LISTEN // 2021 Word of the Year & A January Song
“You get to be here to hear it.”
is what she said, Kelly Corrigan, in her book, Tell Me More. She was doing the daily math. The adding up of the weight of grief, the subtraction of a friend from her life, the multiplication of exhaustion with teenagers and responsibility and failures.
“You get to be here to hear it.”
is what I read after a long day doing my own bedtime math—start with distance learning times two, add one toddler with tasmanian devil tendencies, subtract all tastes of good things like carbs and sugar because toxic diet culture influenced me to “cleanse,” multiply by devastating news cycles (Pandemic! Insurrection! Clare and Dale broke up!), divide attention by household duties, self care routines, and writing goals, carry the one weight of a year without a break…
Her words arrived at just the right moment.*
“You get to be here to hear it.”
is what she said to herself, standing outside the bathroom door listening to the sweet sound of her baby now grown into a young woman who sings pop songs in the shower, listening to beauty while still drowning in the reality that she gets to live while her friend does not, holding both things at the same time, not in shame or forced joy but with a kind reminder of the tiny insignificant moments that make us stop and feel gratitude.
“You get to be here to hear it.”
is what she said to me, too. For this is why we write our stories, so that the things we whisper to ourselves can be heard just loud enough for the whole class to take part in its goodness.
This past year held words of my own, NOW & BREATHE, chosen to bring focus and attention on presence instead of future, chosen to regulate tension and to feel good with movement. But words chosen tend to take a life of their own, particular when that life is one that could never be predicted.
So in a year of unknowns, NOW and BREATHE became more immediate and scary. The year became attention to survival, a necessity to steady and to exhale, an acknowledgement of what is taken from others in order to unbury gratitude. It was body and lungs and mind and heart. But was also layer upon layer of incessant sound, a cacophony, a dissonance, a harmony. Perhaps, then, it is time to move next into the ears.
“You get to be here to hear it.”
LISTEN, is what I think she is saying.
LISTEN to them and to me.
LISTEN to bodies and to hearts.
LISTEN to messages bold and secret.
LISTEN to silence.
LISTEN to noise.
“You get to be here to hear it.”
is not a shame but a reframe.
A reminder to turn toward, not to force.
To collect one note at a time, string it together with tentative fingers on a piano until the notes become a melody and the melody a song and the song into a symphony, played and felt and heard.
LISTEN.
Because I get to be here to hear it.
*This book arrived in my library holds cue and sat on my nightstand many times before this day and every time it was not the right time. Good books know when we need them. This is more than a good book. It was a gift. I’m glad it found me when it did.
A sampling of sounds collected from this month, sounds that turn into wonders. Each one by itself unremarkable, but strung together, becomes a January Song. Paired with images because sometimes we listen with our eyes, too.
Airplane engines sound louder in the winter.
There are birds that stay. How do they keep warm? I’ll never know. But I am grateful.
Giggles carry down the stairs, muffled sound of grandparents reading a book across computer lines, a magic not reserved for this year, one I hope we don’t forget to conjure again.
Can we meet for a walk? I’m not doing well. A text read to me in the car on the way back from grocery pick up. Yes, I say back, and the car carries my message along.
Echo, play Taylor Swift music.
Echo, play Hamilton music.
Echo, set a 10 minute clean up timer.
Echo, tell me a joke.
I haven’t met the new me yet.
Marker scratching on brand new paper.
Comforter snapping over fresh washed sheets.
Tap Tap Tap tiny toes crawling upstairs.
Do you need a hug?
Do you want to get carry-out tonight?
A loud crash in the other room. Everything is fine! shouts back before I ask.
Mom did you know that there was once a volcano that froze complete with a city underneath it?
Mom, listen to my story.
Can you hear me now?
Snow makes a sound on the skylight, like fairies dancing at night.
Swishshshshshshshshsh, of sled down a hill, screams of glee trailing behind.
Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh, like a sound machine in the forest, the skis on slippery ice.
Are you watching this??
Mom, why are you crying?
That is the hill we climb, if only we dare it.
I, Kamala Devi Harris, do solemnly swear …
We’re getting our vaccine!
Cheers!
If you like collection of things, then you will want to sign up for my Raise & Shine Letter. It comes out mid month-ish, filled with things I’m noticing, loving, listening to and more.