Rust

Rust is not a good companion. Not at all, but how can we remove it when it has settled in our spirit? And how much more efficiently would our hearts work without all that rust?

It has been 5 years since I performed regularly in public. Far too long for my liking.  No one really knows why I stopped singing. Maybe I didn’t really know either.  It had something to do with not having enough time or maybe being unfastened to familiar environments and people, and not by my own doing, I might add. I have plenty of friends in the local music scene all of whom are in several bands and don’t have the time, or just aren’t interested.  But I am feisty and don’t take no for an answer, so I joined a band site about a year ago, hoping to find a like-minded musician to collaborate with. I reached out to someone through that site and a potential sympathyzier indicated he was interested but a little too “rusty” right now. That was when a revival had begun. A stirring of something inside me, but unlike the muddying of the already murky waters, this one clarified and purified me in ways I am only now beginning to understand.

How belittling I must have sounded when I told him that his “rust” could be a good companion and that together we could unearth this corrosion that had set in for the both of us; I was so desperate for connection and music.  But what a fool I was because rust is not a good companion.  Not at all.  It isn’t inherently toxic in and of itself, but the bacteria and viruses that live in it can be potentially fatal. Metal plus oxygen, catalyzed by water, salt water - like the kind of water than can be found in tears. Yes, rust can kill you.

And that got me thinking about how we walk this earth experiencing a myriad of circumstances and sometimes, yes, some of those encounters can tarnish our spirit. The stressors that we carry inside of us: the doubts, the fears, indifferences and resentments corrode us in ways most of us don’t even understand. Ask any doctor and you’ll hear that while one small strain isn’t catastrophic; the stockpile of stress is.  The malignancy comes from the accumulation of these stressors and what they become when they live inside of us.

It gets harder as you age, to let bygones be just that. The neighbor who blows his leaves into the street and then straight into your yard.  The snide comment from someone you loved and trusted. The invite that went out to everyone else but not to you. The job or relationship you thought would never end.  The way your kids forget to call unless they need something.  The friend who took someone else’s side in an argument. The spouse who slept on the couch one too many times and now it’s just the norm.  It gets harder to be happy for those who seem to have what you want while not also resenting them for it. To not look at your life through eyes of lack or misfortune or jealousy or pride.

I don’t know why but it seems harder to be grateful for small things, like my breath and my aching joints and my beating heart. They hurt more; that’s probably why I notice them more.  Maybe we spend so much time noticing the things that ache and hurt that we forget to remember those that bring us joy and connection. How much more efficiently would my body work without all that gunk, would my heart work without all that rust.  So I decided: I don’t want this for my life any more.  I want to be less cynical and more filled with wonder.  Less mistrustful and more “Cie la vie.”  Less “No” and more “Hell yes!”  I want to be restored to my pre-rust days.

The only question is how.  How am I gonna get rid of my rust and how am I going to remember to get rid of it regularly? Please do not suggest a daily gratitude journal. I have already done that. It’s an excellent idea; I’m not knocking it.  It did work for me for a long time. And then I leveled up or maybe down. I’m not sure, but I outgrew it and needed something else.  And I firmly believe that when you ask, the Universe delivers.

The most prominent and liberating response came in the form of a peculiar text message from a former employer - the dean of the community college that I hadn’t worked at for 5 years. After we exchanged pleasantries, he told me why he reached out.  He implored me to listen to a song and made me promise to sing a cover of it the next time I performed in public again.  He reminded me of the day he had presented at the college’s new teacher orientation, raced across town to meet some colleagues for a glass of wine at the local winery, only to find me performing there…one of his newly minted adjuncts.  We reminisced about the good ol’ days and he complimented my devotion to my students, how hard I fought to champion their success, and how surprised he was to find me as the entertainment at that winery.  And it stung.  All of it stung.  That I no longer worked with those kids and that I no longer performed. And it stung that everything seemed to cause an ache somewhere inside of me now.

What was the song?  “No Hard Feelings” by the Avett Brothers, a tune I had been introduced to a few years back by another colleague.  It’s a beautiful song about releasing offenses and misdeeds so that when our soul is at last freed from our body, all that we take with us is love; ultimately it is a song of forgiveness.

I played it ceaselessly when I first heard it then and again now.  I breathed in this song and exhaled tears and wouldn’t stop.  I couldn’t.  I wanted to have no hard feelings.  I wanted to be free from the many things that had taken up residence where they were unwelcome, where they had settled into the crevices of my bones and took root. Somewhere inside of me, I had long known this was necessary, the need to release hurts that, uninvited, nonetheless reside within me.  And I need to forgive myself for letting them inhabit my heart in the first place.  These things I know.

I am not certain how I am going to remember to have no hard feelings.  If you’re a biblical person, you’re reminded to forgive not 7 but 77 times.  It’s a good reminder, but what practices will I actually employ to achieve this?  Fire circles, burning sage, meditations, journaling, epsom salt bath, talking with a friend or trusted advisor. Writing a song, listening to one, playing one on repeat until the neighbors question my sanity?

Time is so fleeting. I urge you, get rid of your rust.  And have no hard feelings.

To hear the Avett Brothers' beautiful tune, click here: