You Will Be Found
Tonight I whipped my spatula out of my icing bowl and ran into my living room just in time to join the Dear Evan Hansen cast in a spectacular singalong of "You Will Be Found." Yeah, I closed my eyes and danced and everything. Icing might have flown around the room.
I never felt more alive.
My officemate has been telling me lately that I need to find a thing to do. Something I love. And when I find the thing and do the thing, all the other things in life will fall into place. My officemate tends to be way more "glass is half full" than I am, but it did make me think: what's my "thing"? Sure. I like writing. But you do that alone. I also like reading, which one also does solo (unless one has a small child). I enjoy naps. Cooking. Going to the movies. None of these are big contenders for getting out of the house and meeting people.
I used to be a crazy social person. I did STUFF. I went to meetups. I belonged to groups. I made new friends and learned new things. But since, well ... let's just say I lost myself more than a few years ago. My things cracked under the weight of someone else's things. I let that happen, and I'm not proud of it. But it's been a while now and I still struggle with remembering what the old me liked to do. What brought me joy before I forgot about joy? What made me feel alive?
Tonight I remembered. I love singing. I love it so much. Until my mid-30s, I'd spent my whole life in church and community choirs. I'm not super awesome, but I can hold my own. And it's been too long since I sang with a group. I've always used the excuse "there are no ways to sing in an amateur group if you're not in a church choir in this city" to cover up my real reason: fear. I mean, what if I find a way to sing as part of a group again, and they don't want me? What if no one likes me? Isn't it easier to just stay home and sing into a spatula?
I think that answer is no. Maybe on this Easter eve, after six weeks of mental and physical detox, I finally know what makes me tick. And maybe it's time I do something about it.
Thanks, Dear Evan Hansen.
Even when the dark comes crashing through,
When you need a friend to carry you,
And when you're broken on the ground.
You will be found.
So let the sun come streaming in.
'Cause you'll reach up and you'll rise again.
Lift your head and look around.
You will be found.
I never felt more alive.
My officemate has been telling me lately that I need to find a thing to do. Something I love. And when I find the thing and do the thing, all the other things in life will fall into place. My officemate tends to be way more "glass is half full" than I am, but it did make me think: what's my "thing"? Sure. I like writing. But you do that alone. I also like reading, which one also does solo (unless one has a small child). I enjoy naps. Cooking. Going to the movies. None of these are big contenders for getting out of the house and meeting people.
I used to be a crazy social person. I did STUFF. I went to meetups. I belonged to groups. I made new friends and learned new things. But since, well ... let's just say I lost myself more than a few years ago. My things cracked under the weight of someone else's things. I let that happen, and I'm not proud of it. But it's been a while now and I still struggle with remembering what the old me liked to do. What brought me joy before I forgot about joy? What made me feel alive?
Tonight I remembered. I love singing. I love it so much. Until my mid-30s, I'd spent my whole life in church and community choirs. I'm not super awesome, but I can hold my own. And it's been too long since I sang with a group. I've always used the excuse "there are no ways to sing in an amateur group if you're not in a church choir in this city" to cover up my real reason: fear. I mean, what if I find a way to sing as part of a group again, and they don't want me? What if no one likes me? Isn't it easier to just stay home and sing into a spatula?
I think that answer is no. Maybe on this Easter eve, after six weeks of mental and physical detox, I finally know what makes me tick. And maybe it's time I do something about it.
Thanks, Dear Evan Hansen.
Even when the dark comes crashing through,
When you need a friend to carry you,
And when you're broken on the ground.
You will be found.
So let the sun come streaming in.
'Cause you'll reach up and you'll rise again.
Lift your head and look around.
You will be found.
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