July 7, 2019
I never cease to be amazed at the dizzying whir of timing: for every win there is a loss? Eh, perhaps. Sometimes there is a season of winning followed by a drought, or visa versa. Regardless, the great impossibility of and need for balance is the theme of my little life. I was reminded of it when watching Bohemian Rhapsody again today. Freddie Mercury is faced with his immense talent and success and his internal personal turmoil (paradox, anyone?). When the lady who loves him asks, “what do you want from me?” He answers, “almost everything.”
And there it is. Everything. Almost.
When I was coaching debate, we were riding home one year from the state tournament with a couple state championships, two or three state runners-up, and more successes that now I can’t recount. It was an embarrassment of riches (Candice Bergen's words describing her jillionth Emmy. I was just a teensy debate coach, but I’ll borrow from one of my famous muse’s musings, thank you). As we soldiered home from MU, I remember thinking “what have I done to deserve this? I am so blessed!” Days later, I discovered that some of my favorites had engaged in some tomfoolery on that trip—on my watch—that got us all into trouble. I asked myself then, “what have I done to deserve this? I can’t win!” My heart was broken by the pendulum’s swing from pride to destruction.
And that’s life. That is its blessing and brutality.
The risk is never allowing yourself to enjoy the wonders for fear of the axe’s inevitable strike. As I venture forward these days, I’m finding there is little point in throwing up preemptive defenses against the blows. Rather, if I maximize the joy, the lows are easier to bear. I didn’t latch onto that in my youth, or my 20s or 30s. But times, they are a changin’.
Last night I hosted a birthday bash for my bestie. I had the house cleaned up and presentable after a week of good but busy stuff. The party was a hoot, and in the midst of it, friends helped me discover a water leak that I would have been even slower to understand without their help. The leak has subsequently destroyed my kitchen. As the horror of its demise unfolded all day today in the hands of professionals, John Mulaney’s words describing his rectal exam when he feigned a prostate problem just to get some Xanax for a flight, rang in my ears: “this might as well happen.”
So today, whether I rejoice with the US women’s soccer victory or cry at horrors at the borders; whether I mourn a loss or rejoice in the whir of fans that dry my baseboards, I hear life asking, “what do you want from me?”
Almost everything.
And that will have to do.
