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On Christmas 2016, the singer George Michael died. The cause of death is listed as “heart failure”.
When a 53-year-old man dies, immediately I want to know the cause of death. I’m 54, so these things interest me. I’m hoping it has nothing to do with anything that can happen to me. When you’re 20-something, you think, “old people die, that’s the way it is”. When you’re older, you think, “I’m not old yet. But, um, ok I could die, that’s the way it is. But not yet.” When a peer slips out of this world, it awakens my own sense of mortality.
When I heard that George Michael died of “heart failure”, the words landed on me like a hammer that missed the nail. Heart Failure. That doesn’t happen in one moment. My heart’s been failing for 30 years. I could count the number of broken hearts, but when you count that high it just announces itself in the choice to close the gates, taking no more chances. At some point you think, “one more broken heart and I’ll break”. But a heart that refuses to open, to remain soft and transparent is a heart that’s failing. And this happens bit by bit, like pieces of sand dripping through an hourglass. Little by little, one moment at a time, one choice at a time not to be kind, one over-reaction at a time, one harsh word at a time, one self-criticism at a time, one condemnation at a time, one resentment at a time, one defensive measure at a time, one worry at a time…one moment at a time to close the gates, squeeze the heart shut until it grows tiny and hard. It fails.
Maybe a lifetime of disappointment and betrayal conditions one to close the gates to the heart. Sometimes the heart needs to be set out in the gentle morning sun. It needs time to thaw out, to tiptoe into the cold waters of life. If you’re living with a soft heart, be advised: You’ve got to practice. Teaching the heart to breath is a noble profession. It requires discipline, devotion, and a willingness to submit to a daily regimen. For me, it has to start first thing in the morning. I’ve got to schedule time for exercise, breath work, silence, poetry, art, and connecting with someone I love. I’m writing this down in my planner, yo. I’ve got to be mindful of what I put in my body, of what I expose my ears to, and what I subject my eyes to. In other words, limiting my exposure to social media, which has ceased to be fun and uplifting for me.
George Michael made a helluva lot more out of himself than I ever dared to do. Here’s to thanking him and hoping he gets the healing that’s seeking him even now.
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