Hard
Imagine that a magic spell of anonymity has been cast on you. For the rest of your life no one will know about the wonderful things you are doing in this world. You can transform the lives of millions of people around the world, volunteer in your community, help the needy, yet no one will know that it was you who did these things. You, and you alone, will know how good you are, how successful you are. In such a world, what would you do?
If I could see you through the night. If I could help you see yourself like I do.
I’d find a way to lift your courage higher, like you lift mine.
And I’d have something more to say, then what I’ve said a thousand other times.
I’d tell you there’s a new train running and the balance keeps us both alive.”“It’s very hard to sit and watch you now. It’s very hard to know you’re on your own.
It’s very hard to move through unfamiliar worlds I’ve never known.
It’s not enough to make some sense of it. It’s not enough to even comprehend.
It’s not about the life we’ve left behind or the life that leaves us spinning in the end.
I-96 from Grand Rapids, MI to Ann Arbor is 132 miles one way. My sweet VW Golf transported me along this mind-numbing stretch of highway, twice a week for 12 months of grad school. Ending a marriage I had hoped would last forever, struggling to reinvent myself with a leap of faith. This predictable free “mind-time” perpetuated both self-doubt and terror that my crazy leap would end in a broken spirit and bruised ego. Fortunately, my Golf had a decent sound system.
Hard, by the Philly band Grey Eye Glances, saved me from myself; GEG didn’t get kudos, in fact my salvation wasn’t a blip on their screen, yet the magic was real.
Two decades and 775 miles away, Hard’s magic transcends time and distance. The music paired with an abundance of mind-time, shaped me. Sadness over the marriage end has lessened; the leap became one of my finest life decisions. The lyrics now hold different meaning, its resonance more inclusive, less ego. Today I am honored, awed and humbled to walk with others through their journey of hard. I don’t hold prescriptive solutions or posses Buddha-esque wisdom. I sit. I breathe. I am present. I breathe. I am kind. I breathe. I ache alongside. I breathe. I point out strengths. I breathe. I get it wrong. I breathe. I try again. I breathe. I note subtle shifts. I breathe. I hold out hope. I breathe. I doubt myself. I breathe. I learn. I breathe. I sit in silence. We breathe. We sit in silence. We breathe.
This magic is not slight of hand, but openness of heart, suspension of judgment, detachment from outcome, staying real in the moment. I savor the process and grieve the goodbye. I cherish the memories and imagine a brighter future. I wonder “if I could help you see yourself like I do.” I don’t know that it matters. Sometimes I cry because hard REALLY is hard. I recall a line from a song “I’d find a way to lift your courage higher, like you lift mine. I’d tell you there’s a new train running and the balance keeps us both alive.” The beautiful anonymity of two souls connecting, discovering, growing then parting; both giving and receiving. This is ours. No one else need know.