Part of Your World

About 25 years ago, we made one of those impulsively silly purchases we couldn’t really afford which turned out to be one of the best purchases we’ve ever made: a brand new piano. Our glossy black Young Chang has inhabited what has affectionately come to be known as our “music room,” what used to be called a formal living room in the front of our house that now serves as silent retreat space, library, art gallery, coffee and cocktail lounge, and annual home for our Christmas tree. In a home full of spaces that I enjoy, this is my favorite room.

Of course, the music room is also good for its namesake and has seen even more action recently as our oldest grandchildren move through piano lessons and occasional recitals. Sally recently purchased a book of piano music featuring theme songs from Disney animated movies and I found myself wandering into the room the other night as she was working through a few of the classics. I find the magic of playing the piano so very fascinating and watching her move through the journey of learning various pieces is fun and inspiring.

On that particular night, she was working on “Part of Your World” from the Little Mermaid. My mind was taken to the movie scene and Ariel’s voice: “I wanna be where the people are, I wanna see, wanna see ’em dancin’, walking around on what do you call ’em? Oh, feet.” The young mermaid longs for life on the other side, the exciting journey of the new and the different, a world out of the water which includes the handsome prince. She is reaching toward independence in one of the key moments of becoming through life’s transitions.

As I watched and listened to Sally play, I was really struck by the work of mastering the music. The starts and stops, the missed notes and their correction. The repetition until the sound and the rhythm were mastered. The song itself took on deeper meaning as I entered into her world at the keys, and the journey of mastering this piece of music. As familiar as the music was, I felt acutely the otherworldliness of the work itself and then her joy of putting it all together. Of getting it right. I realized that I had just been taken on a special journey.

There is something quite hopeful in discovering that, after nearly 40 years together, there are new places to wander and new discoveries to be made…even within the beautiful ordinary of our own home. I can’t speak to how many times I’ve listened to her practice and play, but the gift on that night was seeing it anew and recognizing the opportunity to be part of her world in a fresh way. Perhaps it was really a reminder or return to a path taken at another time, but in that moment it was new.

Standing on the sideline of a 3rd grade football game yesterday, I looked around at a world that was not mine. We were there as part of our children’s and our grandchildren’s world. The friends and coaches and event were theirs and we were guests. I thought to myself, “I wanna be where the people are, I wanna see, see ’em dancin’.” A few hours later, we were sitting in our family room with little Reagan, who wanted to hang out with Nanny and Poppy for a bit. Running errands that afternoon and then dropping her off, I thought to myself, she wanted to be a part of our world…even if only for a little while.

Last night, looking at the newspaper sitting on our counter, I noticed an article entitled, “The Tragic End of Dinner Parties.” As the author lamented the loss of community from the passing of this old tradition, I thought back on my week. I don’t recall any nights when we brought out the formal china or the special olive wood tableware from Italy, but I did recall at least three dinner parties. Each was with members of our family and none lacked any festivity.

One of the parenting tropes circulating in my young parenthood was the notion of “quality time.” It was the idea that we needed to create mountaintop moments with our kids – big events and things worth remembering. Perhaps it was a reaction to the rapid rise in divorce during that era, assuaging the sense of loss of time with the hope that it could be made up with fewer, bigger moments. Or maybe it was the rise of the dual-income household – you can’t be with your kids all the time but you can make it up with things worth remembering.

I like mountaintop moments as much as the next guy. A big trip. An exciting experience. But as time goes on, I’d rather have the the quantity of little moments. The beautiful ordinary of the day-to-day. A thousand practices and a few games. Watching the faltering steps and being there to help pick them up when they fall. Being around when the random moment, thought, encounter, occurs – the magical convergence when I can accompany, listen, or encourage…exactly when it’s needed.

Asking Sally to marry me all those years ago was an invitation to be a part of my world and a request to be part of hers. In doing so, we created a world together…a million moments along the way. Some peaks. Some troughs. And a whole bunch of ordinary.

Headlines lament our loss of community and the isolation that folds-in upon so many. But community takes work. To be a part of another’s world requires that we show up, reach out, and invest in that community. Time, that priceless resource, is the currency of relationship…and community. The world around the sidelines of that football game may not have been ours, but the community certainly was. We had been invited into that world – invited to share in the unity around its children, its time, its encounter.

Looking at my sister-in-law earlier this week, I reminded her, “we belong to each other.” In the ordinary and in the extraordinary. But isn’t that life? To belong is what we’re made for. To be a part of each other’s world is how we’re wired. To invite each other in is gift. To accompany through the moments is priceless.

That sounds pretty extraordinary to me.