Joy in Unexpected Places
You all know that I process by writing, and today is no different. I woke this morning, alone in a hotel room, to the news of Orlando.
I watch the news, and I think I've become numb. I rarely if ever weep anymore. I worry to be sure. But tears seem to have dried. Today was different. Instantly I found myself sobbing an ugly cry...a welling over of grief. Because shootings are horrific. HORRIFIC. But when those shootings then target one group, whether is of race, or belief, or sexual orientation I don't believe the english language has words to accurately describe how tremendously awful and terrible and sad and heartbreaking it all is.
My friend sang through his grief this morning. And that made me both smile and cry a little harder. So I'm here, and I'm writing because it's all I have.
It was something I'd never done (a vacation with a girl friend that is). Instead I wound up in Puerto Vallarta with 10 (or was it 12...I've lost count) amazing, beautiful, silly, sassy gay men. They made me laugh till my sides hurt, we ate and walked and went fishing, I helped them barter for leather bags...but more importantly these beautiful guys made me feel loved and ever so safe in what was—in so many ways—uncharted territory for me... first trip ever as a single woman.
I don't even know why I'm telling you this story, or the one that follows except that it provides context to my grief today.
I love to dance. A lot. I never really knew how much until recently...but there is something about getting lost in music and moving and being alive.
In Mexico, this was taken to a whole new level of awesome. The evenings in Mexico seems to start around 10:30-11...so after a long afternoon siesta and dinner, dancing awaited! To our disappointment the mainstream clubs shut down shortly after midnight, just as you were getting warmed up. But, thanks to our boys, we weren't destined to stop dancing... because we'd hunt them down (and hope that our presence was not diminishing their good time) -- two Canadian girls in a gay club, dancing up a storm.
This story might surprise some of you. For so many reasons Nightclub + Tara = SO Weird (Gay club or otherwise). Married for 20 years, mom of two, committed Christian...nightclubs are just not something that were in my known world (not to say any of this precludes nightclubs...only that for many years my revelry tended to happen in PJ's to Disney Sountracks on repeat with the most adorable bitty people).
But I digress...my point is, there is something extraordinarily powerful about being in the presence of beautiful people. Who. Are. FREE.
Who are not hiding or minimizing or cautious about who they are or who they love.
It is more powerful when you realize that those living in that freedom do not take it for granted. In places like Vancouver where I live—where diversity is accepted and even celebrated—some might feel free to kiss their partner in public, but in so many parts of the world such an act would find condemnation at best...prison or punishment by death at worst.
But this night. Free to be who they are, dressed how they like, loving who they like, dancing like their bad selves. Cheering and laughing as drag queens performed, expressing creativity and raw talent (or lack thereof) onto a stage. Sharing time and banter and heaven help me... techno music.
It was within this community and this context that I was asked one night if I was ok, by someone who could have been dancing with any number of eligible and attractive men around us, but instead chose to not only notice, but engage with the girl sitting at the bar watching those around her dance.
I was not ok. I was sad, grieving my own losses and worried and daunted by what my future held. Being single and self sufficient for the first time in your life at 40 is scary shit. And yet...somehow my path had led to sitting at a gay bar in another country watching people be FREE. The beauty and irony was not lost on me in that moment.
He didn't know my story really. Just snippets and the superficial things we share with those we've just met. But he told me that it was not only gonna be fine, it was gonna be GREAT. He said it like someone who knew fear. He looked me in the eye until I squirmed a little and asked me if I believed him. When I told him I wasn't so sure, he nodded out to the dance floor, smiled knowingly and whispered "then you need to dance some more until you do".
It also taught me a few things that I have never put words to until tonight. It pulled me into a time and space where a group of people—who can find many reasons to live in fear or hiding—choose freedom and BIG, LOUD JOY!
For all the freedom that is given to me as a white, Canadian woman, I have a really hard time living in that freedom. I have grace, but rarely extend it to myself. I have hope, but so rarely live in that knowledge. Instead I live in worry and what ifs. I can learn a thing or two from those who do not take for granted what has been hard won.
And today I weep, because in Orlando today, someone walked into what I now know to be a holy ground. A space of freedom and acceptance and love. They walked in and shot hate and intolerance out of a semi automatic rifle. But while bullets take lives, they are not as powerful as the hope and love and acceptance in that space.
This side of heaven is riddled with brokenness. It is imperfect and longing and hoping for more and better than what we have. But tonight around the world love came together, louder and brighter and bolder than the shooter and his bullets. Making those lives MATTER. Giving them back the voice that was stolen from them so early this morning.
You may be able to break hearts and hopes on this side of heaven, but the other side awaits for the likes of these. And the love and hope of those that have swelled in response is bolder, and truer and greater and more powerful than any bullet.
We will still find joy and hope in unexpected places.
You failed.
We will still dance.
I watch the news, and I think I've become numb. I rarely if ever weep anymore. I worry to be sure. But tears seem to have dried. Today was different. Instantly I found myself sobbing an ugly cry...a welling over of grief. Because shootings are horrific. HORRIFIC. But when those shootings then target one group, whether is of race, or belief, or sexual orientation I don't believe the english language has words to accurately describe how tremendously awful and terrible and sad and heartbreaking it all is.
My friend sang through his grief this morning. And that made me both smile and cry a little harder. So I'm here, and I'm writing because it's all I have.
January
This January I took a trip, I think when I was invited I was picturing a relaxing Mexican break on the beach with a girl friend...with lots of sleep (and guacamole) maybe even some solitude.It was something I'd never done (a vacation with a girl friend that is). Instead I wound up in Puerto Vallarta with 10 (or was it 12...I've lost count) amazing, beautiful, silly, sassy gay men. They made me laugh till my sides hurt, we ate and walked and went fishing, I helped them barter for leather bags...but more importantly these beautiful guys made me feel loved and ever so safe in what was—in so many ways—uncharted territory for me... first trip ever as a single woman.
I don't even know why I'm telling you this story, or the one that follows except that it provides context to my grief today.
I love to dance. A lot. I never really knew how much until recently...but there is something about getting lost in music and moving and being alive.
In Mexico, this was taken to a whole new level of awesome. The evenings in Mexico seems to start around 10:30-11...so after a long afternoon siesta and dinner, dancing awaited! To our disappointment the mainstream clubs shut down shortly after midnight, just as you were getting warmed up. But, thanks to our boys, we weren't destined to stop dancing... because we'd hunt them down (and hope that our presence was not diminishing their good time) -- two Canadian girls in a gay club, dancing up a storm.
This story might surprise some of you. For so many reasons Nightclub + Tara = SO Weird (Gay club or otherwise). Married for 20 years, mom of two, committed Christian...nightclubs are just not something that were in my known world (not to say any of this precludes nightclubs...only that for many years my revelry tended to happen in PJ's to Disney Sountracks on repeat with the most adorable bitty people).
But I digress...my point is, there is something extraordinarily powerful about being in the presence of beautiful people. Who. Are. FREE.
Who are not hiding or minimizing or cautious about who they are or who they love.
It is more powerful when you realize that those living in that freedom do not take it for granted. In places like Vancouver where I live—where diversity is accepted and even celebrated—some might feel free to kiss their partner in public, but in so many parts of the world such an act would find condemnation at best...prison or punishment by death at worst.
But this night. Free to be who they are, dressed how they like, loving who they like, dancing like their bad selves. Cheering and laughing as drag queens performed, expressing creativity and raw talent (or lack thereof) onto a stage. Sharing time and banter and heaven help me... techno music.
It was within this community and this context that I was asked one night if I was ok, by someone who could have been dancing with any number of eligible and attractive men around us, but instead chose to not only notice, but engage with the girl sitting at the bar watching those around her dance.
I was not ok. I was sad, grieving my own losses and worried and daunted by what my future held. Being single and self sufficient for the first time in your life at 40 is scary shit. And yet...somehow my path had led to sitting at a gay bar in another country watching people be FREE. The beauty and irony was not lost on me in that moment.
He didn't know my story really. Just snippets and the superficial things we share with those we've just met. But he told me that it was not only gonna be fine, it was gonna be GREAT. He said it like someone who knew fear. He looked me in the eye until I squirmed a little and asked me if I believed him. When I told him I wasn't so sure, he nodded out to the dance floor, smiled knowingly and whispered "then you need to dance some more until you do".
Finding Freedom & Hope in Unexpected Places
So there was dancing, and a good helping of what my friend Laura would call "Joy Joy" (because one Joy doesn't capture enough)! And the beauty of the "joy joy" contained in that space, and others like it that week healed a few pieces of this girl's hurting heart.It also taught me a few things that I have never put words to until tonight. It pulled me into a time and space where a group of people—who can find many reasons to live in fear or hiding—choose freedom and BIG, LOUD JOY!
For all the freedom that is given to me as a white, Canadian woman, I have a really hard time living in that freedom. I have grace, but rarely extend it to myself. I have hope, but so rarely live in that knowledge. Instead I live in worry and what ifs. I can learn a thing or two from those who do not take for granted what has been hard won.
And today I weep, because in Orlando today, someone walked into what I now know to be a holy ground. A space of freedom and acceptance and love. They walked in and shot hate and intolerance out of a semi automatic rifle. But while bullets take lives, they are not as powerful as the hope and love and acceptance in that space.
This side of heaven is riddled with brokenness. It is imperfect and longing and hoping for more and better than what we have. But tonight around the world love came together, louder and brighter and bolder than the shooter and his bullets. Making those lives MATTER. Giving them back the voice that was stolen from them so early this morning.
A voice that says to the shooter: You failed.
You may be able to break hearts and hopes on this side of heaven, but the other side awaits for the likes of these. And the love and hope of those that have swelled in response is bolder, and truer and greater and more powerful than any bullet.
We will still find joy and hope in unexpected places.
You failed.
We will still dance.
thank you.
ReplyDeleteALL THE FEELS!!!!!! Thank you, Tara.
ReplyDelete-Kelsey Smart
As i now cry again, i am just in total awe of you Tara. And so grateful to know you!
ReplyDeleteSara Blake