Three Perfectly Imperfect Encounters: Trombone Player, Songwriter, Survivor

I briefly sat with a man of my age who told me he had recently joined two bands, where he plays the trombone. He is also learning to dance and will soon be taking his first voice lesson.

He seemed more alive to me than most—comfortable in his skin, accepting his flaws, celebrating his victories, and learning from his defeats.

He confessed that he had spent the last two months rediscovering himself…learning himself…learning to love himself in this stage of his life.

This isn’t selfish. This is necessary.

The Bible states, “Jesus replied: ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself’” Matthew 22:37-39.

How can we say we love our neighbor if we only partially love ourselves?

We can become so accustomed to giving that we no longer recognize when we are giving to the point of taking from ourselves — taking from the very reserves we need to rest and reset.

The second person I met was singing an original song which began, “You know my name, but you don’t know my story.”

I thought about that opening line as it rang true, possibly for most people.

Being known by name but not known is nothing new in this population, which is often overstimulated by information and isolation—a bizarre and deadly combination.

We can barely manage to take care of ourselves, let alone have the mental bandwidth to ask someone else how their day is going.

When we do ask, we often receive a rote response that feels detached or answers that exceed the time we have available.

This observation isn’t meant to be negative, but rather to be curious as to what we can do to be truly known in a world of busy, overextended, and often stressed strangers.

Unfortunately, oftentimes the stranger is us.

The injustice of relationships is that we want them, but we are often cheated by obligations, energy, and insecurities.

Good intentions are often marred by exhaustion.

Friendships often fade over time, or due to a lack of time, even though the number of hours in a day remains constant.

Numbered are our days. Numbered are our calendars.

And yet, what seems to be timeless is the need for connection.

The third person I spent time with tonight was a woman I had never seen before, yet she felt familiar. It wasn’t until I hugged her at the end of the evening that I understood.

In her embrace, I felt both her pain and her resolve. She had been through more than I will ever know, as I will not ask… some stories are not meant to be read; rather, they are intended to be felt.

This woman accepted her vulnerabilities and her victories. In this, she was a warm light on a rainy day in winter.

I didn’t even realize that I had been feeling isolated until I came into her company.

Had she not had the discipline to tend to her light, I would not have seen her for who she truly was: imperfectly perfect; yet, still shining.

Yes, tonight I spent time with three people. They each arrived separately within a two-hour period. They didn’t speak to one another despite my engaging with all three and each seeing the other.

Each reminded me of three important things: the importance of self-care, the value of embracing both our vulnerabilities and one another, and the need for genuine connections.

As we move about this day and throughout the week, may we do so with intentionality, knowing that time will pass, no matter how we spend it.

May we take a sincere interest in caring for ourselves, and may we tend to ourselves and one another with a sincere love that resonates from within — a love first demonstrated by Christ.

“We love because he first loved us” 1 John 4:19.