Pals.

In honor of yesterday,

I'd like to say something that I've been thinking about.

Being afraid of commitment

doesn't make sense.

Just in general.

It started back in evolutionary times, see?

You didn't want to die.

So you picked someone

to be your pal,

and stuck with 'em.

Hunting,

gathering,

raising littluns.

End of story.

...

Nowadays, it's not all that different.

You don't want to die alone

or live a life not worth living at all.

So you pick someone

to be your pal,

and you stick with 'em.

You talk to 'em

and give 'em things to eat,

go to the things that they care about.

Hunt.

Gather.

Raise littluns.

...

You're afraid your pal will leave you?

They won't.

When they do,

it hurts.

But if you don't even try,

you still don't have a pal.

So either way,

you die.

Dumb.

And everyone wants a pal.

So you'll find another one.

And you'll be happier than with your first pal.

Afraid you could find a better pal?

I guess that could happen,

but that's not what it's all about.

Haven't you ever made a decision

that you didn't end up regretting?

Haiku.

"Be my Valentine?"

"I guess that would be okay.

You're not made of wood."

And I'll sing hallelujah!

Yesterday, a song meandered into my mind.

And I'll sing hallelujah,

and you'll sing hallelujah...

What song was that?

I could hear it in my mind,

but I didn't know where I'd heard it,

or where to find it.

After a long time, I found it,

and it was more than I bargained for.

This is an old type of singing from the American South,

called Sacred Harp, 

or shape-note, singing.

There is no accompaniment,

no audience,

no formal conductor.

In the musical notation,

each note has a shape,

so that people who didn't know anything about music

could still sing.

Sacred Harp is everything I love about America,

and about being human.

Nothing but plain ordinary folks,

with the sod of this great earth 

running through their veins,

facing each other,

singing about everything in their hearts,

about what makes a poor, beat up life

a life worth living.

Today I was mad,

and I put Hallelujah on.

And I thought about how sweet it will be to see God

and how meaningful the smallest things really are.

Deep down in the mud is where you can see life 

for what it is.

We're all children.

Today I watched

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly.

It's a true story

about a man who became paralyzed after a stroke.

Even though he could only move his left eye,

he learned to communicate through blinking.

He wasn't a good man, see.

He left a path of broken lives in his wake.

And yet everyone around him loved him.

It astonished me how much I loved him,

when he didn't deserve any of it.

But I did.

There was a point in the film

where you heard him narrate,

"I have pneumonia."

And I gasped.

No.

Please.

...

He knew a man

who had been held hostage in Beirut for years,

who came to him and said,

"Hold fast to the human inside of you,

and you'll survive."

The real Jean-Dominique Bauby.

And he did.

That's why he was worth loving.

Even he said,

"We're all children;

we all need approval."

There was human inside of him,

and that couldn't be taken away.

Squeeze the stuffin' outta ya.

Today, when I was crossing campus,

two guys stopped someone ahead of me

and asked if he had 5 minutes to help them with a video.

When that happens, you duck away, right?

But as I did so, 

I heard what their film was about.

"It's for Valentines Day.

We're going to film you giving a five-second answer

to the question

What does love mean to you?"

Then, of course,

I wished I was the one they had asked.

But what answer could I give in five seconds?

I thought about it,

and this is what I came up with:

Love is when you look at a person

and want to hug 'em so hard

that the stuffing comes out of 'em.

Love is when you feel so happy

that you want to hug whoever's nearby,

no matter who it is.

Love has a lot to do with hugging, I guess.

Apparitions.

Have I ever seen a ghost?

You bet.

Sometimes you look at someone,

and all you see

is the ghost of someone else.

Someone who you're not around anymore.

And you say,

It can't be.

He would never be here.

I know she's in another country.

I don't even know what happened to him.

But they look so much

talk so much

smile so much

like someone you know

that sometimes you can't help but stare.

And sometimes you laugh and look away.

Photo cred: Michele.

Don't be insecure, girl.

My motto is

 

Say what you need to say.

 

But this week, I've developed another one.

 

Don't be afraid,

because the things you're afraid of

are the things you should be excited about.

 

 

Obviously, I'm not talking about spiders or being robbed.

 

I'm talking about being afraid of talking to someone new,

or thinking about the future,

or tackling a large task.

 

When you're afraid,

it means there's potential.

 

And that's something to be excited about.