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"Please don't put your life in the hands of a rock and roll band."

In February 2010, I hit a really hard time in my life. Given, I probably could say that about many points in my life. But objectively, I think this period would be tough on anyone. I was in L.A., working four jobs and JUST getting ready settle into a somewhat cohesive life there. I was making some money, had found a place to live, was making friends, found a church, and was growing to like (maybe even love) Southern California. But back in Ohio, my dad had injured his back, and it wasn't healing. In January, after a series of tests and some odd physical manifestations, he was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma, a blood and bone marrow cancer. Although it's a cancer with a shockingly good prognosis if treated properly, all of us were scared, especially because the cancer had taken quite a toll on his otherwise very healthy, strong body. This is also the first major illness that my immediate family has had to deal with. Although my life in L.A. was coming together, my internal world was kind of falling apart. I wanted to see where my life in L.A. would take me, but I was having a hard time deciding how I wanted to respond to this crisis. My head was telling me to stay...my heart was telling me to go home.

I decided to give my two weeks notice to my four jobs and leave L.A. But I began missing my life there, even before I left. The sights, the sounds, the ocean, the desert...my friends, my family, my opportunities. I was feeling aimless and lost as I (yet again) made plans to leave a place that was becoming a part of me. I needed something to hold on to. A few days before I left, my dear friend scored me a ticket to see the band "Mumford & Sons" play at the Troubadour. And therein lied a familiar catalyst for feeling hope...MUSIC.

For MONTHS, my friend had told me to listen to them, but I never found the time (or remembered to). So I went into the show as a virgin fan. If you've ever heard their music, you know it has it all: foot stomping rhythms, soul-wrenching lyrics, and soothing harmonies. Listening to them that night sparked something within me. I felt like I had a bit more direction...a bit more hope. With lyrics like...

"but I will hold on hope.
I won't let you choke
on the noose around your neck.
And I'll find strength in pain.
And I will change my ways.
I know my name as it's called again."

...how could you NOT feel hopeful? I think even more hope came from the fact that the lead singer/lyricist seems to seek truth through his music. Or so I've been told by a mutual friend. Just listen...you'll see.

I left L.A. on this high note. As time went on, though, my hope dissipated. I felt more lonely than I ever had. Those words and that music seemed very distant. In talking with a world-traveler/kindred-spirit friend of mine about it, we decided that there is often a great disconnect between how music makes us feel and how we really feel...or even just plain reality. I decided to get down-and-dirty with what I thought and how I felt about my current state. Through conversation with some very wise friends and with the help of some devotionals and my trusty journal, I was able to pull away from the fantasy of music and actually identify MY hopes and fears. I realized (for like the hundredth time) that the words of songwriters and bands like Mumford & Sons are not MY words...even though it'd be awesome if they were.

I think that music and all sorts of art can be extremely helpful tools in figuring out our selves and our lives. I would use films and music all of the time with my clients in therapy sessions (I remember referencing "The Matrix" with one client. And if I recall correctly, it totally cured her). They can help us make sense of things. They can be a catalyst for own thoughts on life, ourselves, the world, and even God. But in the end, I think we're meant to create our own story, not to borrow from someone or something else. And I, the budding therapist and music-lover, learned that I need to write my own lyrics, even if they're not as rhythmic, soul-wrenching, and foot-stomping as I'd like them to be.

turn, turn, turn

I'm aware that thinking of life as seasonal is not new. In fact, as the title to my entry illustrates, there are songs, entire bands, and even a chain of hotels reflecting this theme (I wish I could give the reader some sort of discount on any of these...alas, this blog is completely non-sponsored. and I'm not sure discounts exist on retired bands). The idea is often sought to help explain change...in weather and moods alike. It could be the metaphor for change. And one thing is certain: therapists love metaphors. In fact, if I (or my client) am able to design one during a session, I'd consider the session to be a success. It's pretty liberating to be able to creatively compare the mess that you're feeling to something more concrete or formal. And, when I was practicing, I was definitely partial to using the season metaphor with clients.

In past entries, I've noted various therapeutic techniques that might seem like "cop-outs"--you know, easy things a therapist can say avoid thinking or listening too hard...not that we ever do that. But I'm here to tell you that while these techniques might be common, they are not cop-outs. They are common for a reason--just like pop songs are popular for a reason...they're catchy.
The concept of seasons is hard to avoid, especially since we and the world are constantly changing. There's a reason for seasons. And a reason to talk about seasons, I venture to say. Thinking about our time on earth in seasons may help us make sense of our lives as a whole. Just as, I imagine, mother nature uses them to makes sense of herself. Here, I'll talk about how I'm using it to make sense of my own life. I can do that because you're not my client.

Anyway, I'm currently not practicing therapy. I'm "in between jobs" as they say. It has been an interesting year for me, having uprooted myself from Philadelphia and moved to L.A. And then having turned right back around to Ohio after only 6 months. While an event in my life initiated this latter move (the former move was...just a move), I find myself feeling lost...again. It's becoming a common feeling for me. Part of me really wanted to move back to Ohio and be with my family. Another part wanted to stay in L.A. to see where the four jobs I had acquired would take me. Deciding one way or the other did (and never does) appeal to me. I want it all...at one time. Because I think that if I have it all, I won't be lost. But we all know that can never happen on this earth. I just can't seem to convince the disappointment center of my brain of that fact. So, I'm trying to re-train myself to see my life in seasons, where I can re-experience different parts of my life in a new way...if I want. When I get a chance to "revisit", everything could be different than I imagined. Unlike earth's seasons, our seasons may not look so uniform. For example, right now. I moved home to help out my parents, and naturally, I moved in with them. Although I've caught myself reverting back to 14-year-old Emily, my experience in this season of life is way different than my last season here. And thank God. I have to remind myself that revisiting isn't necessarily going back in time. Rather, it's a chance to move forward and hope for new life. Kind of like the real Spring.

Since I moved from L.A., I've told myself (and others whom I miss dearly) that I could return at some point. Who knows? There's a lot I had yet experienced there. Even though I might want to just pick up where I left off, it won't be the same. But that might not be a bad thing. When I think about it, even earth's seasons haven't been the same each year. I remember one 80 degree New Year's Eve in Philadelphia. True, that can be a little unnerving (scary global warming!). But it's also a little exciting. We might think that each season will be the same as the last, but we never know what a new (or old) one might bring.

"To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven."