The place where love shines through

Arguably the most self-injurious act I commit on a semi-regular basis is to give myself a haircut.

Semi-regular, because when I have the time, I don’t mind patronizing a barbershop. Sometimes my schedule just makes it difficult. Not precludes but delays it long enough that my exasperation outgrows the hair itself, especially on the back and the sides—we won’t speak of the thinning top and front—and out come the scissors. I look forward, albeit with some trepidation, to the time when the hair doesn’t grow back at all and I can save myself the trouble.

Self-injurious, not because I draw blood, but simply because the results are, well, patchy. Sometimes a loving family member insists on a bit of clean-up. While this is never refused it should be noted that I and I alone take full responsibility for an end that is occasionally beyond rescue.

And arguably, because I have gotten myself into enough tight situations that outside inspection might suggest not only a will to self-destruction but a pattern thereof. From jumping off of a 100-foot cliff into water at age 17, to being rescued by helicopter from a 1000-foot cliff above water at age 32, there has been an irregular but spectacular incident log. In college, for no reason that I can recall other than to prove to myself that I could do it, I swam across the Connecticut River and back at 3AM. In the Peace Corps, I very nearly spent the night alone in the middle of the (South African) woods after taking a few detours on a bicycle and then getting a flat just as the sun set. And more recently than I would care to recall I did spend the night in the woods—unplanned though not alone, on top of a mountain in the dead of winter, with new snow falling to cover any ski tracks.

If any such pattern existed then I am happy to report that it is over.

In a deeper way than even marriage confers, becoming a parent has bestowed on me a sense of caution. Not a timid or constricting caution but a joyous and life-affirming caution. An awareness of world beyond self in a way that celebrates the physically small but emotionally staggering risks of raising a child.

This may seem a truth so obvious as to be trivial. Yet until recently, when an unexpected event led me to realize it, I think I had been unconsciously mourning the loss of—what? A secret swagger of invincibility? A false sense of spontaneity?
The event, thankfully, was nothing life-threatening. Rather, it was a moment of clarity in the middle of a conference on mind-body-medicine in which I recalled the words that the most amazing dance teacher blessed me with at age 18: “you are the place where love shines through.”

In that moment of recall I saw the swagger and the spontaneity for what they were: a carefully and secretly nurtured feeling of superiority. Nothing overt. Plenty of moments of self-deprecating laughter along the path. But there nonetheless. A feeling of, “it’s up to you to save the world! You are the one! If you can’t do it no one can!”, coupled, irrationally, to “you can do whatever the heck you want to.” And I think until I acknowledged that, that there was a part of me, which, recognizing that I could no longer be physically reckless (never mind that I was falling short of world-saving), felt cooped up inside.

And just like that the naming of it caused it to fall away. To fall away and allow me, hopefully, to continue on the journey of being the parent, partner and person that I want to be. In that moment, in the midst of a hundred strangers going through the same conference, I felt confident enough to stand up and share my story. I do not have to be the strong one, the consistent one, the family doctor who stands up for his community and for the world—not that these are things I couldn’t and can’t strive for. But I don’t have to prove anything, least of all to myself. There are no more physical cliffs to ascend; the real cliffs, after all, are just beginning.

In that moment I could be comfortable with who I have been, who I am. I could just breathe in and out and be the place where the love shines through.

Granted, there may always be a streak of recklessness alive and well in me. Hopefully one that at its worst will only be cosmetically injurious—my apologies in advance if the love shining through is a bit patchy.