I listened to a wonderful NPR interview with Glen Hansard this morning, and the host was asking Glen what this newfound fame was like. Before Once, before the Frames, Hansard was a street musician, so the host had a good question there. And Hansard gave a really wonderful answer. He said that as overjoyed as he was with all the new experiences and outlets and support, there was a profound sadness to his transition into fame, a sadness that for the longest time, he couldn't put a finger on. As the interview went on, he told the story of having the opportunity to sit down and chat with Bruce Springsteen and they talked about this process, this sadness. And Springsteen's advice was: FEEL IT.

Ahhh! Yes! And how under-appreciated this sentiment is! I think it's important to acknowledge that every choice to do is a choice not to do everything else. Every moment of growth is a movement away. Every wonderful change is a parting with your old self. It's a loss. And it's painful. AND THAT'S OK.

I'm glad to have heard this. I've had conversations with so many friends recently about how our lives are better than we ever could've hoped, we're better equipped than we ever thought possible, and the facts on paper are starting to look more and more like the world we dreamed for ourselves. And we feel guilty for the ache, the homesickness, the loneliness. But to see it through this lens, as a celebration as well as a mourning, to know that it is not only to be expected but that it's important... there is comfort in that. Or maybe just hope.

The response is what matters. The response is what hurts or heals, mars or marries. You can either resist in fear and be torn in half your whole life, or simply commit to allowing the change to happen, no matter the discomfort. No one said it was going to be so difficult. But it's nice to have some company here, even if it is simply a voice on the radio.

Dear singing man on the street,

I appreciate your enthusiasm. Perhaps you could express it in a quieter manner.

First of all...

I am discovering, of late, that I have to idea what I think. I am beginning to realize what a privilege that discovery is. 

I think back to when I was a teenager, and I was so sure. I just knew. And it was terrible.

The further I go into this life I am creating, the more exciting I find the unknown. I went to the grocery store by myself in my new neighborhood for the first time, and it was a freaking ADVENTURE. I found a store that sells the most gloriously useless furniture, saw some amusingly poorly translated signs, met a puppy, got caught singing to myself by a man carrying a window (and when I looked embarrassed he burst into song, too), and discovered no less than 5 new kinds of cheese. GOING TO THE GROCERY STORE.

And that's the wonderful thing about all of this. I've been living for just long enough to think I know the world, know my profession, know myself. And then life happened. And I can receive it.

This is why change is so important. 

And that is the thing I am most proud of, the growth I most celebrate: That I see change, discomfort, even failure, as experience, as learning, as growth. I have not always lived like this. Some people never will.

This understanding has also been allowing me to have conversations I never would've had. Some of these conversations are with strangers (my downstairs neighbor just pranked a friend by throwing a handful of firecrackers into said friend's shower), with colleagues (new teaching techniques!!!), and with the people I love. I had a really important conversation with an old friend (whom I probably would've lost otherwise) that was the most uncomfortable ten minutes I've had in a long while. You know what we said? We said, "You hurt me." We said, "I'm sorry."

AH. How painful. How difficult. How healing.

So that's my project for now. To experience with open eyes and ears and mind and heart. To analyze honestly, and to allow myself to feel whatever comes from that.

And that, I think, might be work enough for a lifetime.