“You can’t drive a ten-ton truck over a one-ton bridge,” my dad would say, or at least I think it was dad. 

Perhaps it was one of my many sage uncles. 

The literal meaning was obvious but it was always meant in the context of relationships. 

A relationship has to have resilience and have experienced much before it can take the heaviness that sometimes must flow between and among people.

My sons can hit me with any news or questions when necessary. We have decades of love and struggle, joys and failures and yeses and maybes and absolutely nots and I love you-s that have flowed among us. Our relationships have muscle. They are toned and exercised, and muscle my sons trust. It’s muscle I trust. They can bring a 10-ton truck over the bridge and the fifty-ton bridge we have built together over years and years of daily living will sustain the weight. We each know this to be true – even if we have never said it – there’s an understanding of love and commitment among us, maintained and repaired in “real time” with every act of kindness and forgiveness and show of mercy and empathy and compassion and understanding.

The same privileges are mutually afforded and enjoyed with my family and members of my family-of-choice and with men and women all of whom already know it even if it’s never articulated.

Neglected relationships result in untrustworthy or faulty bridges.

Build, repair your bridges – if necessary – before you approach another with your 10-ton message, your demand, complaint or request.

[The KZN Mercury, Friday February 10, 2023]

It’s a Saturday morning. 

I’m 11. 

As I have done for years, I am riding my bike on the gravel entrance to E. W. G. Smith, General Dealer, my dad’s Blackburn Road grocery shop.

A car eases alongside me and the driver leans out of the open car window and asks me directions to Parkhill Soccer Club. I know where it is but …. but… but everything I know sticks in my head. Words fail. My arms twitch. My neck stretches. Nothing. Not a sound will come out of me but for gasps and whelps. Then, I am choking on partial words which turn to monosyllabic squeaks and squawks which shotgun out of me. 

I turn my bike to look elsewhere and point down the road. 

The driver mimics my sounds, movements, laughs and points at me. He fake-chokes. He spits, jerks his head, playing to his audience, a car full of laughing adults. They move their arms, spit, copy my rapid repetitions and the driver shifts gears and the car tires rip the gravel and my mockers are gone.

I went inside the house and inside myself. I am debilitated, for days I want to hide in shame. 

I enter days of dark silence, moodiness, and humiliation. 

I can’t shake this stutter or the shame. 

The memory of trying to give directions to a place I knew so well repeatedly plays in my head and humiliation washes over me and I am convinced the men and women in the car are sure they met an idiot.

Go easy on children who stutter, please.

[The KZN Mercury / Thursday February 9, 2023]

Grief is a crazy companion, sometimes comforting, even refreshing.

Then, it will rip you apart.

When preoccupied, it can go away briefly, go into hiding and you can live, ever so briefly, as if you have never lost anyone or anything.

Then, out of nowhere, it will hit like a ton of bricks, playing its twisted game of hide-and-seek.

Believe it or not, grief has your best interests at heart.

It will do its work to revive yours, as battered and broken as your heart may be.

Let grief do its work as best you are able: its painful, beautiful, inner work. Allow it free-range. Full access. As it does its slow, deliberate, detailed work, you will continue to become even more beautiful than you already are.

That’s what it does: it turns hurting people into human agents of incredible understanding and grace – if you let it.

Your heart may be broken.

Your life may feel hopeless, but grief will ultimately deliver you to a hopeful destination and hope and courage will be yours again.

If you let it.

Try to get out of grief’s way. Allow silence. Allow yourself stop-and-think time. Allow yourself to remember. Play the music that may be painful to hear. Go to the places you are avoiding. Look at pictures, play the saved voicemails.

Watch the home movies.

Do these things when you are ready to do them.

You will know better than anyone when you are ready.

You may fall apart at first when you venture into the things you have been avoiding, but it is all part of getting ready to fall together.

Allow yourself speak-to-a-trusted-friend time.

Cry, write, read. Be angry if necessary.

Grief labors long over its ever-incomplete healing work.

Accommodation is possible. A full life is possible. But, keep in mind, the vacuum left by some loss is never filled, some losses are beyond healing.

It is natural to want to rush grief and to want all pain to be gone.

Who cannot want pain to be gone?

But, it is a crazy and unruly companion.

Grief breaks out at the most unexpected times.

Rushing grief, hurrying its work, will lodge pain even deeper into the soul only to later manifest as some unwanted reaction or unfamiliar emotion.

No matter how recent or distant your loss, welcome the tears.

Let grief’s first agents, first responders, flow.

“Time heals,” clangs the cliche.

Time doesn’t heal, not usually, not by itself. Time is time.

Time passed is not grief diminished.

There are some losses that are never “healed.”

Some never find “closure.”

This does not mean survivors cannot live full, productive, beautiful lives.

Warmth, two listening ears, and hot cups of tea accompanied by face-to-face-no-phones hours may be the most powerful gifts a person can offer one who has suffered.

It is ridiculous to approach a grieving person with a step-by-step generic packaged get-over-your-grief formula.

“What shall I do with this grief?” she asked, having lost so much, one thing on top of another, more than enough loss for many in a lifetime.

You shall sit with it.

Embrace it.

As difficult as that may sound, you will let it do its work.

“What shall I do with the pain, the gaping hole in my chest, a wound in my soul, my very being?” he asks after losing his life-partner.

You will go into survival-mode. Operate on automatic.

Auto-pilot.

Then, you will arrange your life around it, at least for a while.

“But, I do not want this, the anguish, this disorientation.”

Nobody does.

It is always an uninvited guest.

Crazy, unruly grief will do its work and you will emerge as gold.

You will know remarkable intuition and offer presence to others in ways now unimagined despite it being a path that you’d never have chosen.

The power of grief should never be downplayed or underestimated.

Grief is a private journey.

Don’t mess with it, not in yourself or in others.

It’s a crazy, unruly, companion.

Quick fixes to life’s problems annoy me.

The Art of Living Well is a process. It’s a life-long process. It’s a journey of joy and some sadness and many struggles. Its challenges pivot on being willing to embrace and understand the unavoidable juxtaposition of the Beauty and the Brutality of life simultaneously occurring for most people.

And yet, there are some simple (not easy) things that we can all do that will immediately enhance the journey, make it even more meaningful, more beautiful and rewarding, despite the inevitable dilemmas that are served up most days:

Take full responsibility for yourself – blame no one for anything at all, find your role in whatever you face – and your journey will be enhanced.

Choose generosity at every possibility – and your joy will increase.

Define yourself and refuse to define others (even those whom you truly love) and the respect you gain will be an immediate reward.

Forgive everyone everything – it’s an on-going process – without exception – I never said it would be easy – and you will feel freedom come pouring into your life.

Surrender control, let the natural process of living have its way – and see that much in life can be really trusted.

The Mercury – Wednesday February 8, 2023

Being right is a dangerous place if being right will split your family and alienate you from people you love.

Being right is never as important and powerful as being loving.

I am not suggesting a compromise of standards although you may believe it to be when you are right. It’s about trying to view the world from many perspectives, understanding people see things differently from you. Being right may give you the moral high ground but you may also lose significant relationships. This is the challenge we face when being right is more important than being loving.

Being right may work in your favor when interpreting your deceased dad’s will but the questions will remain long after you’ve spent the money or sold the sofa: have you been loving, kind, and fair?

Being right means others are wrong.

When your “rightness” makes others “wrong” they are placed on the outside.

At this point you may have forgotten the importance their worlds hold for them and the loggerheads that ensue could turn to years of cut-off and alienation.

It’s not about giving in. It’s about taking the time to respect the humanity of others as frail and faulty as it may be, and allowing people to meet as beings, all of whom are as imperfect, even as you are, as right as you may well be.

The Mercury (Monday Feb 6, 2023)

This is a good week to recall some fundamentals of healthy relationships:

• Taking care of yourself first is not selfish. You can take care of no one if you yourself are in poor shape. 
• Telling people who you are and what you want is not selfish. It is selfish to place that load onto others if they have to guess who you are and what you want. 
• The person who wants something (anything) the most from another person places that person in the power-seat of the relationship. So, be careful of your own neediness, it may surround you with people who are pitying you rather than relating to you as an equal.
• If a relationship is not equal (“we are both important”) and mutual (“we both make necessary decisions”) and respectful (“we honor each other”) it is time to consider if it is worth your efforts.  These are very hard values to restore if they have been lost or violated. 
• If you have a negative outlook on the world around you do not be surprised if it appears others are avoiding you. Dig deep and uncover what is shaping your outlook and deal with it as best as you are able. The slightest movement toward improving your outlook will reap rich and immediate rewards. 

Eager to please the young man detailed our brunch choices and, after quite a wait, returned with neither orders as requested. 

That he was flustered and embarrassed, visibly nervous, was blatant and he rapidly returned the food to the kitchen.

What finally came, despite another lengthy wait, was accurate and beautiful and tasty.

When it was time to pay I added a healthy tip.

This led to an interesting exchange.

“No,” he resisted, “why would you leave a good tip when I got the wrong order and you had to wait.”

And so it continued. 

“Please explain,” he said.

The young man was in obvious pain, almost on the verge of tears, his confusion clearly melding with a history that predicted hostility and punishment and retribution in the wake of simple errors.

I tried to impart the idea that mistakes are inevitable and that I understood he did not run the kitchen and that we were not in a hurry and that what he delivered from the kitchen was truly beautiful and tasty. 

“Thank you,” he said as we left, “and I’m not only meaning thank you for the tip.”

I had to spend time debriefing as I wondered what the young man had had to endure that a little grace was found unsettling.