Dancing Our Sorrow Away

When I was in College, the Jackson Browne album “Late for the Sky” was in heavy rotation on my apartment turntable. The album’s introspective songs had a certain appeal to a young man growing up and just starting to make his way in the world because they asked big questions about the purpose of life and how to think about all the tricky emotions that come with adulthood.

His song “For a Dancer” acknowledges one of the sad truths about life: that one day everyone and everything we love will be gone. Knowing this, Jackson sings that we owe it to those we love to make a joyful sound with our lives while we are here – and to do our best to spread seeds that will blossom long after we are gone.

Listen on Youtube to: Jackson Browne: “For a Dancer”

The final verse of the song reminds us that we all know people who have had a positive impact on our life (a teacher, coach, parent, friend) and who helped us to become who we are. Those people did great things for us, usually without knowing it. We are likewise called, Jackson sings, to have a positive impact on the lives we touch – even though we may never live to see the fruit of our labors.

Into a dancer you have grown
From a seed somebody else has thrown
Go on ahead and throw some seeds of your own
And somewhere between the time you arrive
And the time you go
May lie a reason you were alive
That you’ll never know

Jackson Browne “For a Dancer“

The song was written as a moving meditation on the death of Browne’s friend; who died in a fire at a young age. Browne explained that his friend was an interesting guy; a great dancer; a great tailor who would make his friend’s clothes; an ice skater who skated for the Ice Follies. “He was a Renaissance man and when I wrote him the song – I was trying to express the idea that your life is a dance”.

I like that image of our life as a dance and that we never know when it will be our last time on the stage. When I think of dancing, I think of being uninhibited, of letting my body react to the beat of the music, and of sharing a joyful personal moment with my dance partner.

When you are busy dancing, you are not worrying about your troubles, or the problems that that you will face tomorrow. Dancing is one of life’s rare human rituals; a moment of pure expression when you are able to forget about your ultimate fate and just focus on making a joyful noise.

A recent Youtube video created by the School of Life Company echoed a similar philosophy about the benefit of living life in the moment. The video was a commentary on the cultural expression “…rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic“, that is often used by people when they want to convey the futility or meaninglessness of a task.

Those familiar with the fate of the Titanic know that the hull was damaged and that the ship was destined to sink; so for the passengers on that ship to concern themselves with the position of the deck chairs is a failure on their part to recognize the true hopelessness of their situation.

Our life situation can become a little like passengers on a doomed liner. Our larger hopes in life have not come to fruition. We have come to see that our career won’t ever flourish; our relationships will always be less than ideal; we’ve passed our peak in terms of looks; our bodies begin to fall prey to ever more humiliating illnesses; society is becoming more dysfunctional than ever and political progress looks highly improbable.

It can start to feel like our ship is going down and that it would be silly trying to improve our condition, let alone find pleasure and distraction in our daily life. It would be to live in denial of the facts. Our instinct instead is to become pessimistic and gloomy about our ultimate end.

However, there is a crucial element which makes our predicament different from that of the passengers who lost their lives on the Titanic. Those passengers only had a few hours to contemplate their fate before the ship broke apart and sank into the icy waters of the North Atlantic. Our ship is going down too, but much more slowly. It’s as if the captain has let it be known that our ship is sinking and we can’t be rescued… but it will likely be a decade or more before we meet our final fate.

So, though we can’t be saved, though the end will be grim, we still have options as how to use our remaining time. We are involved in a catastrophe, but there are better and worse ways of passing the time and filling our days. Under those different circumstances, expending thought and effort on ‘rearranging the deck chairs‘ is no longer ridiculous at all, it becomes a logical step; one that can be turned into a higher calling.

When the larger hopes for our lives become impossible, we can learn to grow inventive around lesser, but still real, options for the time that remains. Keeping cheerful and engaged, in spite of everything, can bring some light through the dark storm clouds that you know are ahead.

Consider, for example, that you are on a very gradually sinking luxury liner in the early 20th century, you might every evening strive to put on a dinner jacket, dance the Foxtrot to the music of a string quartet, sing a cheerful song or settle into the ship’s library to read a good book – even as the water begins to pool at your ankles.

Or you might try to engage in a friendly game of shuffleboard on the slightly tilting deck; or decide to drop-in on a wild party in Steerage; help to comfort some despairing fellow travelers; or just try to have a deep and comforting conversation with a new friend – even though you can hear the sound of dishes smashing somewhere in a galley down below.

Of course your life would – from the big picture perspective – still remain a thorough disaster; but you might find that you were at least starting to enjoy yourself.

This kind of attitude and inventiveness is precisely what is need to help us cope with our state. Can we invest the days we have left with meaning even though everything is, overall, entirely dark? Our culture teaches us to focus on our big hopes, on how we can aim for everything going right. We crave a loving marriage, deeply satisfying and richly rewarding work, a stellar reputation, an ideal body and positive social change. What remains when those things are not attainable – when love will always be tricky, politics compromised, or the crowd hostile?

What is our equivalent to seeking the best spot for a deckchair on a sinking Ocean Liner? If marriage is far less blissful than we’d imagined, perhaps we can turn to friendship; if society won’t accord us the dignity we deserve, perhaps we can find a group of fellow outcasts; if our careers have irretrievably faltered, perhaps we can turn to new interests or hobbies; if political progress turns out to be perennially blocked and the news is always sour, we might absorb ourselves in nature or history.

In doing this, we would be turning to what our society might dismiss as Plan-B’s (what you do when you can’t do the things you really want to do). But there’s nothing wrong with that! It just may turn out that the secondary, lesser, lighter, reasons for living are, in fact, more substantial and enjoyable than we imagined.

And after a while we might come to think that they are what we should have been focused on all along – only it has taken a seeming disaster to get us to realize how central they should always have been.

My mother has always been a model to me of this kind of inventive thinking and an example of someone who has always been able to discover new things to do when she can no longer do the things she loves doing.

Now in her 94th year, she has good reasons to be gloomy about her present condition. Her ship has been slowly sinking over the last two decades. She is the last surviving member of her large, close knit, family; she lost her beloved husband after 66 years of marriage; she reads about the passing of friends and acquaintances almost every day in the obituaries; she has lived through several strokes and cardiac operations to place stents in her arteries; she struggles with gradual loss of hearing, eyesight, teeth and memory as well as the humiliating indignities of incontinence and lack of mobility that come with aging.

Despite these life difficulties, it is not in my mother’s nature to be gloomy. She laments what she has lost, yet she finds a reason to be optimistic about her situation and to be happy with the things that she can do. Here are some of the ways my mother has learned to stay cheerful, smiling and engaged in her diminished old age:

• She has learned to navigate an iPad so she can keep track of the Facebook lives of her eight children and dozens of grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
• She has become a late-in life sports fan, following with anticipation the exploits of her favorite New England Patriots and Boston Red Sox teams.
• She volunteers for her Church prayer line ministry, spending time each day praying for those in her parish who are in most need.
• She visits her husband’s grave regularly to sit in contemplation and tend to the flowers and plants.
• She tries to include some form of bodily exercise every day. Short walks with her walker outside on nice days, elderly chair exercises, rubber band stretching exercises.
• She communicates with her smart speaker to listen to music or hear the news (even though she worries about Alexa eavesdropping on her conversations).
• She stays engaged by reading books and bingeing her favorite TV shows.
• She visits French Youtube language web sites so she can enjoy hearing and practicing the French language that she grew up speaking.
• She has become the project manager of her house, assigning her children work to do around the house that she has historically done in the past and overseeing it to make sure it is done to her standards.
• She takes short field trips with her children to places from her past and shares happy memories of the people and events that shaped her life.

I co-share caretaker duties with my siblings and I feel blessed to spend one or two days every week with my mother. It has been a privilege for me to watch how she accommodates the frailties of old age without sacrificing her spirit. She knows the end is near, but she is not afraid; and until the end comes she is determined to wake up with a reason for living – and make sure the deck chairs are properly arranged on the deck.

May we too always find a way to dance our sorrows away.

Going Inside to Greet the Light

This month’s blog will be brief because I have not had much time for contemplation or reflecting on the examined life.  My former employee has commissioned me to work on a software project with a tight deadline that has occupied most of my waking and sleeping thoughts.

I must admit, though, that it has been a good experience to get my hands busy coding and my mind devising algorithms again. I’m happy that it is all coming back to me after 14 months away. There is something to be said about the restorative benefits the mind and spirit derives from doing productive and useful work.

However, one of the things that I have sacrificed over the last few weeks in order to get this work done is meditation. I started practicing meditation a couple of years ago and recently took an online class on Mindfulness Meditation that helped expand the practice for me.

The Quaker community characterized Meditation as “going inside to greet the light“, and my time spent going inside has helped me to better live in the moment, to see events and situations as transitory in nature and to let go of the things that typically bothered me in the past.

One of the meditation exercises in the Buddhist tradition is called the “Five Remembrances“. It calls for contemplating the five statements shown below during the meditation session:

 

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The Five Remembrances

1.  I am subject to aging; aging is unavoidable

2. I am subject to illness; illness is unavoidable

3. I am subject to death; death is unavoidable

4. I will be parted from everyone and everything that is dear to me; there is no way to escape being separated from them

5. Whatever I do, for good or for ill, that I will reap  

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I find that meditating on these five remembrances is a very grounding experience for me. It brings to the forefront things like the impermanence of life that most people tend to block out of their daily consciousness – and it helps me to consider that all my actions will live on in some way and have ripple effects in the world.

Some people believe that meditating on these subjects is too gloomy and depressing, but for me the practice leads me away from denial towards acceptance, increases my gratitude and appreciation for the life I have been given, and teaches me about the freeing power of detachment and generosity. It helps me to look at the world with new eyes, be fully present with my loved ones and make sure they know how special they are to me.

Once the reality of impermanence is accepted, you begin to realize that time spent struggling and fighting against unavoidable events are causes of suffering – and only letting go allows you fully celebrate every moment of life. After all, the problem is not that things change, but that we try to live as if they don’t.

Here’s hoping that you find the light inside of you…

“love that well which thou must leave ere long”

I was browsing a local magazine called Parable and I happened upon an article on Shakespeare’s Sonnet 73, written by Gary Bouchard, the Chair of the English Department at Saint Anselm College.

Because of the sonnet’s lyrical and artful meditations on love, death, and time, Professor Bouchard felt it to be the closest thing to the perfect poem that he had ever encountered. He asked readers to consider their own accumulating years, and those of their loved ones, and to read the Sonnet imagining that they were speaking to their parent, spouse, child, grandchild, or a dear friend as they were about to leave you.

Sonnet 73

by William Shakespere

That time of year thou may'st in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day,
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by-and-by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire 
Consum'd with that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

Shakespeare, and the generations of humanity that preceded us, considered recognition of our own mortality as the beginning of wisdom. Sonnet 73 captures in a profound way the relentless effects time has on the physical body and  how the recognition of our inevitable death serves to strengthen our love for those we love most in the world.

The sonnet speaks not of the actual moment of death, but rather of a time just after sunset – when the sun has vanished – but there is still some light in the sky, a time when the cooling air alerts us to the rapid onset of darkness and when we know how quickly sleep; or death’s second-self might be upon us. 400 years later, Shakespeare’s kindred spirit Bob Dylan would refer to this period in life as the time when “It’s not dark yet, but it’s getting there“.

The sonnet also highlights the paradox of our physical existence. The very wood that fuels a fire become the ashes that choke it off. Just so in illness and aging, we are done in by the very things that once nourished us. The hips and knees that helped us run become our daily aches. The heart that kept us living for so long, becomes a source of worry as it weakens.

Everybody encounters sorrow. If you live long enough you too will be witness to the twilight fading and leaving of those you love – and when our own time gets near, we must say goodbye to all those we hold dear. It is during these times that perceptive souls will “love more strong” the people which we “must leave ere long“.

I witnessed the slow decline and early death of my wife to illness over a three year period and I can honestly say that during that difficult time together our love for each other did grow more strong and each good day toward the end felt like a precious gift.

Likewise, towards the end of my 87 year old father’s life, every meeting with him felt like it could be the last; and each parting embrace was thick with untold meaning and love between a father and a son that cannot be expressed in words – we would look deeply into each other’s eyes and he would say “Goodbye, my boy”.

We ought to treat each meaningful parting in our life as a kind of prayer. Especially if it is a leave-taking accompanied by illness and evident aging. No one knows when we will see the ones we love again.

Acceptance of the fact that that our lives will fade or are fading – like the leaves on the trees, like the light at the end of the day, like diminished flames – should deepen our gratitude for the great gift that is our life.

If you love, there will be sorrow…

Life is fragile and there will come a time for all of us when we experience seasons of loss. The REM song reminds us that “Everybody cries. Everybody hurts sometime“. The history of my painful losses include the death of my beloved Grandmother during a Christmas Eve house fire, the sudden fatal heart attack of my favorite Uncle and Godfather, the losing fight my wife and Mother of my two children fought against breast cancer and most recently the slow decline of my 87 year old father and best friend who suffers from COPD and has been placed in Hospice care.

During each of these losses I have suffered periods of profound sorrow. I loved them deeply and they were a major positive influence on helping me to become the person that I am today. I am who I am because of who they were, and because of the sacrifices they made on my behalf. They loved me first before I was able to fully love them. They supported me and cheered for my successes and taught me that losing can sometimes be more important than winning.

Love is not without cost. When we dare to love, we risk being hurt. Sorrow is the price we pay for choosing to love. I read somewhere once that the opposite of love is not hate, it is indifference – a conscious effort not to invest any energy in growing the relationships we have with others.  We can decide not to fully love the people in our lives and to remain indifferent – insulating ourselves from the possibilities of getting hurt by them. This is the sentiment in the Simon & Garfunkel song I am a Rock in which they sing:

“…if I never loved I never would have cried – I am a rock, I am an island – and a rock feels no pain and an island never cries”

It’s true, if we love there will be sorrow and pain and sacrifice; but what is the alternative? To not love? To avoid tenderness? To miss out on the joy that comes from sharing life’s small and big moments with people you care about? To never understand what it means to be fully human?  That would be an alternative that would be a much greater loss.

So be grateful for those you love and those who love you, celebrate the time you have with them because it will not last forever, lean on them when your burdens become hard to bear and take solace during your seasons of sorrow knowing that the dead live on in the hearts of those who have loved them.

Make Hay While the Sun Shines

My wife is part of a health care agency that deals with patients who need home and hospice care. When we come together at the end of our day to share our ups and downs over dinner and a glass of wine, I often hear sad stories about nameless people who suddenly become stricken with a serious illness at an early age. As can be expected, the diagnosis of a life threatening illness comes as a complete shock to the patient and their families. Most of them had expectations of living a long life and had a future planned with a long list of activities.

I can relate to the stresses that are thrust upon a family coping with a serious illness. My first wife, and mother of my two daughters, struggled with Breast Cancer for 3 years before passing away at the age of 45. I believe she was more fortunate than most others going through similar situations because she had a strong faith that helped her to attribute “meaning” and a “purpose” to her illness.

She was also very goal oriented which allowed her to accomplish many of her life’s objectives at an early age: she was married and had her children when she was still a young woman, enjoyed being a stay-at-home mother for her daughters during their most formative years, took night classes to get a Master’s Degree in Early Childhood Education, traveled to many of the dream destinations that had captured her imagination and spent the last years of her life in a job she loved – teaching children. She made hay while the sun shined.

The first use of the phrase “Make hay while the sun shines” was recorded in a 1546 book of English Tudor proverbs by John Heywood. The phrase appeared in this form:

 “Whan the sunne shinth make hay. Whiche is to say. Take time whan time cometh, lest time steale away.”

This phrase often directs my thinking as I plan my daily activities. I use it to remind myself that the sun will not always be shining for me and that I will experience periods of rain and darkness in my life that will limit what it is possible for me to do. There will come a time when I will not get the chance to do tomorrow what I have put off today; so it is wise for me to make good use of my time and make the most of my opportunities while I have the chance.

“Get up! You’re borrowing time” sings Aimee Mann in the refrain to one of her songs. No one knows when their time will be up, so I find myself being careful about how I spend my time. I realize now more than ever how precious it is and I try to keep busy in ways that will be productive to my mind, body, or spirit.

That is one reason I have a habit of keeping short and long term lists of things that I would like to accomplish. The lists stop me from falling into comfortable and easy habits that do not contribute to my growth and they guide me to focus on the higher quality things in life. I have a finite number of books I can read, music I can listen to, shows I can watch, streams I can fish – I want them to be the best books, music, shows, and streams that life has to offer.

Making hay doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t also take time to smell the roses along the way. Indeed, I find those small moments during the week when I steal time away to appreciate the beauty that can be found all around us is very refreshing to my soul. Much like the smell of freshly mowed hay on a summer day.