I’d like to start off with a confession: I’ve always been pretty bad about the whole “optimism” thing. That’s not to say that I don’t believe in hope, because I do. It’s just that I think that hoping for “the best” or in redemption is different than expecting the best. I’ve never been able to turn a blind eye to reality. I do find beauty in honesty, even, and especially, when that honesty feels a bit fractured.
We live in a funny time, and we’ve spoken about that in the past, that the Internet has radically affected the way we see and interact with the world around us, and perhaps most greatly changed how we see and interact with other people. Social media profiles have become the lens through which we experience life. We pick our “hottest” pictures to represent ourselves, and we find or create the right label to express our views. We throw our hearts out there, pretending that 140 characters can accurately sum up what makes us tick. Perhaps the worst thing is that we have bought the lie that we are worth the collective thoughts of our “friends” and “followers.” In all of this, I think that we’ve abandoned a crucial truth – that to speak into someone else’s life is, and always has been, a privilege. Not a right.
This tour has carried me to a variety of cities, but I had circled the Seattle date on my calendar long ago, and I think that that is mostly due to the anticipation I felt of getting to revisit the pieces of my heart that I have left in the care of my friends who live there. Seattle brings to mind the idea of “vulnerable love,” which is the bravest of all loves, where love is best expressed as a privilege. Vulnerable Love, enables us to open up, knowing full well that conversations will be difficult, or that confessions may be greeted with a flinch, but in the end knowing that nothing will hinder the mutual respect you share in those whom you place your trust. Vulnerable Love is one that stands in the same category as music. One that speaks not out of rebellion, but rather in seeking revolution. This love moves constantly, there is no room for the stagnant. It understands that hugs can’t make everything OK, but dammit, I am going to squeeze you harder than ever because I can’t stand the thought of you thinking you’re alone in that moment.
I felt this Vulnerable Love other night, and while leaving Seattle is always hard for me, that morning was especially difficult. Being on tour isn’t glamorous. Don’t get me wrong, there are parts of touring that I wouldn’t trade for anything, but while I get to be in a new city every day, that also means that I have to leave that new city the next day. Conversations don’t travel on interstates very well. Heaviness sits with things left unsaid, and unresolved conflicts travel with me.
Seattle brought a mixture of emotion. I was able to see some dear friends, but hear hard news about their lives. I spent 30 minutes with a homeless man, hearing his story and listening to his soulful, gritty songs, but a minute later his booze-induced forgetfulness fueled a new introduction to me where he made up a completely new story about his life. I was able to connect with a bar owner who, upon finding out about us for the first time (and will be celebrating 7 years sobriety in March), loved our message of hope, but then talked for nearly an hour with someone who struggles with these issues and said she had only “heard” about us, and thought we only sell shirts and prey on perceived weakness. Beneath her steadily raising voice was a deep concern that maybe this situation was indeed hopeless.
This last interaction struck me hard and continues to travel with me, and for those of you who feel like you’re in a moment, or season, or year of hopelessness, know that I am with you. Those moments when you feel like forcing a smile is the biggest lie you’ve ever told, know that we are with you. You don’t have to fear honesty, or feel wrong for not subscribing to optimism. We aren’t intimidated by your questions. Your voice is beautiful and your breathing serves as a protest to all that is holding you down. You can scream at the darkness, make it afraid of your life, and we will be there cheering you on.
We deserve to be known. Our battle is not one of heroism, where we must pass through our valleys alone. We are here to extend Vulnerable Love. The young woman I mentioned earlier spoke to me in honesty, and what started out as uncomfortable soon became very special. There wasn’t a happy ending, or a grand resolution in this conversation, but she did tell me that she enjoyed the chance to talk plainly about these matters. I couldn’t help but smile when she continuously interrupted me saying, “Stop telling me what ‘we’ believe… Tell me what YOU think.”
And thus, I believe that we are more than the banners we operate under, be it religion, or geography, or age, or philosophy, or our favorite non-profit. We are what we express of ourselves in honesty, and it’s worth every bit of fight necessary to find where our voice can be heard and honored. So fight. And don’t think you’re fighting alone. Use your voice, your passions, and your friends. The true friends who you can’t wait to see again.
Hope is not always expected, but that’s what makes it so much more beautiful in the end.
Chad
PS: TWLOHA info and merch will be out on the rest of the Jarrod Gorbel tour. Check out the list of cities below to see if we’re coming close to you.
San Antonio, TX
Austin, TX
Houston, TX
Dallas, TX
Fayetteville, AR
Lawrence, KS
St. Louis, MO
Newport, KY
Columbus, OH
Pittsburgh, PA