mood :: mixtape

 "The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps." -Proverbs 16:9

 

Moving from one life stage to the next life stage should have clearer boundaries than it does. If I had my way, it'd be like the silence between two songs on a well-crafted mixtape.

But that's not how it usually goes.

Changing of life stages seems more like listening to the radio or Spotify playlist. Songs sort of crossfade together, but the songs rarely share the same key, tempo, or backbeat. So the crossfade sounds clunky, jarring, disjointed.

In my younger years, I'd craft many a mixtape for friends, crushes, acquaintances. If I included a song recorded from the radio, I wanted the entire song without a radio person's voice (a similar annoyance is when the GPS voice talks over your favorite part of a song to inform you of your next turn in two miles).

So for crafting a song running order, that brief space of silence did my mixtapes much good. No voice intrusions, no crossfade.

A tiny bit of silent space to demarcate life stages would also do some good. But that's not usually how it goes.

-Before graduating from high school, most seniors have figured out post-high school plans -- which is a crossfading one life stage with another.

-If you're shopping for new clothes at a store in public, you're required (by law) to shop while wearing clothes you already own. No one shows up to the store in their birthday suit (what else can be said about this?? -- some life crossfades are a net benefit for EVERYONE).

-You never know (at the time) when is the first time you make conversation with a lifelong friend. 

-When graduating college, the crossfade can start so early. What's the next step? Landing a job, graduate school, internship, year or two of volunteering. Something. The ceremony almost feels anticlimactic; a blast of dissonant trumpets amidst the crossfade of the rest of life.

And with each stage, the paths of beloved friends, which for many years have walked side-by-side, now chart different courses ... oh so gradually. It can be a mixture of excitement at what's coming next, and slow-motion heartache at the good that slowly fades out of sight.

There's many ways to look at how life moves from one season to the next. One way is that you're forever fashioning for yourself a mixtape, quite the playlist ... and you're doing so while living your daily, ordinary life.

Sometimes the transitions from one song to the next glide so seamlessly, and you think 'wow, that was smooth ... I am awesome. I've got life figured out.' Sometimes the crossfade between songs sounds raw, messy and abrupt, because that's also life, and you're going through it.

Some songs get added to the mixtape by someone else ... because it's a collaborative sorta endeavor, after all. 

Some songs will always break a piece of your heart.

Many songs cycle back though the playlist again, finding new energy in different life stages. 

Some songs only sound good when you hear them alone, driving at night in the summertime. 

Some songs will revive your spirit, again and again.

Many songs will appear once on your playlist, and they stick to that one life stage: a marker forever frozen to a time, a place, a person, an event.

Some songs you'll forget even made it onto the list. 

Many songs you'll never forget, but until you hear them again after a long time, you'll forget how good they really sound.

Some songs endure, and age well with you.

Hmmm ... maybe just maybe, as much as it annoys me at times, crossfades help.

Maybe just maybe -- as much as I'd wish to have all my life mixtape songs tidy, easily labeled and crisply demarcated -- that's just not how it usually plays out.

things fall apart

When I started college, I was trying to make a long-distance relationship work. For me, that meant I was at college only physically, and barely mentally. My energy, focus, and heart remained where I had been, working to maintain what was.

During a public speaking course that first semester, a classmate gave a speech on the shakiness of long-distance dating.  I still remember her words: "Presents aren't promises, and kisses aren't contracts." At the time, I brushed this off as pessimism. The presents in MY room told a different story, I assured myself. The letters I received, and mailed back home only strengthened this resolve.

It'll be no surprise to share that my long-distance relationship didn't pan out -- didn't even last the entire first semester. It devastated me the Tuesday night we broke up. I wondered why this had to happen, asked God WHY ME. I was heartbroken, angry, confused, strung out.

I called my parents. I called my friends. I took a long walk. I cried myself to sleep. Focusing on schoolwork took so so so much more effort.

Fear of the unknown can slyly motivate us to hedge our bets. I'd never before experienced such a life change as transitioning to college. I felt apprehensive about making new friends, joining clubs, or embracing the unknown. It seemed like everyone was adjusting way easier than me.

So rather than make new friends or try new experiences, I spent nights alone in my room, counting down the hours and days until I could return home to see her. I hunkered away, and hustled to keep up with had been more familiar. My new life kinda scared me.

For me, coming to college while dating someone from home was *a way* to deal with the angst unknown of starting college (it's of course not that way for everyone, but it certainly was for me ... and maybe for some of you too). 

[For the record, one of my best friends did marry his high school sweetheart -- but their journey followed no linear path. They dated in high school, broke up before college, went to different schools, lost contact with each other, then randomly reconnected at the tail end of college, and got married later. They didn't plan it out, but it is what happened, and they remain happily married]

Sometimes, when God suggests or compels us to let go of cherished parts of our life, it's to make room for what's to come. Baby teeth must first fall out of the mouth before adult teeth take their place. It can feel wrenching to have to let go, and even more agonizing when the letting go isn't what we'd choose -- or how we'd choose it.

In the short run, it was a long, awful night to endure when it it fell apart.

And yet. 

It pushed me forward and forced me to connect in the present place where I was living, and not where I didn't live anymore. The best parts of that year at school for me all came after that relationship ended. In the long run (and even in the short run), it turned out more than fine.

"He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose." -J. Elliot