Learning How to Feel

I went to see Ingrid Michaelson perform the other night. I didn’t go to see her with any expectation that I might actually be moved by her work. I’m not really a big fan. I’m not very familiar with her canon. I was there because I like music in general and I really like being with my girls, who love Ms. Michaelson.
So a couple of cute songs and stories in, Michaelson’s band vacates the stage, and she sits down alone at her little spinet piano without introduction and launches into “Ghost.” I had never heard the song. It was stunning. I was glad the hall was dark, sitting in my seat, holding hands with my beautiful bride, tears falling down my face. It was one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard. And it’s a musical memory that will live with me, I suspect, for a really long time.
I loved so many of these words, and I heard and remembered every one of them, though this was the very first time I’d heard the song: “do you remember the sound the door made when you closed it on me?” “...I went down to the ground, landed on both my broken hearted knees.” “...pieces of me had already died.” “I’m broken down the middle of my heart, heart.” (I really thought, when she was singing, that she sang “hard, hard heart,” which would be just as beautiful and heavy and sad.)
She said as she began to introduce her next song, “sometimes you feel songs more than others.” That’s so very true. I think in this performance perhaps she got lost in the sadness of her own song for a moment. It was at once painful and wonderful. I am so oddly glad that I had the privilege of being in the room while she shared that heartbreak. I consider it an homage to her artistry that my heart broke again right along with hers.
It’s odd how music flows to and through us. It comes from somewhere we don’t know, and it might flow through us like a trickle of water or like a giant wave crashing. It might clash with whatever we’re feeling in a given moment, or juxtapose it, or turn it on its ear. And it might splash others in a given moment or it might not. I know that I was happily drumming along with songs before and after “Ghost”. I have no idea how many others were as taken by her performance of that song as I was. That’s yet another mystery for me to ponder but never know in truth.
Sometimes we get to have those moments, you know? The ones that take our breath away or fill us with unspeakable joy or peace or pain? Do you know the feeling? If you don’t - and I remind you that I know it’s not my place to tell you how to live your life, but - you need to open up. You need to smile more and cry more. It’s so important to feel and to acknowledge not just what you feel, but that you feel. That’s what gives us our humanity.
I often wonder in these moments where wonder comes from. In moments where I am overwhelmed with a particular emotion, in the midst of whatever the emotion is, I’m always grateful. I’m so glad that I get to feel, because I think feeling is frequently discouraged in our lives, and emotional depth gives our moments so much more value.  
Rumi said, “You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens.” Gibran said, “The deeper sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.” I like to say, “when life is crushing my soul, I am grateful for the reminder that I have one.” Find moments. Let them wash over you. Wallow in them. And be grateful that you can.