Some lessons take time to marinate.
When I was a much younger woman, in my university days of study and fun, my then boyfriend (who later became my husband) loved acting and singing, and performing as various ridiculous but very funny personae, all in the name of ACTING. Well, in the name of hilarity, but the man of those days would have very dramatically called it “ACTING” with tongue firmly in cheek and a twinkle in his eye. His effervescence on the stage was contagious, stealing away my sometimes too-studious heart with his silly antics. As this younger man, he had a good sense of fun. He still does, I expect. These were good days, and he taught me how to loosen up and play a bit. All these years later, I still need the reminder.
At our school there was a theatre group, an always changing rag-tag bunch of kids, who’d write musicals that would lampoon better known plays or make fun of contemporary culture. Classics like “It’s My Hair Lady (A High Price Toupee)” and “Chicks Ahoy (The Cabaret That Thinks It’s a Cookie)”, or even “He Shoots, He Snores (A sexually Dysfunctional Cabaret).” Yes, these were real shows that ran in the late 80s at our school, with many more shows that came before and more still that have come after. These cabarets would play in an on-campus pub, and were a much sought after ticket for students regardless of school term. My boyfriend (later husband, now ex-husband) held one of the many pens on these and other shows, a creative joy of writing that was unfolding in him onto the page, and then the university stage.
In the memory I have of those days, a warm-up song that was used before each cabaret in our era of the Queen’s Players was called “Love the One You’re With” and yeah, the lyrics and thrust of the song are just as questionable as you’d imagine. Written by the legendary American folk-rock musician, Stephen Stills of the group “Crosby, Stills and Nash,” it’s a 1970s song that laments physical distance between lovers, and urges them to not be sad but “love the one you’re with.” And for some reason, that song has stayed in the soundtrack of my mind for all these years. And multi-layered ear-worm.
Before the bar filled with rowdy guests, the Queen’s Players of my memory would stand in a circle facing in, arms over each others’ shoulders. They’d jump up and down and get all worked up, and belt out the most beautiful harmonies in service of this crazy song. When sober, they could be pretty good. Of course, sobriety didn’t last the night, as you can imagine, and everything got louder and crazier as the night went on. Much fun was had. Those too were good days.
Just to be clear, I was not a performer myself but a helper… working the lights and sound on a show or two. Yes, my voice is nice and I could have auditioned, but no, I don’t have that kind of ambition for the stage.
While pondering this memory from my perch in my back yard hot tub, it dawned on me a little while ago that this song, the chorus of this song to be specific, holds a different meaning for me now around self- acceptance and self-love. Maybe that’s why the song has stuck around for so long.
What I do think is… As someone who was built as a helper, I have long struggled to allow myself to take my space, to care for myself. This way of being has often hindered me through my life; it is a life-long struggle. Learning that I am allowed to put myself first took a lot of time; it still does. In my life I put romantic partners ahead of my myself; I put the needs of my children ahead of myself; friendships the same, and so on. I self-censored and rarely gave full-voice to my views when my opinion differed from others. I squelched my shine so others could take centre stage. At least this is how it felt from the inside of me.
As part of the self-awareness that came with life, and then my coach training, I began to give myself permission to consider my own needs. And then once identified, to meet them. With that permission came self-respect and self-care, and a sense of inner dignity that I lacked as a younger woman. So now, it is an ongoing practice of mine to allow myself to look after myself. First. I’m not there every day, but I’ve learned to notice, and to start again.
…love the one you’re with…
Its funny how this song has been spinning inside me all these years, and came full circle with my hot tub pondering. I now have a musical key that reminds me to love myself. For you see, we are always with ourselves, and so it is easy to love the one you’re with, for the one you’re with is you. Warts and all. I don’t have to wait till I am the best version of myself to love who I am, just as I am, in this moment.
…And there's a rose in a fisted glove, and the eagle flies with the dove.
And if you can't be, with the one you love, honey, love the one you're with,
Love the one you're with, love the one you're with, love the one you're with.
In rehearsal, circa 1988-ish... silliness abounds!
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