Over the weekend, I had the privilege of (again) experiencing how the arts so powerfully reflects life, mirrors our human experience, and reaches us in places and ways a lecture or theory simply can’t.
In a dark room on a hot Saturday night, I experienced someone else’s experiences of their parent’s death. It was raw and unique, personal and irreplicable, while at the same time universal and familiar.
As I sat watching, I thought about my own experiences and the thousands of hours throughout my career where I have witnessed and listened to similar stories.
Perhaps what made it extra poignant is that this week is the anniversary of my Dad’s death.
….
It’s been almost a whole lifetime since my dad died, yet the build-up to this corner of the year continues to fill me with dread even after all this time; I feel a deep instinct to close in, process by obsessively drawing, and escape.
Watching someone else’s experience of that same dread around Birthdays, Father’s Day, New Year, Christmas… was deeply validating.
Laughing in recognition at the split-second internal decision whether to say something (and consequently have to hold space for the shock/sadness/awkwardness of the other person), or….lie, when asked a question by an unsuspecting stranger that can only be answered with “they’re dead”.
Knowing first hand how people sprinkling ‘love and light’ on shitty situations, or suggesting you focus on “being grateful”, or playing the “at least they” game makes you feel dismissed and isolated.
I cried. I laughed. I nodded. I breathed in (and out!). I felt it all.
On my way home, I reflected on how much my Dad’s death has impacted the work I do and the ways I do it (and my strong opinions against the positivity movement!). It’s undeniable that it has.
The biggest thing it’s taught me is that human-ing is not easy or comfortable.
One of the most powerful things we can do for others is listen and acknowledge their experience, without fixing or smoothing, but simply by being present.
You don’t always have to have words of wisdom. You don’t have to rescue. You don’t have to offer up sweeping comments like ‘things happen for a reason’ or ‘you don’t know how strong you are’ (hot tip: grieving people appreciate neither of those sentiments).
Life happens.
Here’s to the power of stories that share experiences and normalise life just as it is; the good, the bad, the sad, and the joyful.
I’d love to know if there’s a piece of music, art, or performance that has reminded you of why you are you.
Here’s to a week of taking the time to listen.
Bel
PS: On Thursday, I’ll be having some Ripe Raspberry lollies in honour of my dad (he used to have a jar of them by his bed when he was sick). Symbolism is so connecting (and I’m happy to provide you with an excuse to have something sweet too!).
Every Sunday afternoon, Bel sends the Ignite community a personal note of encouragement – reflection, inspiration, stories, and sharing. It’s our way of helping you prepare for the week ahead. Add your details here to receive Here’s The Thing in your inbox.