Dying in Rows (Betty Davis Sighs)

I didn't get the lyrics right, at least not for the first 2 dozen listens, and not until I clicked the "more" button within my Spotify account. It was similar to my 1980's mishap of wondering why Betty Davis Sighs.


In the instance of "Homerun Hitter" by Greyson Chance, my ear-heard-mistake landed early within the first verse:


If I'm gonna say it like it is

We've become identical to

them

We've become the strangers

we don't know

That die in rows


Perhaps it was my subconscious at play; I had, after all, just left a funeral, enthralled in cemetery moments, sun warming my skin amidst mid-fall temps, and staring at the lines of gravestones marked by years and names, histories and lives. Rows.


At the risk of sounding morbid, death, for me, is a common self-reflection.

Am I okay dying today? grounds my daily routine and self-meandering.


To lighten the mood a little, let me expand.

Am I okay dying today? leads off an everyday inquiry.

With this kind of brave introspection, hearts of the matter come clear:


Is my life at peace?

Are my relationships in the best health possible?

Am I stripping down the world enough to tease out all its beauty?

Is curiosity & an open heart allowing me to experience life to the fullest?

Do I exercise purpose and compassion and patience?

Am I authentic to my soul, that of which lies beneath my skin?

Would I be okay dying today?


My track record rests confidently at yes. More often than not, I arrive in the comfort of knowing that if my last breathe came out of nowhere, I would leave my footing in best-effort.


But because I am human, I don't always get to answer yes. Because I am flawed, and sometimes disillusioned within life's journey, there are mornings where my composite plummets; one or more of those questions receive a maybe, an I don't know or a full-on negative.


No surprise that the image of dying in rows surfaced alongside my recent morning reflections. I could not get the image out of my head; it was so depressingly stunning to consider that, in the absence of living with intention, I might find myself resting forever with a big fat no in my heart. In essence, leaving my life as a stranger.


This week, to get back to yes, forgiveness and understanding flowed freely. I built a wall of resistance toward my stubborn and independent ways and embraced a courageous softness. It's the kind of go-with-the-flow energy that allows me to see and to be seen. To be a partner to anything and everyone, instead of an enemy.

Post-Script:


A dying rose (not rows)

"Homerun Hitter" by Greyson Chance




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