I didn’t know what I would find when I put my earphones in and turned on Livingston’s “A Hometown Odyssey” album. My youngest and I regularly jam out to Shadow from that album, but until yesterday, I was ignorant to the fact that there’s an entire album that goes along with it.
The album opens and closes with narration done by J.K. Simmons. While the lyrics of almost the entire album were surprisingly resonant, it was the closing narration (“Godspeed”) that really caught my attention. More on that in a moment.
My youngest son likes basketball. He plays with a recreation league where there’s no opportunity to assess skill level before the teams are formed. Sometimes, the matchups are even. Sometimes, they’re a disaster.
Yesterday, my son’s team got completely dominated by the other team. At one point, I’m fairly certain the star player on the opposing team had to go shave his beard during halftime to continue convincing the refs he was only 9 or 10. The score at halftime was 2 to 27. 21 of the 27 points were scored by the bearded kid.
Our little team was so discouraged at halftime. One little girl even ran over to her dad to cry on his shoulder because of how badly they were losing. It seemed apparent they weren’t having any fun.
That game was a microcosm of what life’s like sometimes. We experience tremendous disappointments and exhilarating victories. There are also long periods of time when we mostly just exist.
Often, there are extended periods of time when losses seem to be heaped up, one after the other: a cancer diagnosis followed by job loss followed by the death of a loved one, and on. Even in my small circles, I’ve seen people suffer so much that I’ve wept for them.
Our capacity to endure is perhaps one of the most defining characteristics of humanity. I watched a video yesterday of a woman born with no legs and only one arm navigate her way around a market on a skateboard, using a sandal and her only hand to move among the crowd with a smile on her face.
How?
I bemoan my existence when I have a rough day at work or catch the flu.
There are a few keys to enduring the difficulties, trials, and losses of life well.
- Gratitude.
- A positive attitude.
- Perseverance.
- Perspective.
- The love and support of others.
Of course, I’m not advocating false gratitude, toxic positivity, or surrounding ourselves with people who pity us. Even during times when life is generally good, we can have down days. Exercising the four traits above and relying on those around us is a way to ensure that the down days don’t win.
Orson F. Whitney wrote:
No pain that we suffer, no trial that we experience is wasted. It ministers to our education, to the development of such qualities as patience, faith, fortitude and humility. All that we suffer and all that we endure, especially when we endure it patiently, builds up our characters, purifies our hearts, expands our souls, and makes us more tender and charitable.
Gratitude is so important because it helps us focus on what we have (and rarely does that include our tangible assets) and the lessons we’ve learned. That holds true even when we’ve lost so much.
A positive attitude allows us to see the potential that can come from adversity which can also open doors to new opportunities.
Perseverance is this unique human characteristic that allows us to manufacture within ourselves the strength to keep going when giving up seems easier. This is what allows us to overcome challenges.
Perspective, like a positive attitude, reminds us that losses — even the most painful ones — are often temporary. Perspective helps us remember what’s most important.
The last point is especially important when we’re supporting someone else. Sometimes, our role is to mourn because others are mourning. Sometimes, it’s to provide comfort. Rarely is it to offer advice because that advice is often a mechanism to lessen the discomfort we feel because of what others are enduring.
I’ve heard a story of an elderly man going to visit a dying friend. The elderly man was accompanied by his son. The man walked into the room of his friend, sat down beside his bed, and held the man’s hand. After some period of time, and very few words, the elderly man stood, kissed his friend on the forehead, and returned to the room where his son was waiting.
“It was a good visit,” the elderly man reported to his son.
“But Dad,” the son said, somewhat perplexed, “you barely said anything.”
“That’s because we didn’t need words.”
No advice. No words. Just presence.
During halftime, our kids made their way to the bench with their heads hanging down, practically dragging their feet, overwhelmed by the odds stacked against them. Life has a way of testing us in ways that often seem overwhelming; odds impossibly stacked against us. Like our little team — down by 25 points at the half — they had the choice to either give up or dig deep. Sometimes, the triumph isn’t about changing the outcome, it’s about refusing to let the defeat become who we are.
I didn’t hear what our team’s coach said to them during the few minutes they had to rest at halftime. But, when the teams took to the floor again, something had changed in our little squad.
Surprisingly, only 6 points were scored during the entire second half, and they were all made by my son’s team (same kid, all 8 points they mustered during the entire game).
Final score: 8 to 27.
There was an air of triumph from our team, knowing they had held the other team scoreless during the entire second half. They lost badly, but the discouragement they felt at halftime was erased by the fact that they’d won the second half.
Who we become in the metaphorical second half isn’t about the victory. It’s about what we learn through endurance, hope, and resilience. That’s often enough.
The closing track of “A Hometown Odyssey” is a stirring narration:
What keeps you up at night: the fear of the unknown or the fear of being normal?
Rest assured. You are far from it. Your losses will forever lead to your triumphs. The evil that meets you at every corner only proves you have the power to change. The darkness will always flee from your light, and the world awaits the stories you have left to tell.
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