What Might Have Been Lost (9 minute read)
I saw Bon Iver at The YouTube Theater last Friday night, playing a tenth anniversary celebration concert for the BON IVER record.
That album made a huge impact on me when it was released and it’s been a constant companion ever since. I expected to have an emotional reaction at some point during the show but I wasn’t prepared for it to turn me upside down and shake out all of the stuff I’d stashed away in secret pockets for the past year and a half.
For the final encore Justin Vernon told us that he thought about trying to say something about what we’ve all been through but what the band does best is play. Then they closed with “The Wolves, Act I and II” and asked all 6,000 of us to join in singing the second half of the song which is basically just the lyric, “What might have been lost,” repeated over and over again like a mantra. He prepped us beforehand, saying, “You start off singing and by the end it’s more of a scream.”
So we did.
I was acutely aware of loss in the days leading up to the show. The loss of Halyna Hutchins, a cinematographer who was killed on set when a live round was loaded into a prop weapon that was fired by an actor on her film. The tragic loss of a good friend’s brother, also many years too young, who left a number of children behind.
I can’t help but be conscious of our collective loss all the time, the hundreds of thousands of friends and family members who were taken by Covid. The friends and family members who died of something other than Covid but because of the pandemic they weren’t able to be properly mourned or memorialized, not like they deserved. The loss of connection, the months turning into a year or more without seeing our loved ones. The loss of time. I try to keep it out of sight, on the periphery, so I can go about my day as a functional human being. So I can keep moving forward, working and serving. But if I tilt my head ever so slightly one way or the other it’s right there, reminding me.
“What might have been lost.”
I know so many people who are dealing with high levels of stress and anxiety right now. People who are suffering insomnia, people who are plagued with doubt and uncertainty because the thing that they love, the work that brought them joy and gave them purpose has been taken from them or possibly irrevocably altered. People mourning the loss of opportunity.
My gut feeling is that we’re all going to go through a reckoning at some point, in our own time and in our own way. Even those of us who think we got off easy because our parents made it through. That we’re not suffering from long-hauler symptoms. That we were able to work. We may not think we lost that much and compared to so many people that’s true. But we did lose things. Unknowable, unquantifiable things.
“What might have been lost.”
On the drive home I was thinking about a time back in early 2019 when Julie and I went to see a friend host a live version of his podcast. I'd been a guest on the podcast and had gone to a couple of bbq's for friends of the pod but we'd never really hung out. We ran into him as we were leaving and I offered to host the next bbq at the house we just bought in Glendale. A few days later he sent me a text and we started planning.
Not long after that my backyard was filled with writers (which is less terrifying than it sounds). The bbq went on for hours and we had a blast until one by one everybody left and it was just me, Julie, my brother-in-law, my friend, and his writing partner. In addition to the two of them I met a number of other writers that day who I would go on to have coffee or lunch with in the weeks afterward. I count all of them as great friends now.
These connections happened because I attended a live event with hundreds of other people.
Because we were able to mingle in the hallways afterward.
Because I offered to hold a gathering at my house.
Because people showed up.
“What might have been lost.”
Who knows the friends we might have missed making?
The romantic partner we might have met.
The conversations that might have changed the direction of our lives.
The event or trip that would have sparked an idea that could have cut through the noise.
“What might have been lost.”
I started singing along and immediately my voice shook. I struggled to get the words out at first because I was so moved by the opportunity to even just be there having that experience. Then it was like I was working through stages, from gratitude, to grieving, to honoring, to raging, and then ultimately, by the end, to celebrating what might have been lost.
The next morning Julie and I drove to Carpinteria to do some exploring and to be near the ocean for a bit. On the drive home we stopped in Mussel Shoals and walked down to the pier to watch the surfers at high tide. While we were there an older man named George rode up on his bike and struck up a long conversation, starting with the weather, like you do.
Before long he was telling us about his family and how he’d worked in Glendale. Then he acknowledged the fact that he was talking a lot and probably oversharing, and it was because he’d read a book called The Power of Strangers. He was consciously making an effort to connect with new people.
It hit me that one way to get back a fraction of what might have been lost is to be more open to new people and new experiences. But I have to be more than just open to it, I have to seek it and with some urgency. I have to make up for lost time and missed connections. I have to honor the people who aren’t here by not wasting the time I’ve been given.
I try to strike a balance in this newsletter between art and craft, between the creative process of writing and writing about creativity and life as an artist. This week is just me talking human to human.
I want you to know how much I appreciate you.
I hope you know it’s okay to be disappointed and hurt and angry and scared.
I hope you’re being patient and kind with yourself.
We lost things that we didn’t even know we lost.
I’m sorry for all of it, the known and the unknowable.
I’m also glad you’re still here.
And I hope you have a great weekend.
Bon Iver - YouTube Theater - Los Angeles (Inglewood), CA - 10/22/2021 - Full Show