The Seasons, They Go Round and Round (Allowing Life’s Bittersweetness)
I returned recently from an annual week of family camp in the beautiful pinetree-laced mountains of Northern California. My family has attended for over 40 summers, and now my brother’s wife and kids, my partner, daughter and I and my almost 80-year-old parents still go, with a fun crew of extended family joining this year too.
It’s a special — for the kids, downright magical — place.
This year my wonderful 15-year-old nephew asked my five-year-old daughter if she’d like to sing a song with him accompanying her on the guitar onstage at the talent show campfire. Lit up with glee by the prospect, she chose the song “The Circle Game” by Joni Mitchell.
After listening on repeat to learn the lyrics and practicing together a few times, when the time came to get onstage, Audrey was absolutely petrified.
She confessed through panicked tears that she’d forgotten all the words. We took a few deep breaths together and she quietly practiced one last time before stepping onstage, quiet tears streaming and clinging to my body, but also still clearly committed to moving through the fear and following through with this rare opportunity with her beloved cousin.
The sweet music director encouraged her with high-fives, “You can do this sister — you’ve GOT this!!” whispers, and revving the crowd up by asking “Who’s excited to hear Audrey sing?!!” to which the bleachers responded with whooping, clapping and chants of “Audrey! Audrey!!!”.
After a few more “bravery hugs", glancing at me for one last dose of reassurance and wiping a final batch of nervous tears from her cheeks, her cousin strummed the first chords and looked lovingly down at her, she plopped herself in a crouch on the stage, held the mic up to her little mouth…
And the lyrics just rolled clearly out.
The crowd sang along with the chorus in a supportive but not overpowering way and sprinkled cheers and claps throughout, and when the song ended to a burst of applause, Audrey looked a mixture of relieved and delighted and proud. She skittered offstage, beaming and catching high-fives from all sides.
And woah.
Witnessing my little girl's bravery and sweet connection with her cousin while hearing that song in this familiar-in-my-bones setting with 4-month-old babies sitting alongside 80-year-old grandparents — one generation coming in, one slowly fading out and all the joys, sorrows, and complex tendrils of family running between them — with the words of the chorus floating through the cool evening mountain air:
“And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look
Behind from where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game."
Such a heart-tenderizing moment.
A bittersweet blend of wistful smiles and tender, knowing tears washed through the crowd, and me.
And that’s the thing. Our mindfulness practice helps us become better able to be with not just challenging emotions like shame and anger but also to hold space for the tenderness and the bittersweetness of life.
The Both/And-ness of the full, rich, complex human experience.
To allow for moments of terror right alongside our bravery and resilience.
To allow space for the full-circle-ness of life as the seasons go round and round.
So here’s wishing you the bravery to “stay” just a bit longer and more fully with the heart-tenderizing moments you encounter in your days. The beautiful, the mournful, and everything in between.
With Love (and to bravery!),