Five Things I Continue to Learn from David
This week, as the retrial gets underway, I’m taking stock of the lessons that have taken deeper root since David’s passing. Every day, they offer reminders of how intentionally he lived and how, with practice, I can live a life full of gratitude, resilience, and compassion.
“It’s all in the mind, you know.”
Thus spoke the animated version of George Harrison in Yellow Submarine. David agreed. All suffering stems from stuck thought patterns, he believed—like the great mystics, masters, saints, and sages he studied—and the way to break those patterns is through feeling, having awareness of the feeling, and moving on, finding a place of peace.
To be sure, this is much easier said than done. But it’s come in handy with 3 am rumination—for me, notice the racing heart and anxiety, picture the thoughts floating away in small particles above a grassy field, relax, sink into the bed, fall back asleep, and move on.
Opportunities for compassion are unlimited.
Self-compassion. Holding space for someone going through a hard time. Offering a meal. Being friendly to the earth by composting, picking up trash, visiting a park.
We’ll never run out of ways to be kind and caring.
Listening is a practice.
The “active” part of active listening means quietly engaging and allowing someone to pour their heart into yours. It means not judging and accepting their struggle.
This is a hard one for me. I’m an introvert. I get tired. My mind wanders. But like meditation, it helps to gently bring attention back to the breath—or in this case, the speaker—and keep at it.
I’m amazed by how David was able to do this for so many hours over so many years.
Things fall apart—but reassemble in new ways.
Nothing lasts forever. Rises and falls, he said. Many takes on “things fall apart” have become cliches, like, “This, too, shall pass.” But it’s a fact of history and a core component of the human experience. Next year, next week, tomorrow will hold new surprises and, if we’re looking for and open to seeing them, new possibilities.
Laughter is the greatest medicine.
We grew up quoting lines from Good Times and What’s Happening! David once landed a summer camp counselor position by singing the complete Pig Latin part of Frankie Smith’s “Double Dutch Bus.”
Just yesterday I told a friend about how both of my brothers and I made up and sang songs to each other in a game we simply called “Sing,” sometimes coming up with nonsensical, Parliament/Funkadelic-inspired titles like our older brother’s “Bassdejivedebonedeguessroon.”
Our lower-class Theatre of the Ridiculous got us through.
David still makes me laugh, as I imagine his bass chuckle with the high-pitched outro, lit-up face, warm and sparkling eyes. For him, humor was full-bodied, filled with joy and abandon.
I miss him so much, and at the same time, often tell him how grateful I am for his example, wisdom, and inspiration.
Lovely and so well spoke!
I miss him too. So much.