A conversation between grief and celebration

Apr06.Grace Apr06.Whit2

These photos were taken 10 years ago last week. Do I feel heartbreak when I look at them?  Absolutely.

I’ve been listening to Krista Tippett’s marvelous On Being podcasts when I run.  Most recently, I heard her interview David Whyte.  It was this assertion that struck me, more than any other:

An elegy … is always a conversation between grief and celebration.

I heard this and stopped in my tracks.  Yes.  This is my life at its core.

Whyte goes on to say this:

This is another delusion we have that we can get — take a sincere path in life without having our heart broken. And you think about the path of parenting, there’s never been a mother or father since the beginning of time who hasn’t had their heart broken by their children. And nothing traumatic has to happen. All they have to do is grow up.

I shared a photo on Instagram a week or so ago in which I quoted from Hope Jahren’s beautiful Lab Girl.  “I have learned that raising a child is essentially one long agony of letting go.” Some of the responses made me feel gloomy and maudlin.  Is life as a parent an agony to me on a daily basis?  Absolutely not at all.  Is the letting go that is at the core of parenting an agony to me?  Truthfully? Yes. Every single day.

Parenting, and life itself, is a conversation between grief and celebration.  For me.  I’ve described parenting as “an endless alleluia and a constant goodbye,” but naturally Whyte finds more powerful, beautiful language to share the same emotion.  Grief and celebration, intertwined, inextricable, throwing both light and shadow into the corners of every day.  Indeed, indeed.

I know for sure that my journey through this life is limed with heartbreak, and it’s reassuring in a deep, being-seen way to hear David Whyte say that that’s true for all of us on the “sincere path.”  Elegy has long been one of my favorite words (I described my work in an old proposal as an elegy for what was and a celebration of what is).  In David Whyte’s hands it takes on even more nuanced meaning.

Do I wish I could live in way that involved less darkness, less grief, less heartbreak?  Yes, I do.  But the fact is I just don’t think I can.  At 41 I’m learning all the things that cannot change, and my fundamental orientation towards the world – open, aware, porous, sensitive – is one of them.  I’m heartened and reassured by Whyte’s words, and they make me feel less alone.  Which is, of course, the highest praise that writing can garner, in my opinion.

The conversation between grief and celebration goes on.


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9 Comments

  1. Kate
    Posted May 2, 2016 at 6:13 am | Permalink

    That was such a good On Being episode! I saved the quote about the sincere path and heartbreak to my phone. It is so very wise and true!

    admin Reply:

    I loved it too! xoxo

  2. Posted May 2, 2016 at 8:03 am | Permalink

    When I come across others, like you, along the “sincere path” I know I am walking in the right direction. For me, it’s really the only way I know how to go.

    admin Reply:

    The only way I know how to go either. So grateful to know we’re walking alongside each other. xox

  3. Posted May 2, 2016 at 8:26 am | Permalink

    I love your way with words. So much more poetic than how I think. On the topic- I think I choose the heartbreak too. Before I had kids, I had these moments where the world sort of cracked open and I felt all the beauty and pain together. But they were moments and for the most part I led a very happy and self-involved life. Then I had children and all of a sudden, the world cracked open became a daily occurrence, something I have to live with. But it’s so much more beautiful, it really is.

    admin Reply:

    Yes, it really is more beautiful. I don’t know that I would say I chose this way of being, to be honest, but it is just the way I am … and you’re right, at least I think, that it’s a more beautiful (albeit more painful) way to see the world. xo

  4. Posted May 2, 2016 at 9:07 am | Permalink

    Once again, thank you for writing words I need to hear. I am constantly trying to be shinier and happier. Thank you for showing the beauty of being sincere and brave enough to allow your heart to be broken.

    These are some of the most beautiful babies!!! Those eyes!

    admin Reply:

    I am always wishing I was shinier and happier too. xoxo

  5. Posted May 2, 2016 at 10:24 am | Permalink

    Yes to all this. I feel the agony alongside the joy every single day.

    admin Reply:

    Me too. xoxo

  6. Posted May 2, 2016 at 6:24 pm | Permalink

    Ugh… Yes: “there’s never been a mother or father since the beginning of time who hasn’t had their heart broken by their children. And nothing traumatic has to happen. All they have to do is grow up.” My friends who don’t have children do not understand this at all. They get annoyed with me. But it’s true. Even my (very sensitive and a tad dramatic) 9-yr-old said on his birthday last year, “I’ll never be eight again! This is so bittersweet!” Yes. Grief and celebration…

  7. Posted May 2, 2016 at 7:01 pm | Permalink

    I loved this interview, too. And I love how you’ve added to it for me by embracing it and feeling the embrace of it both into your own life. Yes. A conversation every moment contains. Thank you Lindsey.

  8. Posted May 2, 2016 at 9:16 pm | Permalink

    This really spoke to me. Read it twice!

  9. Posted May 3, 2016 at 11:15 am | Permalink

    Beautiful. You and I are two peas in a pod. I used think I was odd–so slanted to the melancholy, to the achy awareness of the passage of time, a catch in my throat over their constant growth, a hand no longer needing to be held. Even though I know that is what is *supposed* to happen and it’s a grace-filled gift that it *is*. It still hurts. xo