at the farm, I thought we'd be swimming with not just one majestic creature, as I'd done in the wild, but many. With that picture in mind, imagine my disappointment when the only turtles in the saltwater lagoon were three babies, no larger than a small fish. I mean it was still cool, especially for my daughter, but it just wasn't what I expected.

Look really closely, and you'll see one of the tiny turtles I'm talking about!

After we got done snorkeling, I asked another couple who'd just come out of the water if they too felt disappointed. The woman, who was German, said to me: "No. I learned a long time ago: Expect disappointment and you will always be happy."

I had (or maybe still have) trouble wrapping my brain around that. It seems pretty grim, but then again, she was the happy one walking out of the lagoon, I was the one wishing I'd had a different experience. There must be something to it?  I told my boyfriend about it when we got home and he said "I don't think that'd work too well for me." I feel the same way. But I wonder if there's a way to incorporate a part of her attitude without it seeming too negative.

Here's what Bobby suggests:

In every life we have some trouble,
When you worry you make it double
Don't worry, be happy

I guess he means disappointments will come; it's inevitable. Just don't let them bother you. I think that's a lot different, a lot more sage advice than expecting to be disappointed all the time.

In the end, I didn't let it bother me too much. My daughter's excitement over the little turtles (and the fish) was enough to make it her favorite part of the trip -- and this trip had a lot of exciting moments swimming with sea creatures, including dolphins and stingrays.

My favorite by far were the stingrays:

She didn't like them so much, but that's ok. I reckon sometimes it's easy to take this song's advice and sometimes, for whatever set of reasons that definitely include our expectations, it just isn't:

Don't worry, be happy

Land of Hope and Dreams

This morning in Madison, Bruce Springsteen warmed up the crowd for one last rally from President Obama preceding tomorrow's election. I thought about making my way downtown to see if I could at least hear the boss's voice fill the air outside the Capitol building in which I expend so much of my time and energy, but I decided not to go.

You see, I woke up this morning feeling drained, and I realized that the best thing for me to do was to take the morning to care for myself so that I could regain the energy to care for my loved ones. Probably the right decision, though a part of me would have liked to be there.

I've always loved Bruce Springsteen, but I gained a new appreciation of him recently when I read this article in the New Yorker. It seems that the Boss, like so many of the rest of us, had a difficult relationship with his father. He didn't feel seen, or acknowledged, or appreciated by him, and that left a gaping hole that he's been dealing with all of his life. I have to give him a lot of credit for not turning to the things so many of us turn to for filling such holes -- alcohol and drugs. Instead, he channels it into his music and takes a great amount of pride in his physical body, practicing self love -- the kind I practiced by going to yoga this morning.

But the article also points out that he's done more than that to deal with this hole -- seeing that it kept him from being able to fully surrender in love relationships, he got himself a good therapist, and has been in analysis of varying intensity much of his adult life. He said that he wanted to have a wife and a family, and he knew that he needed help to open himself up to all that entails.

I read about Bruce's performance in Madison this morning and learned that the Boss closed his set with this powerful number:

Grab your ticket and your suitcase, thunder's rolling down this track
Well you don't know where you're going now, but you know you won't be back
Well, darling, if you're weary, lay your head upon my chest
We'll take what we can carry, yeah, and we'll leave the rest

And with my new appreciation for what he is about, I see his lyrics operating on multiple levels. When you've been mistreated, you often make promises to yourself about what you won't put up with in the future. We humans have very powerful self-preservation skills. But sometimes, we have to be willing to look at the mechanisms that we used to protect ourselves and see if they are still needed. Loving someone and allowing yourself to be loved by someone gives us that place to rest our weary heads, and it helps us decide what we want and need to carry forward and what we can leave behind, and it can also lighten the load that we do decide to take with us.

I know this is true in my own relationship, and maybe the hardest part for me is remembering not to carry too much for my beloved. If I can manage to focus more on getting on the train myself, I have faith that we'll find this land of hope and dreams of which Bruce sings:

I will provide for you and I'll stand by your side
You'll need a good companion now for this part of the ride
Yeah, leave behind your sorrows, let this day be the last
Well, tomorrow there'll be sunshine and all this darkness past

Well, Big Wheels roll through fields where sunlight streams
Oh, meet me in a land of hope and dreams

Well, this train carries saints and sinners
This train carries losers and winners
This train carries whores and gamblers
This train carries lost souls
I said, this train, dreams will not be thwarted
This train, faith will be rewarded
This train, hear the steel wheels singing
This train, bells of freedom ringing
[Sax solo]

You don't need no ticket
Oh, you gotta do this
Just get onboard...