You Rock

Every once in a while, social media gets it right. Or, we get it right via Facebook or Instagram. Much of the time, we stumble in our usage and wind up widening the perceived chasm between ourselves and "others." I am as guilty as anyone of sharing posts that I feel are witty or snarky. I'm probably more guilty than most of scrolling through reels until I find one that undoubtedly will reaffirm my biases and make my bubble seem way more awesome than it is. Anyway, back to the part where we get it right.

My wife, Tina, and I marked our 30th wedding anniversary yesterday. We were married in Richmond Vermont over Memorial Day in 1995, and we gathered family and friends at the Bolton Valley ski lodge over the long weekend. Some of us were there for the full three days, during which we hiked, reminisced, toured around, and just generally savored the glory of the Green Mountains and the company of lots of people with whom we share much love. And, yes, I took my part in one of the best things I've ever managed to pull off: I married a person who is beautiful in every way.

I marked the occasion by posting a pic of me and Tina on the beach last summer in the Outer Banks, both of us grinning like goofballs. My Facebook post celebrates our three decades together, and I even dared to use the lyric "more today than yesterday" (yes, Spiral Starecase) to describe our love and to induce the appropriate cringes. I anticipated that folks would react, but I underestimated how I'd be struck by the diversity of our friends and their collective joy for us, their love around us.

Much has been written about the dopamine rush that comes when someone clicks "Like" on a post, and I am not trying to open myself up here for analysis. Without doubt, I care too much about how many people react to whatever I float out into the ether. For now, just please join me in appreciating that a bunch of folks joined me/us in celebrating our milestone. 

Those who commented included childhood neighbors, middle and high school friends, former co-workers, godparents of our kids, church members, mentors and colleagues, and more. The mob that showed up is an eclectic one, both in terms of chronology and geography. Part of the delight in scrolling through their notes was the growing sense of how many people have supported our journey from near and far, lending some of the strength we've needed to arrive here. 

But the real kickers are the notes from folks with whom I have had some manner of disagreement over the years. In their evident joy for us, I found a reminder that it is possible for us to rise above the things that might keep us apart. I don't pretend that a fleeting social media moment can span chasms in any enduring way, but I do offer such an instance as proof that transcendent love is still possible. Even though we may say and do things tomorrow that elicit anger, perhaps we can still cling to the truth that we ultimately want what is best for each other. On our best days, I hope we can turn more to using social media to reiterate the latter, to remind each other that we are worthy of love.

There are lots of reasons to enjoy rivers. One of them, for me, is their endless variety of absolutely gorgeous rocks like the one in the photo below. I find myself wondering first of all about the origin of a rock with such a stunning purple hue. Was it carried over a vast distance by a glacier, dumped somewhere way upstream, then tumbled by storm-swollen currents? And its contents, these gem-like bits of grey and black, how did they become part of the overall beauty? 

I feel no hesitation about expressing my sense of awe at the glory of such a stone. Maybe rocks aren't your thing. But surely you have animals, places, or even particular dishes of food that touch your heart and call forth praise and thanksgiving that such a thing might exist, no? Pause for a moment and consider the power of the encounter with these objects, the accompanying swirl of gratitude, wonder, nostalgia, and more. 

My wish is that we might hold space for this same kind of unbridled awe for each other. What would happen if we made more of a habit of singing each other's praises, even or especially if we might rub each other the wrong way? How would our collective narrative shift if I were intentional about marveling at your journey, or if you made a commitment to saying something surprisingly loving about your neighbor? You are certainly no less fabulous to your core than a lovely rock. I think it's past time for us to spread this good news.