Thank you, Alanis Morissette

A couple of months ago my mom suggested I listen to a song by Alanis Morissette.  I hastily disregarded the suggestion, assuming my mom knew nothing about my taste in music, for one, and also because I had some immediate judgement about Alanis Morissette (even though, quite honestly, I've liked a lot of her songs with the exception of You Oughta Know -- and I really only learned to dislike that one because I had seen too many angry, drunk, white girls sing it with all their might at karaoke and I happen to have sensitive ears, so.)

Eventually in a moment when I was missing my mom, I decided to listen to this song.  It moved me.  It shook me up and brought tears to my eyes.  And I know I'm sentimental and love this kind of stuff, but there was something there that was so simple and sweet and willing to love that I, just cried.

One thing I want to acknowledge immediately here was that I was wrong about my mom.  I often am.  She does know me.  And even though she's sometimes just a little off the mark, she's always aiming at the right target.  With this song she reminded me of the sweet knowing only a mom has.

About this song.  I'm going to share the lyrics, but I beg you to release all attachment to proper English, poetic prose, and grammatical accuracy.  I'm going to ask you to please, just loosen up and see it in all it's vulnerability, because that's part of it's beauty.  And, if you've ever tried to write lyrics to a song with all those considerations, you've probably learned that those songs suck and sound like they were written by complete nerds (I know because I've tried to write songs and have always been unwilling to release my attachment to properly formed sentences and unabbreviated words and they have sucked).  Here they are:  (IF YOU'RE ABLE OR WILLING, LISTEN TO THE SONG AT THE SAME TIME, PLEASE)

how bout getting off these antibiotics
how bout stopping eating when I'm full up
how bout them transparent dangling carrots
how bout that ever elusive kudo

thank you india
thank you terror
thank you disillusionment
thank you frailty
thank you consequence
thank you thank you silence

how bout me not blaming you for everything
how bout me enjoying the moment for once
how bout how good it feels to finally forgive you
how bout grieving it all one at a time

the moment I let go of it was the moment
I got more than I could handle
the moment I jumped off of it
was the moment I touched down

how bout no longer being masochistic
how bout remembering your divinity
how bout unabashedly bawling your eyes out
how bout not equating death with stopping

thank you india
thank you providence
thank you disillusionment
thank you nothingness
thank you clarity
thank you thank you silence

I love all of these words, except maybe 'thank you India' but that's because I'm still working through my fear of the sadness that exists there and my judgement of the very stereotypical American's desire to find enlightenment while doing yoga amongst a people's struggle (that's assuming that A.M. wasn't just thanking India for the same reasons I might if I decided to).

What unhinges me is the reminder that I can, and want to say thank you for the hard stuff -- disillusionment, nothingness, silence, sadness, consequence, frailty, terror, unmet needs, grief, letting go.  That these things absolutely carve out space for joy and depth of character and integrity and clarity in seeing self and the world.  They are gifts and they are as welcome as a belly laugh or a joy that erupts from somewhere inside of me that is unknown or the experience of absolutely surrendering to loving something or someone. They are welcome and I want them in my life too.

Gmail saves everything.  I am constantly, accidentally finding some old email or exchange I had forgotten.  Today I found very old and forgotten chat exchanges between myself and my ex-boyfriend (I wasn't looking, I swear!).  My very first love.  The only one I've ever completely surrendered to.  And what I saw was, so interesting.  I've been 'over' that relationship for enough time now to not be hurt by it, but my heart was pried open by something that surprised me.  I saw myself.  I saw my absolute and undeniable willingness and desire to love and accept him.  I saw that he often didn't give me a response that reinforced that love, but that it didn't matter.  I had made up my mind and I was going to love him no matter what.  And I said thank you.  Thank you vulnerability.  Thank you willingness.  Thank you, thank you, kindness.  Thank you, thank you, innocence.

There's something that happens when you say thanks for the things that hurt in the moment. It makes it possible, maybe easier, for that space that we need to be carved out for joy.  It stops us from resisting the inevitable and therefore prolonging it or making it more painful.  It helps us to see the lesson within it and celebrate the learning.

Thank you, thank you fear.
Thank you questioning.
Thank you possibility.
Thank you choice.
Thank you, thank you patience.


Thank you, mom.