In Writing or In Person

After I posted my daily 5 post last night, with a little bit of an explanation of why making those lists moves and changes me, I got to thinking about how there are a number of areas in my life right now, where I'm involved with newer groups or relational settings, and how little of myself I feel like is being expressed in those settings at this point.

And then I opened my twitter account and wrote the following two successive tweets:

"I have to laugh when I publish a blog post and I realize how well you have to know me before my written self and my in person self match up"(from here)

and

"My in person self is reserved unless I'm comfortable. If I'm comfortable, the intellectual writer, thinker, prayer and Jesus lover emerges." (from here)

I'm still thinking about this topic this morning - about how in new relationships (with some exceptions) it tends to take a very long time for my most true self to appear and find expression.

Part of that comes from the introversion.  Often new relationships begin in group settings, and group settings have never been my forte. They intimidate me.  I don't like being the center of attention, so unless I am very, very comfortable that it is safe to expose myself in even a minor way to everyone in that group, I'll likely remain quiet, sit near the back, and tend towards preferring invisibility wherever possible.  I'm not shy, really.  If you ask directly I'll likely answer.  But I'm also comfortable with not needing to be the one who answers (the exception to this being the times in my life that I've been in a teaching or leadership role), and in fact I rather prefer it that way.

Part of it comes from that thing about safety. In the past I felt that to not immediately put everything on the table was a sort of lie of omission, and I couldn't stomach that idea.  I've exposed parts of myself in the past in settings that I knew might be less than safe, and I've paid a price for that.  As I've gotten older, and had some good therapy, I've learned about things like boundaries, and valuing myself enough to be careful with what and how I share myself, recognizing that the whole world doesn't need to know the deepest parts of my heart - that I can choose to reveal those things to a select few, and that in making that choice it is not living a falsehood, but rather seeing myself as a person who was created as a valuable child of God.

I'm remembering numerous times in the past where someone who has known me in person for quite some time discovers my writing (something that is admittedly harder to do these days, since I do far less of it in any sort of public forum) and then comes to me and asks some variation of the question "Where did this come from? Who are you????"

And so it makes me smile, and sometimes just a bit frustrated to ponder how my written self expresses the deeper parts of me that often take a very long time to emerge in person.  And it makes me smile in a bigger way to consider that several of my closest friends are those who met me in writing long before they met me in person.  Because they already knew the deep parts of me, we skipped that awkward stage, and it was and is a lovely way to begin a friendship, at least for my introverted self.

And I'm smiling because I know about myself that in person it takes me a while, and because those tweets last night sprang from a place of frustration over a number of arenas in my life right now where I feel hidden and unknown and the process of relationship building just doesn't quite seem to be clicking.  It sprang from a genuine wrestle with trusting safety, and from a place of impatience with the process of relationship building.  It sprang from a place of recognizing that there are a number of deep things going on in my heart and life right now, and feeling frustrated with knowing how and where to express those in ways that are safe, and will nurture them, rather than yanking them up by the roots.  And it sprang from a loneliness for local friends who know me in the deeper ways.

I'm the same person in person as the person who writes, but it takes a while for the two personas to catch up with each other.  And that makes me smile, and makes me impatient, and gives me hope (when I stop to consider the lovely relationships that do match).

First Day Lessons

My clinical placement for the semester started today.  Unlike other semesters, with one consistent placement, this one will change half-way through, and the two placements couldn't be more different.  For the first six weeks I'm placed on an acute inpatient psychiatric unit.  For the last seven weeks I'll be on cardiac care unit.  Like I said, quite the difference in approach.

I made breakfast for dinner, put on my pajamas, and was in bed to crash and veg by 6:00 tonight.  Eight students and one instructor spent an intense four hours in a tiny conference room on the psych unit today.  I can't remember the last time I had that much information thrown at me at once.  It was overwhelming.  Add to that a 2 hour commute home by bus in a blizzard, and I was pretty done in by the time I managed to get here.

I wasn't expecting to feel overwhelmed by a psych placement.  I've dealt with my own struggles with anxiety and depression for close to half my life, and continue to take medication and meet with my therapist to manage that.  I have close family members and friends who have gone through severe and ongoing mental illness challenges for decades.  I've worked with the homeless population in our city in the past.  Unlike most of the students in my group, this was not the first time I've seen the inside of a psych unit.  I really thought I was prepared for this.  I don't feel anxiety when I discuss mental illness.  I don't struggle to have conversations with people who also battle those illnesses.  But something about all that information being thrown at me in a concentrated manner drowned out my usual calm and invited anxiety out to play.

I knew that working on psych could trigger some of my own struggles, and so I was mentally somewhat prepared for that, but just the four hours of orientation left me feeling a bit like I was drowning.  It was easy to lose all the positives in the face of thinking about nursing on a unit where wearing a stethoscope is a risk to your health because having it around your neck could be a choking hazard if a patient became aggressive.

I sat on the bus home feeling overwhelmed and alone.

The creeping feeling of anxiety still scares me.  The little ways it manages to sneak up and become BIG still surprise me, and as I sat on the bus, it was BIG.

Quite frankly, I spent a large portion of that bus journey throwing myself a pity party.  I was overwhelmed, and that made it easy to fall into old patterns, to believe old lies.  I sat there feeling miserable, telling myself that I was alone, that I didn't have anyone to talk to about how I was feeling, how overwhelmed I felt, the creeping anxiety that was threatening me.

And it was there, on the bus, that the first day lessons merged with the lessons I've spent the last couple years of therapy working on.  Coping strategies kicked in.  I remembered that four dear friends had promised to hold me in prayer before the day ever began, because I'd been wise enough to anticipate the potential for anxiety and share that with them in advance.  I sent strategic text messages to friends who I knew would not only hold me in prayer, but would help to draw me out of my pity party. I rearranged my evening plans to accomodate the need for increased self-care.  I was able to recognize that several things that depress my mood were in play today - I was in a new and overwhelming situation, I hadn't had breaks for appropriate nutrition, it was blizzarding (Seasonal Affective Disorder anyone?), I didn't get enough sleep last night,  and I'm dealing with hormonal health issues this week that always make my mood that much more labile.

And in that is where the lesson lies.  It's continually a revelation to me when certain things emerge.

After a decade of wrestling with poor boundaries and not great relationships, I had no less than nine friends who I could easily text to ask for prayer and support.  Friends who I can trust to know and love me even on the icky days.  I'm NOT alone!

I can recognize when I need to do better at self-care.  I can remind myself just how important it will be for me to eat appropriate meals and snacks over the next six weeks, and be diligent about getting to bed.  I can plan to pull out my SAD lamp and use it more regularly.

I can recognize the things that I can't change immediately (hormones, weather) and acknowledge that I don't need to be afraid of my mood, because I understand what's making it labile.

I can recognize that though I haven't needed to see my therapist as regularly lately, I might need to be a little more proactive with that in the next six weeks, and that I should book an appointment to talk through some of this experience.

And I can say no.  I can change plans because I need to honor my introversion or need for rest.  I don't have to force something that isn't me.

And with those revelations, I feel just a tiny bit more confident heading back to the unit tomorrow. Because in those revelations I see healing, I see growth, and I even see my word for the year, honor.  I am learning what it is to honor the space I'm in, even while I'm continuing to grow into new spaces.

It's going to be a challenging six weeks.  I'm going to see and experience new things - some of them very hard things.  Some of those are probably going to trigger afternoons like the one I had today.  All of them are going to teach me.  They're going to instill greater compassion and understanding in me.  They're going to inform my practice as a nurse.  And I can choose to focus on the fact that they might be triggering, or I can choose to focus on the fact that even the triggering moments are ones for growth, for learning, and for recognizing how far I've come.  And I can choose to be grateful for that.  (Remind me of that, would you, if you catch me having any sort of extended pity party?  I might vent, but I want to choose to honor this season, too, and to honor it with thanksgiving.)

Pondering Friendship

I've been thinking a lot about friendship again the last few days.  It's been a fairly constant topic of re-evaluation for me over the last six months or so.  I've made decisions differently.  I've chosen to handle some relationships differently.  Reading Safe People (see my mini-review here) very much shaped my thoughts as well.

In the last couple of days I've had two very distinct experiences of this thing called friendship, and they've left me pondering and deeply appreciative of good friendships with healthy dynamics.

On Thursday I spent a day with one of "my people."  There was no pressure, no expectations, just lots of love and the freedom of a well-established relationship, with boundaries that have created safety and a place for us to simply be who we are.  It was pretty much my definition of "the perfect day."  We spent an entire day together in a beautiful location, doing things like taking photos and enjoying really fantastic food.  And we laughed and talked and laughed some more.  We covered topics as diverse as travel, arranged marriage, body image and weight loss/gain, future plans, god, friends and family, healthy relationships, and mountains.   We shared tea, and sat in the hot springs, and laughed at the goofy guys wearing their toques in the pool, fresh off the mountains from a day of skiing, based on their conversation on which we couldn't help but eavesdrop a bit.

I left the day feeling peaceful and happy, after interactions that were easy and natural, and reminded about what love is.

And so I'm pondering friendship again.  Savoring the comparative tastes, and learning to recognize the flavor of that which is good.  Reconsidering boundaries I've drawn, and wondering if some of them need to again be tightened.  I'm thinking about friendship and finding myself amazed at the things I'm discovering, about myself, and about my relationships as I pause to ponder.

Conversations Overheard

Snippets of conversation the last few days have left me wondering.

As I walked up the stairs to the train yesterday, a lovely middle-aged black woman was descending.  I noticed her because she seemed regal.  As she descended, a scruffy man, of around the same age, was following.  At one point he simply stopped, and stared at the descending woman.  His behaviour made me pause, because while, though I'm sure it's totally judgemental of me, it wasn't something totally out of the norm for what I'd expect of a man who looked the way this one did, it was simply so blatant.  As my startled thoughts worked their way through "Is he really checking out her ass that blatantly?" my eyes jumped upwards, studying him, and without planning to, I made eye contact.  As soon as he caught my eyes, he began speaking.  As I pulled a headphone from my ear and heard what he was saying, I was grateful this lovely lady had nearly finished descending, and was farther from earshot.  "Look at all that blubber, eh?  So much blubber!"

Really?  This is what you had to say about a lovely woman, who wasn't even particularly large.  And I spent the rest of the train journey home wondering what it takes to form a person who sees others through that particular lense.

This morning I overheard two women, discussing another woman, who one of the two talking considered to be a good friend.  There have apparently been frustrations in the relationship, and the first quizzed the second, "Well, if she's got this and this and this (boyfriend, car, job etc.), what does she need you for?"  It seems the friend who isn't present hasn't been treating the other woman in the conversation that well, and the friend she was conversing with felt it would help to point out that the first friend was probably treating her poorly because she felt she no longer needed the support.

Really?  That's how we judge relationships?  On whether they meet basic needs?  Having a boyfriend and a car and a job means that a person must be entirely fulfilled and therefore not need a friend.  Not factoring in other circumstances that may have caused an ebb in their friendship for the time.

I'm feeling deeply introspective these days and conversations overheard like these are penetrating deeply as I again ponder life and relationships.  As I work to sort out how I want to be, and how I believe Jesus desires me to conduct myself relationally.

What sorts of conversations are making you think these days?

Three from Henri on Relationships and Possessiveness

Three challenging thoughts from Henri Nouwen that were waiting for me today when I got back to the office.

The Nonpossessive Life


To be able to enjoy fully the many good things the world has to offer, we must be detached from them. To be detached does not mean to be indifferent or uninterested. It means to be nonpossessive. Life is a gift to be grateful for and not a property to cling to.

A nonpossessive life is a free life. But such freedom is only possible when we have a deep sense of belonging. To whom then do we belong? We belong to God, and the God to whom we belong has sent us into the world to proclaim in his Name that all of creation is created in and by love and calls us to gratitude and joy. That is what the "detached" life is all about. It is a life in which we are free to offer praise and thanksgiving.

True Intimacy


Human relationships easily become possessive. Our hearts so much desire to be loved that we are inclined to cling to the person who offers us love, affection, friendship, care, or support. Once we have seen or felt a hint of love, we want more of it. That explains why lovers so often bicker with each other. Lovers' quarrels are quarrels between people who want more of each other than they are able or willing to give.

It is very hard for love not to become possessive because our hearts look for perfect love and no human being is capable of that. Only God can offer perfect love. Therefore, the art of loving includes the art of giving one another space. When we invade one another's space and do not allow the other to be his or her own free person, we cause great suffering in our relationships. But when we give another space to move and share our gifts, true intimacy becomes possible.

The Balance Between Closeness and Distance


Intimacy between people requires closeness as well as distance. It is like dancing. Sometimes we are very close, touching each other or holding each other; sometimes we move away from each other and let the space between us become an area where we can freely move.

To keep the right balance between closeness and distance requires hard work, especially since the needs of the partners may be quite different at a given moment. One might desire closeness while the other wants distance. One might want to be held while the other looks for independence. A perfect balance seldom occurs, but the honest and open search for that balance can give birth to a beautiful dance, worthy to behold.

The Soap Opera Relief

My roommate has fondly referred to my place of employment for some time now as "the soap opera."

Anyone who knows me well knows that my company has more than it's share of drama for such a small organization, and that we seem to attract all kinds of truly unique characters. Anyone who knows me well will also know that these tendencies have caused a rather high degree of stress in my life, especially over the last two years or so.

Thus, knowing those things, you'll understand why my mom totally cracked up, when, in the midst of a rather serious conversation we were having this evening, I somewhat dryly and sarcastically confessed, "Work was a welcome relief today. It was so nice to just focus on that for a bit and not think about all the other things." My mom, had the context of having phoned me at work first thing this morning, and caught me mid-way into my second meltdown of the day (within the first hour!), over things that have absolutely nothing to do with work. With that context, and her knowledge of all of the drama that my place of employment has encompassed, she found my comment particularly funny.

And it was funny to me too. For that moment we laughed together, before returning to the main conversation which once again had me in tears. The "soap opera" was a welcome relief! In fact, in some ways, that thought, and the memory of the conversation, of drawing that laughter with my tone, is still making me laugh. And tonight I definitely need the laugh!

Oh What a Day....

These song lyrics to "Oh What a Day" by Ingrid Michaelson have been resonating in some ways today since I heard it again while my roommate and I were driving in the mountains. While I certainly haven't kissed a bad love relationship goodbye, I'm feeling some of the sentiment in terms of the need to move on from some other things in my life.

Oh what a day is today
Nothing can stand in my way
Now that you've shipped out from under my skin
I think I'm ready to win

Oh what a night is tonight
I think I'm ready to fight
Now that my broken bones all have been healed
I think I'm starting to feel

Something good
Something good
Now that you're gone I can roll on to something good

Oh what a way that we died
Plenty of tears were supplied
My eyes are wrung out and dry as a bone
And I taste much better alone

Something good
Something good
Now that you're gone I can roll on to something good

Oh you know I moved away
From the other side of the door
I don't have to wait anymore for you to come home
Something good
Now that you're gone I can roll on to something good
Something good

26

I haven't spoken very openly on the blog (though there have certainly been hints) about the fact that for the last year and a half a number of relationships I highly valued have been in the midst of deep upheaval and brokenness, and, though it deeply grieves me to say it, right now many of them seem to have come to a stopping point. I pray that they are only stops, and not an ending.

The grief over these changes comes in waves a bit, and tonight, as I'm staring at a milestone of sorts tomorrow, I'm feeling it just a bit.

I'll turn 26 tomorrow, and I'll probably talk then about how I actually love birthdays and turning another year older.

But tonight, just for a moment, I'm pausing.

Birthdays are one of those things you celebrate with friends, and, in a year when many highly valued relationships have imploded, it's hard to come upon a birthday and not feel the grief and loneliness of some of those implosions.

So, tonight I'm praying as I have most days this year. I'm praying one of the items from the "be relentless" in prayer list that God and I talked about as the new year began. I'm praying for healing and restoration of relationships, even in the moments when it is impossible for me to believe that this could still happen. And I'm praying for those people my heart still loves, even at a distance, and asking Jesus to meet each one of them, to pour out blessing upon them, to supply all of their needs, and to give them peace.

Weary

My roommate just ordered me to bed. We were talking, I expressed how weary I've become, she took a closer look at me and ordered me to go to bed. "You don't look well."

I'm not well. I think I will be again. But I'm not in this moment.

I'm exhausted. I've been buoyed through the many challenges of these last few months by prayers, adrenaline, and few brief oasis moments. And I'm pretty spent, with two days of work left this week, then another challenging and draining trip over the weekend, and then three more days of work before I finally have a little bit of jealously guarded and carefully scheduled down-time.

I made a decision last night that I think will ultimately bring some freedom and relief, at least for a time. But right now it's a decision that, as right as it seems to be deep within me, is causing pain and grief as well.

I've had enamorment, and deep hatred in turns for 24/7 prayer, but tonight, tonight my mind is being drawn back to a line from "The Vision" that Pete Greig wrote, "my feeble, whispered, faithless prayer invokes a thunderous, resounding, bone-shaking great 'Amen!' from countless angels, from heroes of the the faith, from Christ himself..."

I sort of need that to be true tonight. I need to be buoyed on the prayers of the saints, on the voices of angels, on the faith of others. Because tonight I'm feeling feeble, barely able to summon even a whisper, and most definitely exhausted and faithless.

Just when I thought...

Just when I thought that I was perhaps finally, after months of wrestling through a particular dillemma, close to an answer. Just when it seemed like it was settling out in my mind and heart and becoming clear, just in that moment, 2 days in a row now, things have happened. Things that are badly re-muddying a situation that was finally clearing.

Groan. Back to listening and rolling things around in my mind and heart like one of those little steel ball games, where you try and get all the bits and pieces to come to rest in the appropriate slots.

Truth (Chopping or Pointing)

A few weeks back I quoted Anne Lamott here, saying, "You don't always have to chop with the sword of truth. You can point with it too."

That line has been doing a number of things in my heart these last few weeks.

I find myself thinking about a number of situations that I've been involved in over the last while.

About the moments when it seems that truth has been wielded only as a sword, meant to cut, to "do surgery", to separate flesh and bone. All worthy things in their own right, but only when done rightly, and with permission. I think particularly about the idea of surgery, and realize that a surgeon, no matter how right he is, no matter how much he knows that without surgery the patient will be unwell, cannot operate without the patient's permission. And I think about how I've encountered surgery as a spiritual metaphor, and wonder if perhaps we shouldn't pause as Christians to consider those on whom we're "operating" - to ask their permission before wielding sword or scalpel.

But I've found myself struck, too, by questions of my own.

I have a strong affinity for truth, and for justice. It's a part of who I am. It's something I learned from my dad. It's also something deeply ingrained within my being. And I've been known to speak with something less than caution and gentleness in the pursuit of truth or justice, especially when the place where they are lacking is something I feel deeply - something that creates brokenness, or causes anger to well up within me.

So I find myself asking if there are moments, in the midst of the same situations I was already thinking about, where I too, chopped instead of pointed. While it is never my heart to cause injury, have there been moments when I spoke with something other than a gentle love? Have there been moments, when, intentionally or not, my words caused injury? Were there moments when my words were heard as a striking blow, even if that was not the tone in which they were intended? Have I paused in the words I've spoken, written, emailed, or simply thought, to prayerfully let my words be tempered by grace and gentleness, so that they can point clearly and bring healing, rather than chopping and causing further wounds?

And, even if they were never spoken aloud, how many times has my heart wanted to chop at certain people or situations, certain that if truth could only be understood, all would be restored.

It's the spirit within me that matters, almost as much, if not more than the spirit without.

I tend to be fairly controlled in my speech. It's rare that I become angry enough these days to truly lash out. And yet, maybe it's the spirit in my heart that counts?

"You must have heard that our ancestors were told, 'You must not murder. If you commit murder, you are subject to judgment.' But I say, if you are even angry with someone, you are subject to judgment! If you call someone an idiot, you are in danger of being brought before the court. And if you curse someone , you are in danger of the fires of hell." (Matthew 5:21-22)

Jesus took it that one step further, and made it about my heart. And that's the hard bit.

I came across a lyric from U2's latest single this morning via a link on facebook. And I wanted nothing so badly as to quote a line from the lyrics in a chopping sort of way to someone I know. To throw it at the person in a "why can't you understand this" fashion. "How can you stand next to the truth and not see it?" Bono sings.

And in that moment, as I read those lyrics, and thought about another question I'd been pondering yesterday, another set of someone else's words that I wanted to lob back at them, my heart was drawn back to Lamott's words, "You don't always have to chop with the sword of truth. You can point with it too." And to Jesus' words in the sermon on the mount, which, in other versions suggest that anger or hatred hidden in your heart is equally sinful and damaging to committing murder. And to the words that follow the passage I quoted above, that talk about wherever it is possible being reconciled.

Just now, as I was pondering all of these thoughts, I was reading a different book by Anne Lamott, and was struck by another comment that rather deeply pertains to this pattern of thought. She writes, "I've known for years that resentments don't hurt the person we resent, but that they do hurt and even sometimes kill us. I'd been asking myself, Am I willing to try to give up a bit of this hatred?"

And so, I'm left with this. A confession that my heart is not always gentle, and that sometimes I want truth more than I want to be gentle and loving towards others. A desire for that heart to change. And a wondering how one goes forward when it has become clear that some things cannot be reconciled, but will end, and end painfully.

Shifting

This has been the sort of week where I'm very aware of changing relationships.

Of ones that seem to have ended (whether that was what I desired or not).

Of others that have changed dramatically in time and tone and scope.

Where I've been remembering still others, lost in memories and prayers at moments.

Where every thing, every place, every moment seems laden with things that tug at heart strings.

I hit a wall of exhaustion today. A moment in which I simply went, "I need a vacation."

We have a long weekend coming up, but I will be spending it in transit to and from a wedding that will also be rife with memories and oddly shifted or tense relationships.

The weekend following that I've arranged for two days (a Friday and a Monday) off work. I badly need some down time. Time just for me, to rest and recoup. Time that (mostly) isn't planned, organized, or otherwise structured. Time where I can simply ask Jesus what we're doing, and spend the day with Him, being loved. Time to consider, to grieve, to recoup after all of the shifting that has taken place in my life this last while. And time to wait for new direction for the future.

I'm really looking forward to that weekend. But, for the moment, I'll just be glad to make it to the end of the work day tomorrow, and have some down time. This weekend is a bit scheduled and planned, with lots of people things that are sure to be a bit draining. But I'm working to also build in moments of rest. There always need to be moments of rest.

Three Thoughts From Henri on Forgiveness and Relationships

three thoughts from Henri Nouwen...

From Blaming to Forgiving

Our most painful suffering often comes from those who love us and those we love. The relationships between husband and wife, parents and children, brothers and sisters, teachers and students, pastors and parishioners - these are where our deepest wounds occur. Even late in life, yes, even after those who wounded us have long since died, we might still need help to sort out what happened in these relationships.

The great temptation is to keep blaming those who were closest to us for our present, condition saying: "You made me who I am now, and I hate who I am." The great challenge is to acknowledge our hurts and claim our true selves as being more than the result of what other people do to us. Only when we can claim our God-made selves as the true source of our being will we be free to forgive those who have wounded us.

Being Handed Over to Suffering

People who live close together can be sources of great sorrow for one another. When Jesus chose his twelve apostles, Judas was one of them. Judas is called a traitor. A traitor, according to the literal meaning of the Greek word for "betraying," is someone who hands the other over to suffering.

The truth is that we all have something of the traitor in us because each of us hands our fellow human beings over to suffering somehow, somewhere, mostly without intending or even knowing it. Many children, even grown-up children, can experience deep anger toward their parents for having protected them too much or too little. When we are willing to confess that we often hand those we love over to suffering, even against our best intentions, we will be more ready to forgive those who, mostly against their will, are the causes of our pain.

Laying Down Your Life for Your Friends

Good Shepherds are willing to lay down their lives for their sheep (see John 10:11). As spiritual leaders walking in the footsteps of Jesus, we are called to lay down our lives for our people. This laying down might in special circumstances mean dying for others. But it means first of all making our own lives - our sorrows and joys, our despair and hope, our loneliness and experience of intimacy - available to others as sources of new life.

One of the greatest gifts we can give others is ourselves. We offer consolation and comfort, especially in moments of crisis, when we say: "Do not be afraid, I know what you are living and I am living it with you. You are not alone." Thus we become Christ-like shepherds.

Everything has influence

I’m struck this morning by how inter-connected life is. How likes and dislikes are influenced by those around you, and shift, based on time and relationships. How something can take on a totally different set of connotations depending on time and space and those around you.

Take for example (because this is what made me start thinking about this) the new U2 album. I downloaded it from itunes the other night and have been listening to it off and on ever since. I was thinking about how I was first introduced to the music of U2 in high school, while attending a young life event, when a speaker used the song “Peace on Earth” to illustrate his point. I was captured by the lyrics, and went out and bought the album the song appeared on, and I’ve been hooked on U2’s music ever since. (That, for those of you who are counting, gives me about a 10 year or so history of loving the music they put out.)

I’ve felt weird about listening to the newest album the last while though. Partly because some people who I know have also been listening, and stuff that they engage in has not always been the healthiest thing for me. Partly because some of the people who I know are listening are people with whom there is relational strain, and there is a part of me that doesn’t want to identify with them in any way.

And so I find myself having this ridiculous self-conversation to justify enjoying a new music purchase. Defending myself to myself. Saying things like, “I’ve liked U2 since long before I even knew so and so.” Berating myself for feeling at times so petty that I will turn away from something that could be beautiful simply because someone with whom I’ve struggled also thinks it could be beautiful.

It’s funny how it spreads, the connotations that things have. I’ve been accused off and on of using specific phrases in my day to day speech that are associated with various people I know (and again, people with whom there are tensions). And I’m quick to jump to my own defense, to deny association. “No, I was saying that long before I met so and so. I picked it up from my brothers.”

And I wonder at the way we’re interconnected. How we borrow words from each other, and how those we’re close to shape our language. And, when there is tension with someone, how quick we are to deny the shaping influence of that person, though if we’re honest, the tension, too, is shaping us.

So, I’m going to listen to the new U2 album. And I’m going to let my heart wrestle a bit with the memories and thoughts it raises. The reminders of relationships in which I long for restoration. The tensions it raises within my heart about these things. I’m going to let it expose the pettiness, and I’m going to work to have a heart that is less that way. And I’m going to refuse to let those tensions (which have stolen much from me this year in many ways) steal my enjoyment of one more thing I’ve loved.