I’ve found myself listening to this song often in the many months since my friends died. It is a quiet space song, for when I’m walking by myself through the crowded streets of San Francisco, or sitting alone on the bus, head pressed into the window, watching the boats rock in the water. I’m drawn to the story – a melancholy reflection after the death of a lifelong love, and these lines cut deep and stick to my bones every time I hear them:

Forty years go by with someone laying in your bed
Forty years of things you say you wish you’d never said
How hard would it have been to say some kinder words instead

As I’ve been reflecting on the past year, and all the tremendous loss and love that it offered up, this is what I keep returning to: the incredible power in the words that I choose to speak, the lasting effects of how I choose to treat people. I believe strongly that the most effective way to cut down unfairness or apathy or rudeness or meanness is to refuse to respond in kind. The rub of course is that in those moments, it’s actually incredibly difficult to be the first to soften your voice or go for the laugh in an argument, to refrain from rolling your eyes, to bite back the sarcasm and let the vulnerability slip through instead.

I think that my struggle to keep my heart open and kind while also setting boundaries and standing tall will probably be lifelong, but when I revisit the memories I created with my friends who are no longer here, every disagreement seems so minor. So unworthy of harsh words or animosity. Every single one. It’s given me a fresh perspective, a reminder that life is short and sometimes brutal. That nothing is more important than holding on to the kindred souls that I have been lucky enough to stumble across. That no amount of pride or ego or good old-fashioned stubbornness could ever be more satisfying than choosing kindness.

• January 7th, 2009
• loss, love, musings
• 3 comments
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