The old lady holding hands with her senior citizen husband on the porch swing- they’re celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary. We all let out a communal “awwwww”- wishing we could all have the commitment and adoration in our relationship that they have in their’s. I’ve learned that they have that mutual respect and appreciation because they’ve been together for 50 years. How many blow out fights, years that weren’t great between them, hardships they faced together, or times they both wanted to quit did they have those last 50 years? I can guarantee they are countless.

A therapist who’s a thought leader in his field once told me: A couple who never fights is not a couple without problems. It’s one party to that relationship that is always agreeing with the other, or making sure their needs are met without thought to their own. That individual is maintaining a relationship without any friction.

“Well isn’t that being selfless and charitable? Why is that a bad thing?” I asked.

“Because the person who’s always being catered to doesn’t know their partner’s heart. And that’s an inauthentic relationship.”

That was an “A-ha” moment for me. I started to look at disagreements and times of hardship in a relationship as good. Because that friction helps us to understand each other’s hearts more deeply. Rising from the proverbial ashes together in a relationship makes us both stronger and able to more successfully navigate choppy waters in the future.

 

There are so many things that drive me crazy about this man. Living with him day in and day out for the last 18 years has shown me some of my worst flaws- my impatience, propensity to complain, my unrealistic expectations, and my rebelliousness. His imperfections have certainly brought out all of mine. But seeing him sweetly gaze at our newborn baby, to watch him talk down a hormonal teenager to maintain peace in the home, or to throw his arms around a man at church who doesn’t come often and give him a genuine greeting: these are the moments that burn into my heart. All the other trivial annoyances seem ridiculous next to these precious instances.

We still have some complicated issues in our relationship, ones that make our lives less satisfying and that we work hard at resolving each and every day.

But there’s no one I’d rather work with on something so pivotal. It’s the most important work of our lives. And every minute that we spend on it, makes us both better and our relationship more iron-clad. The sweet old couples we see feeding each other or eating together at the Costco Food Court, they’re there 50 years later because they worked through the pain, because they focused on the beauty instead of the mundane, and because they never gave up. Never giving up is the superior effort in any relationship that’s made it to the final stretch.

Why do I still hold on to relationships that don’t serve me? From a young age I’ve been a people pleaser, and just wanted everyone to like me. Everyone. When I was 7 or 8 years old, I was invited to a craft fair. I went along with my friend and her family with a crisp $20 bill in the pocket of my maroon corduroys. My mom had given it to me to spend on my heart’s desire and after staking out all the rows and rows of craft vendors offering their wares, I was giddy with excitement. It must have been the first time I’d been given such independence and control in how I would spend money.

We walked down the first row of tables and as my friend and her family purveyed the area for what caught their eye, mine settled on one of the first tables in that row. It was closest to the entrance and a little hidden behind the commotion and setup surrounding the entrance to the fair. A little old man sat behind a table, with hoards of oil paintings surrounding him- some on easels, some displayed on the table in front of him. His eyes met mine as I noticed that no one was near his paintings and no interest was being shown in his offerings. This is what made me approach him- not the paintings, but the fact that he was all alone. I walked up to his table and tried to feign genuine interest in his paintings. He held out a small, wooden frame encasing an oil painting of a lady bug. There wasn’t anything special about this painting, in fact I wasn’t smitten by it at all. But the man’s shaking, wrinkled hand as he held it out to me and the pleading look in his eye, or maybe the fact that in the 20 minutes I’d devoted to trying to seem interested in his wares no one had joined me at his booth, led me to ask how much he wanted for the painting.

“Twenty dollars,” he replied meeting my eyes after his quick glance of me pulling that bill out from inside my pocket.

I slowly handed it over to him, knowing I was spending all my money in the first few minutes of our time at the craft fair. But hoping beyond hope that this small gesture would make him feel less small, alone, and unfortunate.

I think of this story often. I understand that my compassion for others and fierce concern for their feelings and state of mind can sometimes be a gift. As a teenager, I was always the one inviting the outcasts out with my group of friends or sticking up for the kid who was being bullied in class.

But I’ve often felt like it’s a real drag. Especially as I get older and am possessing less and less patience for people who drain me, are dishonest, are unable to be REAL, or demonstrate emotional vampirism. Boundaries are so hard for me to draw in the sand. I want to get better at this, especially because I don’t have the time or energy within my own crazy life of babies and teenagers to be anyone else’s problem solver. Maybe there’s a part of me that likes to be the problem solver. And I don’t mind helping someone talk out a crisis. It’s not the people who need me emotionally that are sapping my faith in humanity.

It’s the ones who don’t. It’s the ones who aren’t authentic, who aren’t vulnerable. Who believe their lives have to look perfect to everyone around them to be good lives. I will naturally talk about the good, the bad, and the ugly with those I’m close enough to regularly converse with. Because without this back and forth, the relationship just seems like nonsense. That’s the 40-year-old coming out in me. And I like it! That part of 40, that outlook on life is what makes mid-life so much more rewarding and meaningful.

This explains why social media is such a conundrum for me. It makes the ruse that these people constantly fan so very easy.  So instead of complaining about this less savory trait in others, why not keep my distance, take a break, choose to associate with people who are more my type of person? THIS IS THE ISSUE! I can’t seem to do that. And not only that, social media gives you the daily permission to be friends with absolutely everyone you’ve ever known and to usually only see the most wonderful parts of their lives. I feel like I have to be friends with everyone to prove that everyone likes me. I’m constantly spending my last 20 emotional bucks on people who give me nothing in return. At least the old man gave me an oil painting of a lady bug.

 

We had two whole weeks to spend together as a family- the kids are out of school. Christmas is over. And as we face New Years weekend, the husband was getting antsy to hit the road. He had this intense need to head out to Utah and commune with his brother and his family. And he needed to drive there. There wasn’t any arguing. I could tell this was something he was dead set on, and that he was meeting some greater requisite within. But I’ll be honest, the idea of schlepping 12 hours with four kids (two under age three) did not sound appealing. And rather than argue meaninglessly about it, I volunteered to stay with the one-year-old so he could take the older, ostensibly easier bunch on his trek. He agreed, but was worried. Would I be ok all by myself for five plus days with an infant? Alone in our big house?

Nothing sounded more divine. So here I am, New Years Eve, snuggled under my down comforter and finally able to write- something my inner self has been nagging me to do. It’s been awhile.

As I reflect on the last year, I realize I haven’t had much self-realization or introspection. If I’m being honest, I’ve been in survival mode. As anyone I’ve talked to in the last year will profess, four kids has been a trial. Going back to the baby stages after ten years of less exhausting teenagedom has left us exhausted and shocked. I tell myself daily to: “Get it together!” “Pull myself up by my bootstraps.” “This too shall pass.” “The days are long, as the years are short.” They’re called clichés for a reason, because they’re so true and applicable that they’re constantly repeated.

But I also have to give myself credit. Because as much as I’ve tried to survive, keep my head above water, I’ve also been able to grow.  Going out with friends at night, meeting at Nordy Cafe for lunches, pretty much anything social has really fallen by the wayside the last few years. Because when I have free time, I want to rest. Devoting time and energy to friendships has fallen off my to do list. This weekend: case in point. All this down time alone the last year- collected in snatches of time and without any consistency has been the time my soul has grown and made mental and emotional connections. Despite the physical craziness of my life, my spirit refuses to lie dormant I will evolve & I will progress despite it.

What I’ve realized this year, my 40th year of life:

1. People disappoint you. Sometimes it’s family members- the ones whose loyalty you took for granted- and those betrayals sting the most. But sometimes there’s nothing you can do to tie a pretty bow on top of the situation. Rifts in families are not always as simplistic as I once thought. A conversation can’t always resolve things. Family members, like all humans, have their own issues and idiosyncracies. You can’t fix crazy, dysfunctional, or deeply insecure. Family rifts are most often caused by individuals’ own hang ups. And as much as you may be ready to resolve them and rid yourself of that conflict, they may not be. So you have to sit back and wait. Wait until they are ready or until life presents the right time to straighten it out. Or get to the point where you truly wish them peace and love, but accept that a mended relationship is not necessary. You go on. You grow, you’re blessed, you press forward- with or without them. You accept what is. You let go of what can’t be, knowing your heart is pure and that your actions have been contrite and well-intentioned.
2. We are resilient. We will get through hard times, broken hearts, disappointments, and betrayals. Our kids are the same. They need to walk through these fires to grow in wisdom and strength so they can continue to face their trials with bravery and bounce back all the better. I used to try to fend off pain from my children. Let’s get real- I still do. But I’m trying not to. I’m trying to open the door to their pain and help them to learn from that circumstance and in that space. I hope to one day welcome hardship for them, as I understand it has the power to make them better people- it’s probably the only thing that does.
3. I’m forgiving myself each and every day for my shortcomings. I know my heart has love for almost everyone in my life. And for the ones I don’t readily feel affection for, I’m working on getting there. So that’s enough- that is good, and should be the goal. Love is the most important end game. And so when I fall short, which happens often, I remember that I try my hardest to love others. And so I can move past whatever mistake is in my way. I’m not perfect but where it counts, I think I’m there.
4. I don’t know what the future holds. And that’s finally alright. Because see number 3. I have so much love in my life, and that will get me through anything. Wonder makes life electric. It makes life grand. I welcome the unknown because life has shown me it’s endless, surprising, and extraordinary possibilities. And I can revel in the successes of others. Because their success is a tribute to this optimistic view of life’s gifts. Of course it’s hard- it’s brutal. Sometimes life’s offerings are crushing. But there’s also the sweet surprises that make the difficulties worth the taking.

I think in 2018 that I would like to continue forgiving, applying courage, and lifting the people in my life. I’m not going to make a list of resolutions, because they always seem so off the cuff and trite. And I already know deep within what it is my soul needs in order to progress. And I’ll figure it out. 2018 will send me the people and circumstances that will teach me what I need to know. And in my 40 years so far, I’ve figured it out and I’ve grown in the knowledge of that introspection. This year will be the same. So as unknown as the future may be, that will always be my constant- I will figure it out and it will become a part of ME.

 

 

So I just started posting regularly on Instagram- something I’ve resisted for years.  Something about it just always seemed so inauthentic- the blown-out filtered photos, the snaps of people’s best moments, the lack of text accompanying said pictures, etc.  See, as I’ve approached forty, something crazy has started happening.  I can only do real- meaning my closest relationships have to be honest, vulnerable, and realistic.  I’ve also realized that everyone has hardship, stress, and conflict in their lives.  No one is spared these things, no one.  So when I see people trying to feign perfection, when they refuse to open up to me about the bad times along with the good, when their social media profiles are chock full of all the perfect moments with equally sugary hashtags, I just can’t.  In fact, I get suspicious when I see all that Pleasantville- what crazy are you hiding? Because you’re sure trying hard to appear perfect.

Yeah, Instagram is a great way to stay in contact with family.  And who can resist those easy, convenient Chatbooks that come out of our activity on Instagram? I don’t expect someone to post their dirty toilet, their child mid tantrum, or a selfie in their therapist’s office.  That would be depressing.  It’s good to celebrate the cheerful things in life.  Heaven knows we need to be grateful to help us deal with all the crap- and Instagram is a visual way to do that.  I see that now and have used Instagram to achieve these means myself.

But if you’re my close friend, my person, my confidant, I need more than an Instagram You in real life.  I need you to get real.  Living in a place as beautiful as Southern California, with gorgeous scenery, people, and lifestyle, imperfection can look….well…imperfect in comparison. Sitting in a church where people are truly trying to be their best and are reflecting on how they could improve, it’s easy to look around and feel like everyone’s got it together.  Your crazy, hairy life can look pretty sloppy compared to another member’s fancy Anthropologie dress and teeth-whitened smile.  I’ve been there before.

And then I remember what I’ve learned- we all have stuff.  We all have hard stuff- heartbreaking trials.  We all have times in our life when everything isn’t hunky dory and we’re trying really hard to carry on and remain positive.  Our kids struggle, our spouse struggles, our families of origin have their challenges.  Whatever our individualized battles might be, our commonality is that we all have them.  So can we just stop it?   Can we just stop now with the pursuit of constant perfection?  When a girlfriend is honest with me, when we both look each other in the eye and share our burdens, when we shed a tear for each other because the wounds in our hearts connect, those are the beautiful moments.  Those are the times worth celebrating.  That’s how we’re all going to make it out alive.  That’s how we do this thing called life.  And no filter is required.

So friend- post away with your amazing meal, your blown-out hair, your kid’s touchdown.  But when we’re together, don’t be the Instagram You.  Don’t you dare filter your life to maintain the lie of perfection.  Keep it real, open up.  We’ll both be better for it.  And we’ll both be relieved. Because for one small moment, our hearts and souls will connect.  We’ll both be closer.  We’ll both be strengthened to forge ahead with courage, knowing we’re not alone.  And that’s a thing you just can’t post on Instagram.

 

 

 

 

 

 

As the media stories, printed articles, and conversation swirl around Bruce Jenner’s transition to Caitlyn, I’ve continually thought long and hard about how I feel about the issue.  One writer expressed that although she didn’t “agree” or “approve” of the transition, she believed we should love Caitlyn.  This sounded right to me in some regard.  But I didn’t see how it is my job to “approve” of anything she (Jenner) was struggling with or “agree” with her choices in dealing with it.  Because I haven’t struggled with these specific feelings, I really don’t have a basis to determine how I would deal with them.  Other articles called that Jenner not receive the upcoming ESPY award and that it go to someone else.  This sentiment was mean-spirited in my opinion.  What Jenner is doing is an extreme act of bravery.  If the award is honoring bravery, no one can argue that to be so vulnerable in the face of the whole world is not extremely brave.  How many of us carry around secrets about ourselves, insecurities or broken parts of our character and try to hide them from the world? Everyone does, we all do.  To strip her of an award for being bravely transparent about her deepest and most painful life struggle seems to be an act of punishment or revenge.

Why do we feel the need as a society to punish those that represent something we don’t understand?  Being a transgendered human in this country is scary to those who haven’t struggled with this feeling.  It is very foreign to us.  So our first human response is to shun it.  If another of our brothers or sisters can struggle with this conflicted sense of self, is this something one of our loved ones could deal with? One of our children?  If we can’t totally conceptualize the idea of being transgendered, it’s a lot easier to simplify it and place it one of our mental boxes labeled “wrong”.  But the loving part of us can’t simply do that either.  When our brains battle with our heart, we are conflicted and fearful.

At the end of the day, I am a Christian.  I believe in Jesus and His teachings.  And this is the most solidified aspect of my belief system.  It trumps all else.  In the bible we read that Jesus’ greatest commandment is that we love God.  And the second great commandment is that we love others, as ourselves.  Jesus makes it a point to mention these, and only these two instructions to the people listening to him.  In fact, there were several Pharisees and Sadducees present in the crowd.  And throughout Christ’s teaching session, these two groups continued to try to tangle Him in His words and make Him contradict himself.  They wanted to complicate this simple commandment.  But Jesus would not relent and firmly stated that on these two commandments “hang all the law and the prophets.”

So if love for our fellow man is so important, in fact it is at the center of every law and prophet sent from God, why do we try to complicate this love for others, much like the Pharisees and Sadducees? Why do we make it contingent on people living lives that are familiar and comfortable to us? It is not our place to say that what Jenner is doing is bad, that she is a bad person, undeserving of accolades for bravery because of her choices.  The core of our piety should be love.  It has been commanded of us.  It is at the crux of our faith and should be the motivator behind all our actions.

Jenner has said that for her entire life, this was a struggle for her.  She felt conflicted and uncomfortable in her own skin.  I bet every tender and wonderful moment she experienced in her life thus far was tainted with the pain of this deep inner struggle.  What a cross to bear.  We all have them.  Why don’t we feel empathy and open our arms with love towards this fellow human? What she has gone through is foreign to most of us, yes.  But that isn’t an excuse for us to deny our love and further add to this person’s suffering.

I’m always confused at people’s staunch adherence to doctrine as an excuse to deny another person love.  Especially when it’s something they have almost no understanding of.  Why not hang those intellectual questions up on a proverbial hook until we can ask God himself for the answers? And then in the meantime, love and have compassion for those among us who are carrying huge burdens?  Any other bantering, debating, or strict adherence to some ethical code carved in stone is pointless.  It doesn’t matter what we “think” we know about this situation.  Her journey is her’s to own and isn’t contingent upon our agreement with her choices.  At the end of the day, if we haven’t walked even one inch in her shoes it’s not our job to judge, proclaim, or draw battle lines in the sand.  That’s the job of the Pharisees and Sadducees.  Our job is only to love.  And we can’t truly love someone when we hold any judgement or condemnation in our hearts for them.

It’s ok to say that we don’t understand an issue, that we don’t have all the answers, maybe that we’re a little fearful of the situation.  To love is easy.  We all have it in our hearts, it is where we came from, and what we are made of.  I believe that we want to love.  We can still love even if something is foreign to us.  Jesus simplified it for us and told us that’s all we have to do.  On it, hangs everything else.  And those are His words, not mine.

  

When I heard the news that my sweet, baby sister was dead, I was 9-months-pregnant and unable to wrap my head around the news.  I couldn’t believe it.  There was no weeping, wailing, throwing myself prostrate on the ground. It was just a crushing feeling that wasn’t painful.  It was as if I knew that this was big, momentous, and tragic and that I should be devastated.  But I wasn’t.  My brain wouldn’t allow me to grasp the full reality of this news.  Maybe my mind knew that it must protect my body and the growing fetus within it from crushing sadness.  Whatever the reason, I couldn’t react the way I knew I should.

The funeral was a blur.  There are still people to this day who will refer to that day in conversation and I’ll say, “Oh you were there?”  They will confirm that they did indeed sit through the three-hour-long ordeal and I will have no recollection of seeing them there.  My brain has locked away details of that day, still in a mode of protection, and there are some things I simply can’t recall.

The memories I do have are flashes in time, similar to rapid-appearing images on a slide show: my 13-year-old son in his Sunday jacket that was just a little too small for his growing frame walking against my sister’s casket.  He tried to put on a brave face and carry the heavy box out to the hearse that waited in the parking lot, along with the towering men of his family. He stood outside the hearse and watched the box slide into the back of the car.  I kept my distance, knowing that I couldn’t be present for such a crushing moment.  My brain was screaming to stay away, that I could only handle so much.  Another image that had occurred just before they carried her out: I was sitting in the large room of the church surrounded by so many people, as we said a family prayer over her body lying in the open casket.  I kept my head down.  I couldn’t see her angelic face and tiny body with the pale porcelain skin, still and lifeless in the casket. I have a deep fear of corpses and the last thing I wanted to see was my baby sister playing the role.

So whether it was my mind disallowing me to feel the full gravity that she is dead or actions I took on my own to spare myself from completely falling apart, I spent the next 9-months in relatively good spirits.  I had a new baby after all and her chubby legs and two-tooth smile delighted me.  Yes there were times I thought about my sister, that she was in the ground, that I would never see her again. And I would weep. But then I would get over it, just like that, and carry on.  “This isn’t too bad,” I would think.  “It must be my faith perspective getting me through it.”

Little did I know that the reality would slowly and then swiftly seep out of the inner confines of denial that had kept me so safe.  “Denial is the first stage of grief,” people would tell me.  I used to be unsure that I would go through these stages.  Who could deny what happened? I knew that she was gone.  But in these last few weeks, I’m understanding that the denial is the inability to feel the total weight of the loss.  It is your consciousness beating down the ever-rising subconscious, with its consuming truth of the tragedy.  That is the first stage.

But as one moves out of this first stage, the realness of the loss, the intense pain of it comes on in crippling force.  I became unable to be excited about get-togethers, projects, vacations, and things that used to bring me such joy.  I was unenthusiastic about everything. I wasn’t crying all the time, just disinterested and uninvolved in my own life.  A dear friend told me one day, “That’s depression. You don’t have to be sitting around in the depths of despair. It’s a lack of energy, an inability to feel intense emotions- good or bad ones.” She was right I realized. I had all these symptoms of a depression. I tried to go back to yoga, force myself out with friends, anything to gain my footing. I couldn’t.

Then came the crying.  My body would just start to cry, out of the blue and at random times.  There was no warning.  My consciousness didn’t will the crying, it was that subconscious truth that was finally breaking through. I was unprepared for it and couldn’t stop it. It is a tidal wave of anguish and sadness.  I would cry from a deep, harrowing place and then suddenly stop and go back to numbness.  Some days, I couldn’t get out of bed.  I was down.  That part had finally come.

I have to be there for my baby, who depends on me every waking minute to keep her alive, fed and rested.  My two teens need a mom to drive them around, notice areas in their lives where they’re struggling and confront them, make sure they feel good about themselves and have healthy relationships.  I can’t afford to be a mom who lays around in depression or has no zest for life.

I want to go through the stages of grief so I can get out on the other side in one piece, but with my family in tact.  I marched myself into the doctor’s office and requested an anti-depressant.  She gave me the minimum dose, which I took for a week without seeing many changes.  The next week I took two and finally- some respite from the agony.  I don’t know how long I’ll need it. I feel no shame in taking it as long as I need to.  If it’s the rest of my life: so be it.

But it’s a journey.  Life just got real. Apparently my God thinks I can survive this.  I can’t believe that we’d get trials that we’re unable to overcome.  I must have the strength in me somewhere.  But I have to look for it everyday and some days, it’s no where to be found.  But I keep getting up and showing up, everyday.  And i guess that’s all I can do.  It’s what my little sister would want me to do.  So I keep on carrying on.  But now I know what this feels like.

To My Boy:

Who is no longer a child but in that middle world of two converging identities, man and child.

You are starting Middle School this week. It’s no secret, I have been nervous. OK- paranoid, terrified, pretty much a basket-case: too many recollections of the real pain I felt at your age and in your stage of life. I so want to spare you this pain, but know I have to let go.

The things I learned back then, but truly understand now:

1. People are cruel. That doesn’t change as you are an adult. But their cruelty comes from an intense pain that they carry. Remember that and don’t harbor resentment or hate for them. Don’t let their pain upset you for too long, move on. There is always a person that can love you and build you- spend your time with them.

2. You are you and it is beautiful and wonderful and unique. The things you bring to this world are needed to make it a better place and to teach and uplift those people you share it with. Don’t let anybody steal this knowledge from you. If they don’t see this light and appreciate it, they were never meant to be kept in your magnificent heart. Walk away and find those that see it and love it.

3. Don’t change for anyone. You are perfect just as you are. Maybe there are things you want to change for you…..make sure these are things that are getting in the way of you being the best you can be, and not parts of your character that other people can’t understand. See #2.

4. You are never alone. So many people love you, all of you. But sometimes people aren’t enough. In those moments, God IS. He always will be. Let go and let God.

5. There are more hard times in life than easy times but the hard times will never be equal in their sadness than the good times are in their joy. The joyful moments in your life will always outweigh the bad in their intensity and goodness. In hard times, hold on – good times are around the corner.

6. Love can change everything. There’s not enough in our world. Love with all your heart, even if it’s scary. Put yourself on the line, even if you end up getting hurt. The hurt will teach you and the love you put out there will always come back and fill you up in some way. Look for those that need love and lift them- this will always help you see a brighter day ahead.

7. You don’t have to be perfect or do things perfectly. We are all damaged in some way, we all struggle in some way or another. Don’t compare yourself to others- your view of them is always a lie. We never know what another struggles with, but one guarantee is that we all struggle and are all imperfect. This unifies us as humankind.

8. Learn from your mistakes and forgive yourself. There is redemption in this world. Leave the past behind and move briskly towards the future. You’re too valuable to injure yourself with self-criticism.

9. Your value is not in your group of friends or your popularity. Your value is already within you, it has been from the time you came to be. Don’t underestimate what this knowledge can do for your life and happiness. Allow this confidence to propel you to do great things.

10. Everyone has a different journey. Don’t fear differences. Have love and compassion for each person’s journey. Keep an open mind in all things and you will be able to love more freely.

The other day my ten-year-old asked me what my favorite song of all time was. I tried to give her the pragmatic answer that it was very hard to choose just one song, from every genre of music from every generation, that was my very favorite. But I knew this answer wouldn’t suffice her inquiring mind and I wanted to give her an answer. So I thought about it and the answer came rather quickly and I knew it was right.

“Fire and Rain by James Taylor,” I answered.

That got me thinking about this song for a few weeks and true to what often happens in life, I stumbled upon many references to this song and Taylor as I thought about my Favorite Song of All Time.

The first was at the Garth Brooks concert in Las Vegas, that Brian and I enjoyed together with work associates. It was our second time seeing the show and both times, Brooks mentioned that Taylor was one his life’s inspirations. He played “Sweet Baby James” on stage and talked about the first time he met Taylor. He recalled that he was a gentle, painfully-shy man who was tender and loving.

The second time Taylor’s ghost entered my little suburban world was tonight as we watched the Red Sox game. During the seventh inning stretch, survivors of the bombing at the Boston Marathon came onto the field to be honored with a special guest musician. Guess who it was? That’s right, James Taylor came out with his old, acoustic guitar slung over his shoulder. He easily and dreamily presented us with a short rendetion of “America the Beautiful” as the camera panned over the reverant crowd and faces of the survivors that flanked Taylor.

As quick as the number was, it caused a feeling of peace and calm to fall over the stadium full of cheering fans, and my little family as we sat on the couch next to each other. My heart was touched and I was a little choked up. Yes, Taylor’s voice is beautiful. Yes, it was a meaningful, sad moment to see those survivors. But there was so much more to seeing the writer and singer of my Favorite Song of all Time.

You see, Taylor represents growth, wisdom, and beauty that grows out of intense, lifelong pain and struggle. At the age of 17, he entered a psychiatric hospital for depression and finished high school there. He started to write “Fire and Rain” there. Years later, after personal failures in his career and personal life, he admitted himself to another hospital for the same mental illness and also a heroin addiction. In fact, during one of these stints, he met a girl named Susie who was put into an isolation cell and out of the personal anguish she felt there, she committed suicide. She represents one of many references in his music, especially Fire and Rain, to the mental illness Taylor has always battled and that he continues to deal with even now. “Suzanne, the plans they made put an end to you.”

This pain has, no doubt, inspired much of his amazing music. Another of my favorites, “Shower the People”:

You can run but you cannot hide
This is widely known
And what you plan to do with your foolish pride
When you’re all by yourself alone
Once you tell somebody the way that you feel
You can feel it beginning to ease
Pain has the power to make us more loving, more empathetic to others, which in turn lifts our souls. Such a simple notion, but so key to a life of peace and contentment. We grow, we see the world differently when we experience pain. As much as mental illness is an intense, almost unbearable at times, cross to bear, it can generate a thorough and excellerated state of tenderness and humanity. Fire and Rain talks of this refinement in pain and Taylor idealizes the silver lining of a life of sadness: beautiful, resilient, inspiring music.