I am at home, listening to music, The Beatles, Let It Be – Naked. I have to say that this album is a disappointment. I purchased it being the dedicated Beatles fan that I am. It showed a group that was in process, but never gelling. It was a bit like listening to my rehearsal tapes. They are helpful, but they are not a finished product; I would not want them to be released. There is something about the Beatles that reminds me of my youth…
I was never really a happy child. That is hard to say. I was chatting with MM last night about some of the pain in both of our histories. She related how a classmate had taunted her when she was younger. I recalled how, since fourth grade and all through high-school, I was a pariah. It is funny how a reputation can attach to a person and define the trajectory that his or her life will take. I became the consummate outsider. I suppose that I was damn near clinically depressed for most of my high-school years. I know that I was parasuicidal for several years. The few memories that I have of my childhood are largely traumatic. I don’t have many memories beyond those that are too often relived. I know that there must be others, but I am goddamned if I can recall them. Why did I lose them? I don’t know.
The Beatles was a sort of sound-track for my youth. Funny, I don’t recall the movie, the music is all that remains. It has a vibrancy that helps me to emote. I know that there must be some memories that are disposed to excavation. Will music be my tool to unearth them?. I have a favorite quote about music: I love if for what it makes me remember and for what it helps me forget. Bitterly ironic, I would say.
I was never really a happy child. I was never had any friends, either. I was alone, lonely, and despondent. That much I recall. Why I didn’t become an axe-murderer is beyond me. I do know that I have lived in a way that feels as if I sabotage my own success. For so long it was pounded into my cranium that I was a source of shame and disappointment to my family. If I tried to so something I was beaten down, sometimes physically. I know how to fail. It is comfortable. Success scares the hell out of me. This is not to say that I do not or have not achieved. I have an unfortunate tendency to avoid unpleasant situations. I have no compunction about defending my kids or my friends. I will go to the wall for them without blinking an eye or expecting anything in return. It is for myself that I refuse to fight.
MM and I were talking yesterday. She said that I must have been loved by some of the women in my past. I think she may be right. I am certain that KJS, my college girlfriend, loved me. I know that LA, the girls’ mother, loved me until she would love me no longer. There is a part of me that wants to blame myself completely for the failure of my marriage. Comfortable, I suppose. I believe that PC loved me. I believe that SL loved me, but was unable to live in love. I know that MM loves me.
The difference is that for the first time in my life I am open to being loved. That step is a long-time in coming. I’ve always wanted to be loved, no, not wanted, desperately ached to be loved would be closer to the mark. I would never let anybody that close. Be careful of my heart… it is very fragile. For some reason I trust MM. Maybe because she has survived the loss of two brothers as a child, a divorce, financial crisis, and the death of her mother and still is capable of loving. I love and envy that sort of faith in the possibility of hope and the power to find beauty in the detritus of despair. She is stronger than she knows. Just the ability to love in that context proves a courage that is deeply seeded and even more profoundly rooted.
I have, despite the melancholy that darkens the horizons of my life, remained hopeful. “Live, Laugh, and Love,” has been not only my motto but mantra. I remain hopeful, despite the bouts of depression and self-effacement that are my nearly constant companions. I may have a moribund sense about me, but I do find some glimmer of hope in the darkness. “Weeping may spend the night, but joy comes in the morning,” as the psalmist has put it.
The Beatles said “all you need is love.” A madman killed John Lennon. Cancer killed George Harrison. Brian Epstein killed himself. What is hell? Dosteyevski would have us believe that it is the inability to love. All you need is love… and the faith to believe that it can live in your heart. And the centurion looked to Jesus and said, “Lord I believe, help thou my unbelief.” The bible says that God is love… I remain a faithful agnostic.
I may be an agnostic, but I thank Christ daily for MM.
Ah, but I am just a fool…
