We were sitting on the bleachers at Vanderbilt Stadium on Saturday, waiting for the evening's performances from Robert Earl Keen, Jason Mraz and the Dave Matthews Band to begin when it all came rushing in. It caught me a bit off guard, but not totally surprised. Everything must be dealt with in due time.
It was a festive atmosphere, with thousands gathered for what was arguably the biggest concert of the spring. College students, middle aged men and women and those of us in between crowded the field and throughout the stands. Women walked around in sundresses, guys in t-shirts and jeans. It did not take a lot of effort to spot "that guy" -- the one who shows up the concert wearing the merchandise of the band he has come to see. I never really understood the appeal. Perhaps it is matter of pride, likened to the way a sports fan will wear a throwback jersey to prove that their dedication to the team spans more than just the here and now.
The week that was. I had escaped it just long enough to sleep once peacefully through the night, but there it was waiting in the bright sunlight in Section R, row 60. The tensions, the disappointment, the unpleasant news on a Friday afternoon. A handful of familiar faces were about to become a lot less familiar. Survive this round to fight another one. Things will turn around soon. We hope so because hope is certainly a more solid foundation than anything the pundits can tell us.
The sound ripped through the field and up to the rim of the bowl. Dave and company turn in a great show, no matter where they play. The music is organic, powerful and more than a little unpredictable. A cover of "Burning Down the House" and various fakes and teases segue into popular hits. The visuals fill your eyes with wonderment, captivated by the larger-than-life imagery and searchlights that bathe the crowd with patterns and vibrant color. Thousands sing along to almost every word. It is a very surreal experience.
Eight hours later we were standing behind an elementary school, moving mulch, gravel and leaves around to help out a parents' group build a garden. The project was one that a friend (and former co-worker) had helped organize, a great example of how every parent should stay involved with their child's school. Being childless ourselves, Samantha and I came to lend a hand and to hang out a bit. Light physical labor is a surefire way to keep my mind from wandering (or more accurately, dwelling) on things that happened before the weekend started. I still have a bit of a sunburn and sore arms, but I would do it again if given the chance.
I have tried to take a different approach to the day-to-day struggles in times such as these. It is built around acknowledging the reality rather than painting a rosy picture. I accept that not everything ends well. That has been the hardest, because I have always subscribed to the philosophy that things that go wrong frequently lead to a better opportunity. I am sure that it still happens in the long run, but there is far too much pain in the meantime to make a direct correlation between the setback and the prosperity. You cannot say that the person who loses a job and his or her home is suddenly in a better place than when they started; It is simply not the truth.
Guilt comes easy. We still lead a rather comfortable life as a dual-income-no-kids yuppies while others in very close social circles barely get by, or simply do not get by at all. I have become more acutely aware that even this supposed life of leisure is a very fragile proposition. Can gratitude and guilt be one in the same emotion?
I have spent a bit of time around other people's children lately. I often step back and see the defined roles in society, where the parents worry about the future while the kids approach the world with curiosity, boundless optimism and limitless potential. I wonder exactly where that innocence is lost and if it can ever be recaptured, even in a fleeting moment. The way they play, the way they learn and the amount of trust they place with those of us that spend far too much time worrying is a thing of wonder. It is just an amazing contrast.
I do not know what will happen tomorrow or the day after that. I cannot guarantee that everything will turn out just fine in the long run. My only prayer is that we can take care of one another well enough to see us through to a brighter day.