There is a void in my heart. No, not a void but a hollow—a space as real as the silence in music or the “negative space” in visual art—and for most of my life that hollow has boomed like a drum every time anything touched my heart.
I thought the cacophony meant my heart was broken, that I was broken and that it was my fault, and I was ashamed.
Needless to say, these thoughts did not contribute much joy to my life. On the contrary, the noise and what I thought about the noise made me miserable. I was responsible for that misery (we have great power to choose how we think), but it has been the work of a lifetime turning those thoughts around, and I am grateful for all who have helped guide me in that work.
The holidays have typically been difficult for me because so much of what they’re really about touches my heart—the “drum” is always muttering (or shouting) as people and stories and pictures and moments and memories and wishes tap or stroke or bang on my heart—and I never learned to hear that drum’s voice as music.
Never until recently…
As I’ve come to appreciate, even love, who and how I am, come to appreciate and love myself as I am right now, I’ve come to hear the sounds made by that rarely-silent drum as the music it is. And once I could hear the music, I found the courage (only yesterday!) to look at the hollow in my heart that makes the music. and what I see surprised me.
That hollow in my heart shines inside, polished by a million worthy wishes and dreams, wetted by not a few tears. All unknowing, I’ve prepared a place for all I long for, and it is beautiful! It’s beautiful now (though empty)—although it’s empty, it is not emptiness. It is the throat of the voice of the drum of my worthy desires. It is the temple wherein I worship the breath of the voice of the drum of my longing—love, the ultimate contradiction: the intangible tangible.
That hollow is a sacred and holy space, and while it’s meant to be filled, it is no less sacred or holy because it isn’t. It is sacred and holy as it is, and not just in potentia. Without it, there would be no musical drumbeat. Without it, there would be no room for longing. It is necessary and it is beautiful and it is good.
Mele Kalikimaka and much aloha this holiday season and always.
Wednesday, December 24, 2014
Sunday, December 21, 2014
To Thine Own Self Be True
Last week Maui OnStage closed Elf the Musical. In one of the central musical numbers, “SparkleJollyTwinkleJingeley,” Buddy the Elf sings, “To thine own elf be true,” an allusion to the advice Polonius gives to his son Laertes in Hamlet, Act I, Scene 3:
I count this excellent advice, but I’ve struggled to live it in my own life. I’ve made a serious and grounded effort in recent months, and learned that (right now) I’m really bad at it.
To be fair, I’m bad at it because I’ve never really done it before, and (as with any skill) it takes practice to be true to yourself. It’s so much easier to do and be what others—especially those you respect and love—want than it is to do and be who you are, particularly when you fear the "real you” won’t be liked as well as the easygoing, uncomplaining, compliant “you” you’ve always been.
For someone like me—with decades of practice discounting his own worth and for all those years utterly dependent on the esteem of others—it is terrifying to assert yourself when it might not be what others want and you really like being liked!
It’s easier to keep up the pretense…
Easier, but dishonest. That’s what came to me this morning (although I have been trying to be true to myself in various ways for more than a year).
Polonius is saying that one must be true to oneself in order to be dependably “true” to (honest with) others. By always sacrificing my own desires in order to please others, I’ve lied to them about who I really was. I’ve deceived them—if they like me, they don’t like the real me, but rather the Stepford “me” I created for them to like.
I’m trying to assert myself more—to be authentically who I am, to do what I actually want to do and to not do what I don’t want to do—but I’ve been clumsy about it. It’s a new thing to me, of course I’ve been clumsy, and I’ve sometimes been strident rather than gracious. Doubtless I’ve hurt some feelings (although I never meant to), and I’ve likely given people the wrong impression as to why I’m suddenly doing things I previously didn’t and refusing things I previously accepted. All that is my responsibility…“clumsy” can explain it but not excuse it. If you are among those I’ve hurt, all unwitting, I apologize. And I’ll try to be clearer and classier in the future.
That’s not to say I’m going to go back to being the acquiescent, compliant guy you may have met a few years ago. I’ll find a easygoing, classy and considerate way to assert myself, but I’ll continue to assert myself. What I want and what I care about matter, and acting as though they don’t (or worse, hiding what I want and care about) does me a disservice while deceiving those around me.
The world doesn’t need anyone who becomes whatever others want—who lives down to others’ wishes—the world needs each of us to be “true,” even if “true” sometimes also means “contrary.” Conformity lends itself to mediocrity—it is in the blending of diverse natures that our world is made great.
“This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day,The message is the same in either case—live authentically no matter what others think, and in both word and deed tell the truth about who you are.
Thou canst not then be false to any man.”
I count this excellent advice, but I’ve struggled to live it in my own life. I’ve made a serious and grounded effort in recent months, and learned that (right now) I’m really bad at it.
To be fair, I’m bad at it because I’ve never really done it before, and (as with any skill) it takes practice to be true to yourself. It’s so much easier to do and be what others—especially those you respect and love—want than it is to do and be who you are, particularly when you fear the "real you” won’t be liked as well as the easygoing, uncomplaining, compliant “you” you’ve always been.
For someone like me—with decades of practice discounting his own worth and for all those years utterly dependent on the esteem of others—it is terrifying to assert yourself when it might not be what others want and you really like being liked!
It’s easier to keep up the pretense…
Easier, but dishonest. That’s what came to me this morning (although I have been trying to be true to myself in various ways for more than a year).
Polonius is saying that one must be true to oneself in order to be dependably “true” to (honest with) others. By always sacrificing my own desires in order to please others, I’ve lied to them about who I really was. I’ve deceived them—if they like me, they don’t like the real me, but rather the Stepford “me” I created for them to like.
I’m trying to assert myself more—to be authentically who I am, to do what I actually want to do and to not do what I don’t want to do—but I’ve been clumsy about it. It’s a new thing to me, of course I’ve been clumsy, and I’ve sometimes been strident rather than gracious. Doubtless I’ve hurt some feelings (although I never meant to), and I’ve likely given people the wrong impression as to why I’m suddenly doing things I previously didn’t and refusing things I previously accepted. All that is my responsibility…“clumsy” can explain it but not excuse it. If you are among those I’ve hurt, all unwitting, I apologize. And I’ll try to be clearer and classier in the future.
That’s not to say I’m going to go back to being the acquiescent, compliant guy you may have met a few years ago. I’ll find a easygoing, classy and considerate way to assert myself, but I’ll continue to assert myself. What I want and what I care about matter, and acting as though they don’t (or worse, hiding what I want and care about) does me a disservice while deceiving those around me.
The world doesn’t need anyone who becomes whatever others want—who lives down to others’ wishes—the world needs each of us to be “true,” even if “true” sometimes also means “contrary.” Conformity lends itself to mediocrity—it is in the blending of diverse natures that our world is made great.
Sunday, December 14, 2014
Happy Holidays
Happy Holidays (in my faith tradition, that would be “Merry Christmas!”)
Long-time readers may realize that the holidays often lead me to reflect on (and whine about) my circumstances, especially my relational circumstances. This year is, I think, different—I’ll still reflect on circumstances, but it’s like I’ve put on glasses in the proper prescription: my focus is clearer and I’m predisposed to see abundance rather than lack.
I’ve always allowed society to tell me if I’m “okay”—for years because (like so many others) I believed “society” knew best, and even after I wised up because I longed to belong—and around the holidays the clear cultural definition of “okay” has a lot to do with familial and romantic relationships.
Don’t mistake me—my parents and siblings (and grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins) are the absolute best, and their love is the fire that warms me when I'm cold—but that isn’t the kind of family relationship portrayed (in media and story) as “acceptable” for a grown man, and since I don’t have a spouse and children, the holidays (for me) highlighted that “lack.” I felt like a failure because I wasn’t part of that kind of family. And the romantic element—the portrayal of the holiday season as a time for romance (mistletoe, anyone?)—coupled with my profound lifelong longing for romance, and during the holidays I felt like an absolute failure.
Eventually, my habit of reflection helped me look past what society was telling me, but I still longed for (and still long for) romance and spouse and children, and that longing (together with a lingering sense of my own inadequacies) bent my attention always toward what I lacked. As a result I neglected to appreciate all I had. Despite all I had (have!) in my life, I was melancholy whenever society celebrated those things I long for: romance, children, family.
Then, in July of 2012, I moved to Maui. This move has catalyzed big changes in me, changes that continue and multiply, good and positive changes, and among those changes is a change in how I experience the holidays. It didn’t happen overnight, but during this, my third Christmas since moving, I can clearly feel the difference.
I have not stopped longing for romance, children, and family. Those longings are innate, not conditioned by society—society twisted my reaction to those longings, but the longings themselves are neither “good” nor “bad.” I have stopped making those longings (and the lack they imply) the centerpiece of my holiday table. I have stopped judging myself by society’s standards. I have begun to embrace the incredible wealth I enjoy (in personal and spiritual and relational senses) and made that the centerpiece of my holiday table.
As I become more and more aware and appreciative of the abundance in my life, even those longings change character. No more do I feel like an empty vessel, needing to be filled with romance and companionship and children and family—instead I feel like an overflowing vessel and long for those with whom to share the goodness that flows through me. The very nature of my longing has changed, from a hunger to receive to a passion to give.
And that feels good. It feels good to face this season with perhaps a dash of melancholy, though different than what I have felt before, but also with a deep wellspring of gratitude and a powerful sense of fullness, rather than emptiness.
Happy Holidays!
Long-time readers may realize that the holidays often lead me to reflect on (and whine about) my circumstances, especially my relational circumstances. This year is, I think, different—I’ll still reflect on circumstances, but it’s like I’ve put on glasses in the proper prescription: my focus is clearer and I’m predisposed to see abundance rather than lack.
I’ve always allowed society to tell me if I’m “okay”—for years because (like so many others) I believed “society” knew best, and even after I wised up because I longed to belong—and around the holidays the clear cultural definition of “okay” has a lot to do with familial and romantic relationships.
Don’t mistake me—my parents and siblings (and grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins) are the absolute best, and their love is the fire that warms me when I'm cold—but that isn’t the kind of family relationship portrayed (in media and story) as “acceptable” for a grown man, and since I don’t have a spouse and children, the holidays (for me) highlighted that “lack.” I felt like a failure because I wasn’t part of that kind of family. And the romantic element—the portrayal of the holiday season as a time for romance (mistletoe, anyone?)—coupled with my profound lifelong longing for romance, and during the holidays I felt like an absolute failure.
Eventually, my habit of reflection helped me look past what society was telling me, but I still longed for (and still long for) romance and spouse and children, and that longing (together with a lingering sense of my own inadequacies) bent my attention always toward what I lacked. As a result I neglected to appreciate all I had. Despite all I had (have!) in my life, I was melancholy whenever society celebrated those things I long for: romance, children, family.
Then, in July of 2012, I moved to Maui. This move has catalyzed big changes in me, changes that continue and multiply, good and positive changes, and among those changes is a change in how I experience the holidays. It didn’t happen overnight, but during this, my third Christmas since moving, I can clearly feel the difference.
I have not stopped longing for romance, children, and family. Those longings are innate, not conditioned by society—society twisted my reaction to those longings, but the longings themselves are neither “good” nor “bad.” I have stopped making those longings (and the lack they imply) the centerpiece of my holiday table. I have stopped judging myself by society’s standards. I have begun to embrace the incredible wealth I enjoy (in personal and spiritual and relational senses) and made that the centerpiece of my holiday table.
As I become more and more aware and appreciative of the abundance in my life, even those longings change character. No more do I feel like an empty vessel, needing to be filled with romance and companionship and children and family—instead I feel like an overflowing vessel and long for those with whom to share the goodness that flows through me. The very nature of my longing has changed, from a hunger to receive to a passion to give.
And that feels good. It feels good to face this season with perhaps a dash of melancholy, though different than what I have felt before, but also with a deep wellspring of gratitude and a powerful sense of fullness, rather than emptiness.
Happy Holidays!
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