How To Love Yourself. A Memoir.
Today as I’m sitting here typing these words, one of my favorite songs spills from my television speakers, blaring it’s solemn orchestra of hope with an anguish to it that always makes me feel.
Rats in ruin, by all them witches. I highly suggest it.
This moment brings me back to so many things in life. A good friend of mine is currently struggling with depression she doesn’t deserve. My dog has ticks. One of my coaches is questioning her entire life. And the world spins madly on and on.
I still see the light.
The reason I love rats in ruin is not because it is a happy song. If you aren’t already playing it, put it on. You’ll understand. This song isn’t happy. It’s hopeful. And that is something much different.
It is filled with bright longing. Acknowledgement for the beauty that only spurts from pain. And there is little beauty on earth so powerful. Because tragedy is honest. It’s true. Who has not suffered? Who has not cried? Wallowed? Despaired? Pain is more common than pleasure for most of us.
But if not for pain, there could not be beauty. We could not be awestruck and amazed by the incredible, unlikely and impossible art of life.
I won’t tell you what to believe. Or what to do. Or how to see.
But today, I am grateful for my pain. God shines through it.