The Invitation

I am angry.

I am sad.

I am hurting.

For a million different reasons.

I’ve been given more opportunities to feel grief and sadness in the last 8 months than any other point in my life. And the grief the Universe is serving up to me is deep.

Deep in an almost unspeakable way.

Deep in a way that brings you face to face with what it really means to be human.

And yet, I still get up every morning. I take my dog for a walk. I work. I hang out with my kids. I connect with my wife. I practice music. I ride my bike.

In the midst of this pain and anger and confusion, Life still continues to offer me joy and beauty. And what is quite possibly the least intuitive and most beautiful thing about it is that these things offered are just as deep as the grief.

Photo by Naomi Hébert on Unsplash

I am joyful.

I love and am loved.

I am healing.

In a million different ways.

I’ve spent most of my life seeing joy as the antidote to pain and grief. Thinking that tuning into joy and purposely seeking it out would overpower and cancel out whatever grief may be lurking in the corners. Something about perfect love driving out fear or something like that…

But the grief and joy I am feeling are nearly simultaneous. They are existing at the same time, and while I have made a habit of focusing on joy, the thought of trying to hype one up and ignore the other feels off.

The best way I can describe it is disrespectful, obviously to the grief, but also to the joy.

Grief and Joy are married. They are bound together in Love. To ignore one is to miss the wholeness of the other. They are only complete with their partner.

And so I’ve learned that when one visits, I should also make a place for the other. Welcoming them both as honored guests.

I must stretch my heart and mind to accommodate them both. And I have never been so stretched in my entire life.

Both Grief and Joy have been knocking on the door of my heart for years. I’ve looked them up and down through the fish-eyed peephole, and only ever cracked the door. Leaving the chain locked in place, I would ask what they wanted and then point to the “No Soliciting” sign under the doorbell.

A few years ago the chain fell off the door, and I never took the time to replace it. The door started opening wider and wider. The friends, once exiled on the stoop, slowly stepped into the entryway. I would even let them use the restroom before sending them on their way.

But now when the lovely couple come to my door, I have learned to invite them in, offer them a seat on the couch, and grab them something to drink.

I have to make room for them both. Listen to them both. Appreciate them equally and on their own terms.

Sometimes Joy does the talking, and Grief remains quiet and still beside it. Other times, Grief has more to say, but Joy never leaves its side.

I am angry. I am joyful.

I am sad. I am loved.

I am hurting. I am healing.

In a million different ways. For a million different reasons.