Have you ever had an experience with art where you feel like the artist just gets you?
One of the things that I love about art is how each person experiences something unique from the same piece. Different themes stand out and unique elements resonate with each person, whispering to hidden, quiet parts of ourselves. Music is no exception. I love that I can listen to a song, interpret meaning from the lyrics and melody, and have a wholly different impression of the music as another listener.
“Watching as I Fall” from Mike Shinoda’s “Post Traumatic” Album is a song that has resonated with me for a long time. Shinoda wrote this album following the death of his long-time Linkin Park bandmate, Chester Bennington. The raw, unfiltered, gritty emotion of this album makes it a favorite of mine.
Picture this. It’s a sunny afternoon, and we’ve hopped in my Jeep and are driving to pick up a tasty soda drink (a Hocus Pocus from Fiiz, please). We’re friends, right? As the A/C keeps us from melting in the summer heat, this song comes up on the shuffled playlist. Those first notes of the melody hit, and the next part of this story is already written in the stars. I crank the volume all the way up and belt the lyrics from the top of my lungs as you side-eye me and try to act like this is totally-cool-and-completely-normal.
That’s how this song hits for me. Every time.
[Pre-Chorus]
Maybe I should be more grateful
That I had to watch it all come undone
Holding so tight to the edge is painful
But I can't ignore it, I know
Here’s something to know about me. I love a plan. Anyone reading this who remotely knows me is chuckling to themselves right now because that’s an understatement. I love a plan. I love a set of standards, expectations, and procedures. It can be difficult for me to hold things with an open hand rather than a clenched fist.
Surrender? I couldn’t find the word in a library of dictionaries.
Life doesn’t always fall neatly in line with our plans, though, does it? Not even close, in some instances. One of the biggest unplanned shifts in my story was leaving the classroom and transitioning to the corporate world. It was rocky and imperfect. At times, it felt like everything was falling apart. I’ve learned, however, that often in the moments where every careful plan is falling apart — shredded to smithereens apart — better things are surely falling into place.
Maybe I should be more grateful that I had to watch it all come undone.
My bones feel that in the lyrics of the pre-chorus.
[Chorus]
They're watching as I fall, they're staring as I go
I gave until my soul hurt, and never told them so
They're watching as I fall, to somewhere down below
But maybe I'm just falling, to get somewhere they won't
The chapters of my story are filled with twists and turns, as I’m sure yours are, too. For me, some of those twists are turns weren’t gentle and slow. They were more rickety-roller-coaster style with sharp drops, head-snapping turns, and bone-shaking tracks. There’s a moment in that roller coaster of a journey, though, when you reach the top of the climb. For a brief moment, you’re suspended —almost weightless — between the uphill climb and the twisting drop that follows. There's no way out but through. There’s no other choice but to finish the ride.
The precipice is its own kind of freedom, isn’t it? I can’t do anything but let go and hang on. I have to let go of the edge. Let go of hurt and judgment from myself and others, let go of my own best laid plans. And in that moment, hang on to the hope that “maybe I’m just falling to get somewhere they won’t.”
It brings to mind a Steve Harvey clip that I love where he talks about jumping off the edge of the “cliff of life”, taking a chance on falling, and having faith that your parachute (your unique gifts) will open to support you. (You didn’t think I could mention Steve Harvey and a member of Linkin Park in the same post, did you? Yet, here we are).
I couldn’t imagine a more perfect life for myself than the one I get to live today. From the bottom of my whole soul, I am so grateful for every second of it. And let me tell you, none of it was planned. My marriage, my friendships, my job, my career field; none of those things have gone according to my younger self’s “Great Life Plan” that I had mapped out.
It didn’t come without its bumps and bruises. But when I allowed myself to let go — when I stopped holding so tightly to the edge — I allowed myself to fall.
And in falling, I learned to fly.