strong back, soft front, wild heart
The wild heart is tough and tender and brave and afraid all at the same time. -Brené Brown
“I am a writer! I am!" I wrote as I completed my journal entry on January 3rd of the new decade. The declaration seems fitting for the way I have moved into the new year. Slowly, and with deliberation, and ready to begin a new way of being in the world, as a writer, an artist, a musician, among other things. The decade seemed to exit with an explosion of activity and change, which seemed fitting seeing as I began the decade as a 14-year-old quite ready to complete the 8th grade. So much has happened since then- upon reflection, I've realized that this decade was tumultuous and beautiful and soul-shaping in the best way. I started and graduated both high school and college, fell in and out of love, discovered that I was an artist, knew -firmly- for the first time that God is deeply real and important, made best friends that will be in my life for as long as it continues, learned how to begin listening to God, and how to talk to God, and how to trust God. I learned how to tell stories that mean something, and play music in a way that is more than just memorizing notes on a page. I moved states three times, had my world rocked by 14-year-old students in San Jose, and returned home as an adult, to try to figure out how to rest, after all of that. The little girl who began the decade has morphed into a woman who is trying to figure out how to root down and how to grow, all at once. How to move on into the next decade without losing sight of all that shaped me in my teens and early twenties. How to make my way in the world, without losing connection to everyone that made me. A small task, right? Easy dubs, to use my brother's 12-year-old slang. (Side note: living with a 12-year-old is the best. I would highly recommend, because it results in small delights, such as looking into the fridge to discover an egg with the words "hi boomer" written on the shell in pencil.) This is difficult! But a challenge that I am ready to take, with the fresh slate of a new decade in front of me.
Last night, I sat down at the piano to play Mendelssohn's piece, "Venetian Boat Song," a piece in his set of six "Songs Without Words." It's one of my favorites, very slow and beautiful and mournful sounding, and I'd definitely recommend listening if you haven't heard it. Anyway, in true Alyssa fashion, I discovered that I lost the copy of that piece, but still had the other five pieces in the set. I decided I'd do a bit of sight reading on the first piece, because the tempo read "andante espressivo" which is always a good sign, as I love playing anything slow and expressive. I began to play it, and was absolutely struck at the beauty of it. A small gift in the living room of my childhood suburban home in Boise, Idaho. It baffles me, the way my body can look at letters and lines and dots, and create something profound and invisible from nothing, and send it into the air, filling the whole house with beauty- the same beauty that filled the house of a composer 200 years ago, and has filled hundreds and thousands of rooms, and now is filling mine. Oh, the legacy of music! I am still filled up with the magic of it!
It is such a comfort to know that, even though I might feel disconnected physically and often emotionally from the artist communities I was a part of in college, I still belong, deeply, to this line of creative souls who made beautiful things. My professor in college used to always say a similar thing about playing Shakespeare, that we ought to think about the incredible legacy we were stepping in to, all the people in the past who spoke the same words we were speaking, the people who were moved in their hearts in the way we were- a line stretching behind us and in front of us, and we got to be a part of it. A piece in the journey of growing up, learning that we are not alone, even if we feel like it.
I've been thinking a lot about growing up recently, brought on by many things, like turning twenty-four, and this deep and pervasive sadness about loss of childhood, and what felt like my first Christmas as an adult, and Greta Gerwig's masterpiece Little Women which seemed to articulate exactly how I feel in my heart right now. It's about sisterhood and childhood, and being soft and strong and lonely, all at once. It is easy in this time to feel isolated from anything familiar, propelled into a new decade where I am forced to move into my own singular person. Many of my friends seem to be experiencing this deep loneliness at the start of adulthood as well. But I have to wonder, is this because I choose to feel isolated? Am I running from what is different and unknown, rather than leaning in? Am I approaching all my relationships with the intention of making me feel better and less alone, rather than thinking about how I can bless the other?
This leads me to think of two things. Stick with me here.
First. I recently finished listening to the most excellent podcast, an episode of On Being with Krista Tippet, in which she interviews Brené Brown, a social researcher at the University of Houston. Brown spends the podcast speaking about the importance of belonging and feeling connected. (I'm going to try to summarize it, but please goodness listen to the podcast yourself! Don't let this sorry excuse for a summary scare you away.) She says that in America, we have sorted ourselves into communities where we experience false belonging based on a shared hatred, meaning that the reason our group exists is because we all hate the same people. Obviously, this is totally unsustainable. This whole phenomenon occurs because we have become a people who are deeply afraid of what is different from us, and thusly have forgotten how to listen to and be vulnerable with each other, even when we disagree. "Bravery requires vulnerability," she says. "Otherwise it's all just bluster." She says the way forward, in order to restitch us together as humanity- or, remember, if you will- is by learning to be vulnerable with each other, having a strong back, a soft front, and a wild heart. How beautiful is that?
Why is it that we all hate each other? Everywhere? In our churches, in our theaters, in our politics, in our every day interactions? No wonder we are lonely! As childhood fades, and the rosy glow of childhood fades with it, I am realizing it is more important than ever to remember to refrain from running away from things I don't understand. Instead of rolling my eyes or getting upset, I have to lean in, to reconsider.
So, second. In my college theater classes, my professor used to encourage us to try to see fully people we disagreed with or thought we knew or had an idea about, and instead of forming judgement, say, "huh, I wonder why you did that." To reconsider them as a person as they changed and grew. The more I think about it, the more it seems like exactly what Brown is trying to say. That belonging and connection has everything to do with becoming curious rather than critical and hateful and afraid.My friend Jill and I were having a conversation about this the other day, about how everything in life goes back to this idea of reconsidering, because it reminds us that life is not all about ourselves, but instead what we can do for others, even if it is just to witness where they are or how they have changed. Once we take the time to witness other people's stories and struggles, it not only re-members our connection with each other, it empowers us with the courage we need to share our own story in a brave way, even if it is scary. "Stay curious, be kind, and listen with the same amount of passion you want to be heard," Brown says. After all, isn't that what art is all about? Sharing our stories with each other, even if we are afraid no one will understand them. And then, listening to other people's stories, even, especially, if we do not agree.
I've found that I pride myself in being open-minded, in being brave, but somehow it has turned into pretty much only pride and not a lot else. I think that I am better because I know more, and fall prey to the line of thinking that, if we are honest, a lot of people my age fall into: "I had such-and-such experience at such-and-such place, and now I know better, and if you knew what I knew, you would change your ways." We do this about the church, and about our fellow artists, and in friendships, and in families, and I see it in myself all the time, everywhere!And all this, all this! is part of growing up. It's about learning who you are and how to be yourself in the world without taking up so much space you run over everybody else. It's about standing up for the person that you are, even if you are the only one standing. It's about inviting people with your story instead of slamming the door in their face. Am I doing that? I'm trying to. We have to root down in order to grow up. Which I think is also what Brown means when she says we have to have a strong back, a soft front, and a wild heart.
It's easy, especially as a woman in our culture today, to want to have a strong back, a strong front, and a strong heart, to burst out independently and with gusto. But this, I think, ultimately results in isolation because a strong front is impenetrable and therefore lonely, even if we don't want it to be. I think perhaps one of the most useful things I learned from the theater is learning how to stay soft in a world where that seems dangerous. And by soft, I don't mean being a wimp or demure. I mean soft in a way that we want to hear what other people have to say, soft in a way that our heart is open to hear from the Spirit, soft in a way that we let ourselves be moved by things that move us, soft in a way that is willing to reconsider our ideas about other people, soft in a way that allows us to love deeply and without selfish thoughts. We have to root down and know what we believe, what we think, and how we feel about things that are important to us, but we also have to reach out towards other people. We have to invite and reconsider and love.And last, there is the whole wild heart bit. I opened this post with a quote by Brené Brown from the podcast, and I'm going to say it again here: "The wild heart is tough and tender and brave and afraid, all at the same time."Tough. And tender. And brave. And afraid. All at the same time.Good grief. I could think about that for a hundred years.
I so badly want to be brave. I remember a time one of my acting teachers said my performance was "gutsy," and I grinned for a week. Sometimes I convince myself to do scary things by asking myself, "are you a Gryffindor or aren't you?" I decided that during my 24th year of life, I would try to one new thing every day, which, so far, has succeeded. (This has resulted in a blind date, trying jackfruit and tuna sushi, using the mobile parking app, and walking through an extremely weird organic plant shop in Boise, although I still can't get my guts up to introduce myself to the cute barista at my favorite coffee shop I am writing at.) The idea of being wild and sturdy and brave has always been attractive to me; my first blog post ever is entitled "fear is a garbage emotion." However, underneath all my ruses of bravery, there is that gnawing fear, and I don't think that is every going to go away. If you know me well, you know that I struggle trusting my instincts. I have an idea about something, and then spend the next two weeks doubting that I actually heard God's voice, or that my idea is actually any good, or most often just declaring that I haven't done anything with my life, and probably I'll be single, working at a grocery store for the rest of my days. So, for the new year and the new decade, I am trying to have a wild heart- to trust without doubting, amidst the fear, without postponing what I knew deep in my bones was right and good and beautiful all along. I want to trust the process, and ultimately, remember that this growing up is all about being in the middle.In the middle of fear and trust. In the middle of tough and soft. In the middle of a line of people I am connected to that stretches behind me and in front of me. Living in the middle of these contradictions with a wild heart, a heart that dares to be vulnerable in order to be brave, all in the name of growing up into the person God is calling me to be.
So here's to 2020, to reaching out instead of pulling in, to wild hearts, to trying new things, to pursuing new dreams, to playing more piano, to reconsidering, everyday.And so, dear readers, thank you for sticking with me, today, and for the last year and a half. Thank you for being a part of my line. I am so grateful.
-alyssa
p.s. Here is the link to the podcast! Please listen! https://open.spotify.com/episode/1ILI27GbRvXDvXnTYuQBXT
p.p.s. Don't forget to comment below, if you so feel lead!
p.p.p.s. Quick life update: I got accepted to grad school! To Regent College in Vancouver, British Columbia! Talk about new things, am I right? I am visiting in February, and then depending on finances, could start in either September or January, and studying Theology and Arts! Super exciting. I am SO ready to use my creative brain again! Will keep you updated!