I tried to write this post about a movie but it turns out the movie wasn’t that interesting—except for one key scene and the meaning it imparted. X-Men Wolverine: Origins is that of which I speak. Logan is one of my favorite characters, and not just for the talented actor or the cool healing powers, but for the deep mythic meaning.

He’s a survivor, a warrior, but not a 1-dimensional cliche. He’s a reluctant messiah and an enigma who finds his own way to heroism when it counts.

In the pivotal scene, the villain began describing his treacherous plan: how Logan’s girlfriend’s death was faked, and how she was in on the ruse. And how their relationship was never real.

Logan didn’t flinch. He replied, ‘It Was Real for Me.’ I paused and let the moment sink in. I had seen the movie 5 times but I never caught that meaning, that scene, and that sureness. There’s exposition that would put you, the reader, there—the stakes, the nuance and the layers. But it doesn’t matter, really.

What matters is that Logan honored this moment and this love any way. By doing so, he served as a stand-in for us, for what we can be when we look inward for guidance. He had all the tools to be a mercenary—cold, calculated, impenetrable and stoic. But he chose vulnerability and risked everything to love any way. In so doing, he inverts and controverts all the bogus themes of men (and people) protecting themselves instead of opening to life and seeing love as a zero-sum-game.

A pitched battle between seemingly natural adversaries, vying for control. A chess match but with real stakes. A sad and unnecessary zeitgeist that decimates our culture and civilization.

Logan didn’t need to win. He needed to be authentic. He knew that we gain nothing when we risk nothing. He knew that vulnerability was real strength, despite what the culture hawks on social media. Despite what everyone was doing around him. Despite the pain and disillusionment of betrayal and loss. He didn’t let these events make him cynical.

When he loved, it was real, even if the other person couldn’t meet him there. Even if he looked like a fool. Because it was real for him. Because he was real. His love was real. Because vulnerability is not weakness, it’s the opposite. It’s strength. We risk pain and loss in the quest to meet the other in the hallowed space of intimacy.

Our culture wants to sell us fantasies of control, stoicism and power moves. But Logan was at peace with being fooled. Because always operating from a position of advantage means never risking and never truly living. Only when we risk loss, failure, and blame, do we live.

As manly as Logan looks and often acts in these movies, it’s his sensitivity in this scene that makes him Logan and not some caricature of manliness from some collective fever-dream. He has a heart and it can be broken. Otherwise, it’s not a heart, but a wall that isolates and stagnates our energy.

Love is not a game. It’s not a competition. Love asks us to strip off our armor, to lay down our weapons. To soften and to view the other with the eyes of empathy. To humanize and forgive the limitations of our partners. Love is not at war. Even when we lose.

I read The Hobbit And the Lord of the Rings trilogy way back in High School. I still marvel at my capacity for such concentration in those far-gone days. It was quite an undertaking and a needed escape. Years later, I rejoiced at the movie’s capacity to craft the world the novel had transmitted to my mind’s eye all those years earlier.

The story centers around a powerful and evil magic ring that had been recently rediscovered. Thus, a noble quest to destroy it ensued. By doing so, the heroes aimed to save the world from the resurrection of the movie’s villain, the evil god, Sauron.

The ring’s discoverer, Gollum was a kindly character who became increasingly possessed by the One Ring—both for its powers when in its possession, and for its allure when he lost it. His was a descent into madness.

As the group began its quest, individuals rightly asked, ‘what is he doing here?’ But the ring didn’t just whisper to Gollum. It pulled at each character’s motivating narratives, promising to empower their righteous goals. Such is the nature of the ego’s insinuations. The ring sought to bring down all the members of the quest by overpowering their ethics and supplying them with rationalizations meant to bridge the chasm between right and wrong.

At the quest’s apex, as Gollum, Sam and Frodo were all that remained of the group, Sam would constantly lobby Frodo to cut Gollum out of the plan. Yet the viewer remembers when a wise wizard character hadpreviously warned that this wretch may yet have a purpose in the battle between good and evil.

Similarly, we can wonder what use the universe has with our pernicious and destructive parts.

As I look back on a recent personal quest, I see many parallels. I lurched through my quest—single-minded-of-purpose, much like Gollum. I sought the one thing that I believed would make me feel strong, seen, safe, and loved. A life that seemed to offer a deep meaning—like I was part of something bigger. I was trying to reclaim something external I believed I had lost. And yet, Sam and Frodo weren’t trying to find the ring, they were trying to destroy it. Notice the cross-purposes. This same tension can animate our personal lives in key moments that are rich with real stakes and rife with opportunities to fail.

Our lower self seeks to control, to manage, to grasp and clutch. He works alone. He refuses or distorts spiritual energy and information. He only sees fear and lack, villains and competitors. Every game is zero sum: you win, I lose. He is clenched. And he often argues for short-term ethical lapses in order to promise greener pastures, to co-opt our valid long-term goals.

Yet, much like Frodo and Sam, we have another facet, a higher self that is on a different quest: one borne of promise, expansion, acceptance—of love and trust. The higher self recognizes and eschews the pull of desire, the drugification of pleasure, and the deep and powerful grip that fear and loss can exert.

One entity wants to destroy the ring and liberate the soul. The other seeks to possess the very poison that conspires to imprison the soul. Both characters think they’re right. And in a sense, they are.

When it came time to release the ring into the molten lava, Frodo could not relinquish his grip. What he had once possessed now possessed him. The ring had finally overpowered him. And that’s when Gollum, possessed of his own craven desire, lurched at the ring and knocked it and himself into the flames, destroying the ring and saving the world, however inadvertently.

As I look back on my quest, I sheepishly note my grasping and clutching. And yet, these attributes somehow served the higher self’s purpose, despite their intentions. By reaching for my ring, I destroyed it. I lessened its death grip on me. No more could I tarry with this fulsome fantasy of external completion. I had been surreptitiously served a summons to my decades-delayed individuation—stamped: attendance mandatory.

Somehow, events played out where the goals of the higher self were served by the typical small-self folly: trying to control everything and everyone. And just like in The Lord of the Rings, the ego at its worst saved the day.

I shudder to think what would have become of me had I gotten what I wanted. So lost was I in the ego’s projections. So narrow was my focus.

Even days later, the ego had concocted a scheme to stealthily override the test results, to veto the ruling handed down by the high court. I could have easily rationalized it too. It took all the power I had to relinquish this idea. Yet, as I did, a fog lifted. A deep ache in my solar plexus subsided immediately.

I had found myself at the Crossroads of Power and Force. I only barely chose power at the urging of my intuition. My conscience won out, but only because every alarm was blaring at full volume. And only because the truth had been made plain to me days before. Each test we encounter is an ethical test. Ethics are the currency of spiritual ascendance.

Sometimes we may need to subdue the ego or to co-create with the ego. On other occasions, the higher self sees the folly of a situation and thus lets the ego clutch at and lose the very entity it so deeply desires. Not to merely prevent self-immolation, but to manifest an unseen and higher aim.

Because it knows better. Witness the elegant efficiency of a higher perspective. Wrapped up in every situation is the key to freedom or bondage. Each choice promises either rejuvenation or retrenchment. There is no neutral option. Time’s a-wastin’ and the stakes are higher than they seem.

Yet we must credit ourselves—and even our egos—where and when it’s due. I passed this test and others recently. Sometimes such acknowledgements can feel like faint praise when experiencing deep loss. And yet the soul implications can be staggering, despite the lack of fanfare. The ego seeks constant validation, applause and awards. The higher self has no need to accumulate such trinkets because its nature is timeless.

Since I passed this test, I wonder at the where-and-when of the next test. What are the spoils of such victories? Perhaps an increased sense of stability, integrity and peace. Perhaps a watching universe offers subtle opportunities to build on this momentum. It may quietly beckon us to join a quest where we impart wisdom and discernment, to show a way through these battlefields of the mind so that others may be emboldened. We can be our own medicine. To demonstrate this for others can empower them to take heart and join their quests anew.

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I posted some months back about the choices we face in life in a post entitled:

We can distill these options, these stances, down into Love or Fear, Power or Force. I was discussing the many similarities between two seminal books in my library: Power VS Force and Love is Letting Go of Fear. I need to re-read these books constantly because I so easily get swayed by my fear thoughts, my attempts at control, and the folly that these states can create.

It was in this vein that I’ve been considering the personal and political implications of trying to use both power and force to get results. Sometimes it may be force masquerading as power. Perhaps we delude ourselves and others into thinking we are operating from power, from love and from assuredness, when the foundation is built on fear. When the actions are gentle in form but fearful and forceful at their core. When their design is to prevent fear’s prognostications from coming true. When we don’t know what we’ll do if it doesn’t work out.

This brings to mind my favorite heroic movies and myths. We see ourselves in our heroes as they face tribulation and search for meaning, purpose and victory over the forces of chaos and destruction. We want to take bold actions in service of our goals. And yet, the hero’s journey is as much about the character development that proceeds the grand finale as the event itself. Sometimes the hero loses and gets a bitter dose of unrequested character development.

Time after time, these heroes are asked to choose: self-service or surrender? Will they be consumed by anger, resentment and helplessness or allow themselves to empty such emotions from their container so as to be a hollow vessel for spiritual power.

So when we wonder what to do next, we need to read between the lines. I know I can become myopic: single-minded-of-purpose. I see only achieving the goal before me. But I want us to adjust the perspective lens to glean more information and perhaps, see the deeper goals that are possible. Goals that may make the spoils of the specific quest seem inconsequential or at least transient.

When pondering a specific quest today, I realized that at some level, I was being tested. Perhaps we always are. The way I behave and what I emanate are my legacy. Just watch the movie Cloud Atlas. This movie helped me consider the possibility that our actions and choices do matter, even if they may seem futile in the moment. Courage is rewarded. We rise and fall with our ethics. Our lives are full of seminal moments, battles between the forces of good and evil, within and without. Every step is a new crossroads.

We can be haunted by regrets or choose our release from bondage by our willingness to be brave, bold, and kind when no one is looking. Or we can let fear guide us into grasping, clutching at what we see as ours in a world that we merely borrow for a time. A small voice is often speaking, asking, beckoning. Will we honor what we know to be right at our core? Or will we rationalize its suppression via the ego’s machinations?

This leads to the aforementioned unholy alchemy. We may find ourselves at a station where we are being asked to relinquish that which we most cherish in order to fully become that which we could embody. It feels like a fool’s bargain. We finally see the prize. We may not have believed it was possible. And yet we are asked to hand it right back in service of spiritual purification. Our mettle is being tested. The ego’s last stand.

Power or Force. Love or Fear. It really does come down to a binary sometimes. I want to pass the test this time. And perhaps, like in certain tales, we may inevitably receive that which we relinquish. Surrender is the final test.

Let’s be careful to realize that we can choose power and love in big moments but unconsciously toggle between love and fear, power and force, in a way that creates a defacto blending of these vastly different motivations. We’re human. Fear can keep us alive. We worry, we consume media, and we interact with other fallible humans. I think we need to take the time to consider our motivations. We need to consider what the outcomes may be if we get what we want. We need to realize that to acquiesce due to bad timing or temporary misalignment is not giving up. It’s patience. We can employ faith and trust. Let’s be careful to root out the force, the rush, the impatience, the rationalizing. These are warning signs that we’ve entered the ego’s realm. The ego misleads and confounds with deft.

Good-hearted souls need not only fear domination from the Dark Side: becoming the enemy and falling down into the clutches of evil. We need to recognize the ways that darkness insinuates itself into and dilutes and spoils our legitimate goals and enterprises. The ways it cheapens and poisons our relationships. How businesses formerly aligned with quality, value, and concern for society and workers can become an abusive cabal of wealth extractors in a generation. They, like we, rise and fall due to our choices and their implications. Weed out the darkness from your enterprises of light. Do not let the unholy alchemy of power welded to force be the downfall of all you hold dear.

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In popular culture, being called a fool is an insult. Fools are not taken seriously and are often ostracized. Being foolish means to waste time on non-productive aims. In literature, fools like don Quixote are lampooned for ‘chasing at windmills.’ They misunderstand and are easily tricked.

But I argue that we dismiss the power and importance of the fool at our peril.

One can be a fool intellectually, buying into quaint notions of romanticism or stringent ethics. Fools often go against the grain, speaking up and out about government, business, when the mood of the society doesn’t reward such speech. A fool can be a culture’s bulwark against a slide into corruption or hedonism. Fools often see a problem coming before it manifests fully.

In a King’s Court in the Dark Ages in Europe, the fool was an important character. He provided entertainment for the court, often at his expense. Though he may have been tormented, he was granted the special privilege of challenging the King’s decrees and behaviors via his mockery. Since he was viewed as a simpleton, he was tacitly granted this quarter.

Mythologically and esoterically, the fool is an archetype with greater depth than our modern understanding would indicate. Often mentioned with the overlapping trickster archetype, the fool may help us see where we’ve been too serious, too certain, and too stuffy. The fool shows us where we have been blinded by our arrogance. When we reconnect with our humility and our purpose, we can look back in gratitude for our comeuppance.

The Fool is innocent, playful and childlike. Modern adults, often institutionalized by work, suppress these characteristics.

I have always wanted to write a treatise on this character and this short essay can’t do such an intriguing subject justice. My purpose today is to challenge my readers to reconsider the value and the meaning when a fool shows up in their day. Perhaps someone teases you, beguiles you. Maybe you feel like a fool for believing someone. We can chide ourselves for being a fool. We can believe in the ideals of our nation when others have capitulated to corruption. We can act with moral clarity when others are self-serving. We can honor our spiritual beliefs when challenging times come. We can feel fooled in love or friendship and feel exposed. Our instincts may be to shut down, to harden and to ‘Do as the Romans Do.’ But our foolishness is no curse. And to retreat from our child-like innocence means betraying our truth.

Perhaps greater discernment is in order, but being the fool means to try, to extend ourselves and to stay open. A fool believes and trusts and plays. A fool maintains his innocence while others choose cynicism and group think.

To be a called a fool in a culture that is sick and dying is an honor. A fool is steadfast and self-soothing. And often, a fool is doubted until his prognostications come true, and then he is lauded. If someone calls you a fool, thank them. Discernment means seeing ourselves and our true nature. Be willing to be wrong, to try and lose and to fail. This practice shows you who you are and what you want. This information is a blessing. The fool is here to help us individuate and rediscover ourselves: our meaning, our purpose, our essence and our value. The fool is the archetypal counterbalance to cynicism. Cynicism is the death of community, of spirituality, of trust, of faith and the social contract. Cynicism is a slow decline into soul-death. The fool is the antidote.

I was busy working in the sun—immersed, trimming things, and feeling the crisp aliveness of the wind on my skin. Then suddenly it dawned on me that there was a time before I loved her. (I know this is trite, but humor me for a bit) Such was the inner non-sequitur that interrupted my link with nature that day. Similarly, this love pulled me from the dazed tunnel vision I had been employing. She became so central to my experience. I instantly felt as if her presence had always been there: despite our years of mere acquaintance. ‘Past lives’ is the default response when we can’t place why someone’s presence is so important to us: when this feeling comes on like a switch that we can’t and don’t want to turn off. As if they had been missing all along. A sense of relief, of coming home. Of excitement of being truly seen on a deep level. A level of compatibility that stuns and speaks of destiny.

I was bewildered in the best way. I knew enough to immediately call both parents the morning after the first date to tell them I’d found the One. This was Not a pattern of mine. Such was the point of departure from my previous life.

I was enthralled from the first kiss and before. Everything after was a dreamy reverie of union and bliss. One night in the dark, as the moonlight shone through the blinds, I looked in her eyes and told her, our faces inches away, “I love you.” I couldn’t possibly hold it in anymore. And I’ve been in love before, but never like this. After 50 years of life, I recognized the auspiciousness and the rarity. My feet greeted the hallowed ground of this sacred space.

We were wide open and full of promise. I sensed her courage as she came to me and requited a few nights later, after a careful caucus with her guides. I felt her words waft their way to my ears as they glimmered and danced, lighting up my heart, sending little shocks of frisson through my body. Our souls were intertwined as if they had always been. I was absolutely certain this would never end. I had finally found her.

Months passed and we became each other’s person. So much joy and laughter, togetherness and union. And yet, our stage was set with chaos and intense, seismic transitions. Our lives were layered in crises when we met. I didn’t stop to think that those impediments could mar our celestial affiliation.

Then, in silence, the avalanche overtook us. A spell was cast and we were banished from the Garden. Everything stopped. The link was severed via bonesaw. We stopped sharing our lives and our days, our troubles and funny videos. No more walks and talks. No more. We just stopped one day.

I know all the reasons and yet I still don’t know why.

My love has deepened in absence, despite the shock and awe.

Maybe one day I’ll understand, in the sweet bye and bye.

I guess part of me got scared that I won’t remember these details after a while. They’ll just blur into a few peak memories. This caught me off-guard: that I’d even lose the memories. An intrusive thought, a message from within about the wrecking ball that tore down the dilapidated structures of my old urban core. The new skyline was just in the planning stage.

In another dimension, these special memories would reside in a consecrated space between these lovers: cherished as the magical, germinal moments that they were. In a photo album casually perused at a wedding reception, an anniversary party, and a funeral. But not for these two star-crossed lovers.

These two deeply sensitive souls

Perhaps too sensitive to bear the burdens and stay open and connected

Too calloused to trust one more time and for the first time

Too jaded to believe what they knew to be true

Unmet needs and complaints co-mingle and fester when left unspoken

Old wounds conspire and bedevil

Generational curses shackle the unsuspecting

Karma arrives with a thud

An ancient spell, bound and superheated in a cauldron of fate, bubbling over with consequence. All the injustices of our lives led to that promontory point. The detritus of lifetimes of sleepwalking, only to awaken to devastation. The dishonors absorbed and meted out. Our parents and our parents’ parents. Witness the totality of our ancestral lines: their losses, their heartaches and their toil. The weight of a thousand lifetimes, the yearning of a thousand souls. And yet there is the promise of the new.

I suppose the only antidote to such black magic is stronger magic. How does one lift a curse of such scope and scale? What does love ask of me in this moment? Maybe some day I’ll break that spell. Maybe those same ancestors will assist me and rejoice. Love finds a way.

This one is personal to me, but perhaps it’s also a universal response to the vagaries of life. I love how we keep excavating more of what makes humans tick. We used to say fight or flight. Then we added freeze. Later we began discussing fawning, people pleasing, as a new trauma response.

Well I think we need to add force to the list. First, let me define my term. In this case, I mean when we push, cajole, demand, stay up all night and attempt to overpower a situation in order to get the desired result. When the s**t is hitting the fan due to previous inaction.

This behavior can come up for multiple reasons. Consider someone who, under accumulated stress, freezes. He does nothing. He tends to avoid problems until they accrue. When the bills and deadlines come due, he springs into action. He forces outcomes and pushes others to comply in order to evade the undesirable natural consequences of his freezing, his typical trauma response.

So his forcing is needed and in response to his freezing. I wonder if we might just force things as a direct reaction to stressful situations. Others among us have learned how to force from family members. Whatever its genesis, forcing creates its own problems.

We aren’t at our best when we force. Others feel the strain. We can push so hard that we begin another cycle of burnout where we want to go freeze again. Our work is rushed and the results are usually poorer. Sometimes we must force things. But only because we are usually reacting to the last mess we’ve made responding to the trials of life.

I’m looking at my life with the intention of seeing where I have forced things and how that may have limited my results. How it may have pushed people away or blocked opportunities. But deeper, I wonder if forcing things shrouds our authentic self: our art, our true feelings, our talents.

Forcing is done in response to fear. Sometimes fear is a good guide, but its effects are hard to shake off. We can be consumed by fear if we are not careful to notice where and when it overstays its welcome. Noticing the urge to force outcomes might be a good litmus test, indicating we are once again under the spell of fear.

I love movie macguffins. In Ghostbusters, crossing the streams was the ultimate taboo for the characters to avoid when using their proton packs to catch ghosts. Egon was afraid doing so would cause a cellular chain reaction that could do untold harm. And yet, spoiler alert, it was the only way the boys were able to prevail against the enemy in the final climactic scene. They had to break the rules. They had to risk everything to win. They had to face their worst fears and go against conventional wisdom.

This happens again and again in our favorite movies, especially those centered on Joseph Campbell’s teachings on the Hero’s Journey. In Return of the Jedi, Luke went against Master Yoda’s protestations in order to leave and save his friends. He finally drew his guidance from within. He finally trusted himself, despite the fact that he didn’t finish his training. This is individuation. And this, like crossing the streams in Ghostbusters, was the only way for the hero and the rebellion to succeed. It was the only thing the character couldn’t do and yet the only choice that would save all he held dear.

In Richard Donner’s Superman from 1978, Superman found Lois dead in a car after an earthquake where he was too late to save her. His long-dead parents had sent along teachings about earth and how to make his way there. Chief among these rules was not meddling in the history and natural order on this new planet. But the hero chose differently. Enraged at her death, he chose love and risked his honor to do what his heart commanded. He turned back time to save his love.

Star Trek had a great concept called the Prime Directive. This overarching rule reminded Starfleet officers to not meddle in the affairs of the people and planets they encountered. But in the real situations where these explorers found themselves, they faced situations with no easy answers. When this directive was violated, the violator might be tried in a court marshal. Under extraordinary circumstances, these choices were excused. Maybe they chose to save lives of those who didn’t know the rules. Situational ethics can be tricky. But the basic theme is the same: sometimes we just know what we have to do and the rules don’t or can’t apply. Conventional wisdom doesn’t get the last word. We take the ultimate risks for what really matters. when events corner us into the clarity brought on by necessity and conviction. Sometimes we just know what we have to do.

So victory awaits beyond fear, beyond conformity. Self-assurance is a choice, a practice and often a threat to the sensibilities of internal voices and of those we esteem. Risk elicits fear, and yet these movies captivate us with moments where the stakes are so high that the characters must face their fears in order to protect and defend those in their charge. To do what must be done. So fear becomes the final gatekeeper to rites of passage that offer freedom, transcendence and power. Instead of viewing fear as a problem to be solved, we can see it as a compass, as a guide to the next stage of individuation. We can choose to not identify as the fear itself, but as the person experiencing it as a temporary condition or experience.

However we choose to address fear, we can use these movies to remind us that the answers are sometimes counter-intuitive. When our logic hits a wall we must dig deeper to find the answers. Perhaps fear is the messenger that one of these seminal moments approaches.

We intuit the need for compromise when we think of meeting in the middle. Both sides give ground and are willing to lose in order to negotiate peace. But the insight I’m experiencing isn’t encapsulated by the former frame of reference.

I had been asking for miracles in my life from the perspective of learned helplessness. Then I considered some of the situations where I was grateful for recent gifts. A common denominator was that I took a leap of faith and was rewarded in these situations. I was lonely so I asked for companionship. Soon after, I had the opportunity to adopt a senior cat. I gave her refuge and found myself accompanied by a sweet furry old lady cat. This was despite the financial concerns I had and the responsibility this added to my often hectic life. I had to be willing to see past the fear.

I found myself lamenting the loss of previous homes where I had transformed the properties into a lush jungle. So I took the time to start making cuttings and planting a few plants in areas that were barren in my new yard. Now I have a morning routine of caring for these plants and watching the wonders of nature as I walk barefoot through the rain-soaked lawn. This is just what I do. This is me being a Green Man. I don’t feel right until I establish this connection with the land.

In both situations I had to initiate. There are others too, but you get the picture. From work to health to relationships, we pay our dues to the universe and hope the universe meets us in the middle.

This realization has brought forth insights. The first is that I have to meet the universe in the middle when I beseech it for answers and relief and guidance. I have to try, to listen, to stop and be still, to sacrifice and to choose. I have to keep my side of the street clean and hope the universe recognizes my gesture and bestows upon me that which I need and seek. I have to do the work.

Similarly, I now require that others meet me in the middle if we are to create something together. I’ve been both the taker and the over-giver. Neither extreme feels right at a soul level. It may not be the exact middle either. It’s not about keeping score. We need to maintain a willingness to give, to humanize the other and to question our perception of events. The middle might be just one step past our comfort zone. All the victories, all the connections, businesses, activities, animals and memorable events I’ve experienced were because I tried. Because I stuck my neck out. Because I moved past fear. Because I wanted it more than I was afraid of looking silly.

This is how I discovered talents like writing and drumming. This is how I met lovers and discovered myself. How I found my passions and pastimes. How I made connections that mattered and lasted.

I don’t have all the answers. While I believe we can and should manifest what we want, sometimes the universe has other ideas. We must factor this into the equation. We may have a spark of divinity within us, but we still live in a mysterious world. We don’t know why we’re here or what comes next.

I am willing to meet the unfathomable halfway and see what happens.

I am one of those Taylor Swift fans who doesn’t like her music, though I enjoy her generosity, outspokenness and strength. So you can imagine my surprise when I heard a song of hers that I liked, the moody This is Me Trying. It felt less polished and commercial. I liked the atmosphere, the pace and the vampy tone. But what stuck out to me were the questions it raised about life, relationships and our very solid ideas about what it means to succeed.

Most Star Wars fans remember Master Yoda beckoning to Luke: ‘Do or Do Not. There is No Try.’ This tough-love approach mirrors our classic American work ethic. We are taught that ‘trying is lying’ when we don’t live up to sales goals or get poor grades at school. We portray trying as an excuse and a failure. While I’m sure this motivates many, I wonder if we might reconsider our blanket rejection of trying.

The singer describes how her trying feels risky, and yet she moves past her comfort zone: perhaps for the first time. She is navigating old feelings, remorse and feeling stuck. This is a song about vulnerability and overwhelm, but also persistence. Perhaps trying is all we have. Maybe trying is trusting, letting in a little faith that things could be different this time.

Personal relationships are not sales quotas. Doctors can’t try to perform a surgery. They must succeed. But humans who seek a loving union must try. In such relationships, trying is succeeding.

Trying may take many forms in love relationships:

the willingness to trust again after being hurt

giving others the benefit of the doubt

leaving our comfort zone to risk rejection

communicating difficult feelings and expectations

forgiving transgressions

So as we look at our current and previous relationships, we can honor ourselves and our partners for the times where we and they were courageous and tried when so many voices inside protested.

When we put pattern recognition aside and trusted someone who looked and sounded like someone who hurt us

When we admitted we were acting small and didn’t know what to do about it

When we saw someone we loved give everything they had for us

When we accepted that someone we loved couldn’t try in a key moment

Trying is the point of departure. Trying is the gesture that says:

You’re worth the effort

You’re not a collection of your worst moments

I see how much you love me

I see your innocence and goodness

So when relationships end or fail, one or both parties have decided not to try anymore. Maybe their trying wasn’t being reciprocated. Maybe trying wasn’t enough. Perhaps the parties couldn’t align. Perhaps doubts or fears crept in. Old patterns and overwhelming life circumstances. Misunderstandings and unhealed ruptures. Bad timing.

A rueful insight that keeps coming to me:

Even when you have two kind souls with a sacred bond and loving intentions, there are so many pitfalls:

fear, lack of trust, misunderstanding, communication issues, external influences, and traumas.

No relationship is invincible. There’s no sure thing.

Another sad realization dawned on me:

In real ways, this was me trying for the first time in my life.

Nothing I have ever experienced approaches this level of pain and loss.

This is me trying to let go.

I remember a person from my youth mentioning that a tiger can’t change his stripes. I would debate them with the opposite point; I thought we were more affected by nurture than nature. Both sides of the argument have valid points. I see the tiger argument as being cover for a person who doesn’t want to change and thus has formed his beliefs around this resistance. “I’m just like this,” they might say.

My therapist in high school mentioned a useful dichotomy and it stuck with me: Trait or State? I love how a term can illuminate and expand the depth of inquiry. He was asking me about my depression and related behaviors. Are these core traits, or are they choices brought on by temporal states of consciousness? I didn’t know. Perhaps the curiosity it invokes is more important than conclusions.

Another question arises: what are the long-term effects of these states? Do states ever make de facto traits? Or do we ever get fooled into thinking something is a trait because we’ve been in a state for so long as to render it second nature? These questions are beyond my pay-grade. Again, perhaps the state of curiosity can suffice.

I point out when I see an error in perception. I want to map it so that others may avoid the pitfall. I need to feel more understood and put a name to a face. I seek a sense of beginner’s mind in my readers and myself. I love sureness, but we are so often artificially sure because we skip steps in critical thinking. I want people to arrive at sureness via open-mindedness, objectivity and close scrutiny of their thought and feeling processes. We can convince ourselves of anything, especially with the help of others, social media, and our old wounds. What happens when we question everything we profess to believe?

I’ve presented this question as an error in judgment and perception. The error is assuming a person’s tendencies are ingrained and unchangeable. That assumption leaves out the conditions, what’s going on in their life. Can we contextualize the behaviors and believe that this person is capable of change?

If so, maybe we can come to believe that we are capable of change and growth. We can view our personalities and tendencies as fluid and mutable. And we can view others as dynamic instead of static. When we view others as static, we may be protecting ourselves from pain or from having to grow, change, or offer others a chance. We may protect ourselves from the vagaries of vulnerability, only to subject ourselves to the vagaries of loneliness.

We do this because our attachment injuries try to recreate the same familiar scenarios from our youth or relationship patterns. And we think, I’m just like this. I always screw up relationships. But we really just need to retrain our neurology, our behavior patterns, our attitudes and responses. Then we can have the love we want without losing ourselves.