Sitting
on the couch in the quiet except for the words of the new Adele song, "Hello," rolling
off of my iTunes.
The
first time I heard this, all I could hear was her powerful voice. Without coincidence, as I believe, my husband
texted me within an hour of hearing it on XM to tell me about the new Adele
song. He had just heard it on Good Day
Columbus, and he said it was sure to be a hit…and he was right. We heard it for the first time within an hour
of one another. Love this.
At work,
I played it over and over on YouTube in my classroom during my planning time
(sorry to my neighbors). The raw sound
of her voice and the intensity of regret in the lyrics struck me, grabbed me, sunk
into me, and then slapped me.
But, later,
I read an article about the song. She
said that it wasn’t about anything in particular—that all of the “love gone
wrong” angst of her last CD was in the past.
I
thought about that for a long time. Each
time after reading this dialogue, and I listened to this song, I could hear her
say it wasn’t about anything-anyone in particular.
And she
is right…at least for me. Haven’t we all
broken hearts? Haven’t we all hurt our
friends, our families…even those people we barely know? From the mere age of 6, I can recall hurting
others, being unkind, and I can recall being around others who treated me the
same.
How
silly it is that I can vividly recall that in 1st grade, no one
would trade me shoes because I had the flat sandals with the plastic rainbow
stripes, and all of the other girls had the white ones with the cork wedges….I
still can see me standing by the monkey bars while the other girls—traded in
front of me.
And
after feeling that awful feeling that can only be described as rejection…a mere
2 years later, it was so easy to make fun of one of my longest friends at a
slumber party because… everyone else was--—sorry EM.
While slightly funny and anecdotal now, I can still recall feeling “ugly” way back in 1985
being called “bucky beaver” because I had a huge overbite (thank you Erkis and
Kristal for fixing this!!!). Kids can be
really mean, you know.
Kids are
mean, even when they aren’t “kids” anymore.
The high school Michelle gossiped and found fault in others because I
felt so insecure about myself-because I wanted to belong, wanted “the” boy,
wanted the pretty clothes and the shoes.
I came off strong and assertive, but it wasn’t real…and it became a character
flaw that would transcend for a long, long while.
In
college, I dated a lot—hopping around-yet running back trying to “fix it”, and yet,
I kept one foot out of the door, just in case.
I think I hurt “them” as often as they hurt me.
And I
have no doubt that in my various jobs before I became a teacher, there were
many “digs” to me and from me…
oh, please, honestly,…
the words were like a torrent
rainfall-
falling and falling
-each drop
of bitch shredding the next
—the
20’s really are a time when you just “do” without much caution of thinking
before your speak, thinking before you do—and I paid the price in a myriad of
ways, in my family, in my friends, in college, all leaving me with an unfilled
“quest.”
And,
interestingly, the reflection of the rear view mirror blinds me glaringly now…because
I prided myself for so long for being this person who was a “good” friend/big sister-surrounded
by many. Yet, in that glare, I found
that, maybe, I am not that friend-that maybe I have an ego bigger than my heart
on every third Wednesday…
It’s
just that as those moments and memories of the past might fade for some (or maybe they learned how to put them in a box or seal them in an envelope)-it seems in my own
life, my swirl of memories-in my swirl, they stay. They stay.
Right here. As my daughter says, "Owie Owie."
In my
life now, I have learned those hard and painful lessons (and dozens of others),
and I as sit here listening to the words of this song, I think about how Adele
apologizes for hurting, for walking away, for misunderstanding and
miscommunication.
Who
hasn’t been through this—in some walk of life?
And, despite all the lessons learned from all the mistakes we make, is
it written anywhere that those lessons that gave us a grade of “C” or "D" won’t reveal
an “F” the next time, even though we were hoping for at least an improvement to
an 80%?
I, for
one, still believe in second chances-for the “old college try” and at least a 77%.
…and
most of the time (and I still don’t know exactly what this means about me), I
am a person who gives a third and fourth chance before I am ready to be on the
“other side-the outside.”
It’s
puzzling and oh-so-revealing to me that while I began this blog at 40 to
chronicle this ***“amazing a-ha”*** (one I thought I finally achieved before 41--) that
was supposed to appear and blaze like the Northern Lights or something… would
fizzle into a flicker—and finally showing itself to me, to sink in…
3 ½
years later.
And
Adele is “write.” The a-ha is finally
that I, me, Michelle, the “40-come lately” can say with ABSOLUTE affirmation
and conviction (not the presumably-“I’m older, I know better” motto of my
“wiser age”) …
"at least I can say I tried, to say I’m sorry.”
Sorry to me, sorry to my family, my friends,
and to the people who didn’t even know I owed them one. And sorry to ME. And maybe…I am finally and at last “getting”
what others seemed to have gotten long ago.
I believe in me. For the doubts
and faults that I can’t let go of, I am ready to give ME the 3rd and
4th chance. I am my own
comeback.
And, as
I write this, my sincere hope is that others might give themselves their own 3rd
and 4th chances—to create their own pages of the comeback.
…to
write the words that will matter to themselves first…
and for
me:
at long
last, 43 ½ is opening a new
chapter.
