Live

a poem

In 2021, I found myself on crutches after foot surgery, trying to navigate life in a world slowly returning to "normal." Yoga on one leg became my daily routine, and it felt like a metaphor for everything else—adapting, balancing, adjusting. Schools reopened, restaurants buzzed again, and live events returned. My first big outing after lockdown was an Andrea Bocelli concert in Seattle. I remember sitting in the arena, tears streaming down my face. The music was stunning, yes, but more than that, I was overwhelmed by gratitude—gratitude for sharing something beautiful live, with other people.

Bridle Trails State park, where my forest walks happened in the days of the pandemic, except when I was on crutches

I wrote the poem I'll share below in the spring of 2024, looking back on those days. It took time to get the distance I needed to process them, especially one moment in particular. There’s a line in the poem that says, “I blocked my Dad.” And yes, I did. His political posts on Facebook had become too much for me, and I hit the block button. Later that year, he passed away.

For a long time, I couldn't talk about that—let alone write about it. I loved my dad and miss him deeply, but our relationship was complicated. Sharing this truth feels vulnerable, but I’ve learned something important over the past few years: I can hold space for complexity. I can grieve, love, and also acknowledge the difficulties. That’s a gift time has given me.

As some of you know, I’ve been pursuing an undergraduate writing program, and one of my teachers encouraged me to "write for myself first, worry about how others perceive it later." That advice unlocked something for me. It freed me to explore the messy, complicated parts of my life in my writing without worrying about how others might feel. Now, I’m trying to bring that honesty into the work I share publicly—like this poem.

The title, Live, has two meanings. It can be pronounced with a short i (as in live concert) or a long i (as in to live fully). Both are true. Here’s the poem:

Live
 
I’m hobbling around now,
doing one-legged yoga, still missing
 
the soft earth beneath my feet, the wind whispering through leaves
on my forest walks.
 
I wonder if we’ll ever get back to the way it used to be.
Every day is a vacation, and I feel useless.
 
Facebook was down yesterday--
a blessed digital detox.
 
I blocked my Dad, 
and I’m not checking the news.
 
Their Joy floats through the window, a reminder of life's simple pleasures.
Across the distance, I hear the music of
 
children playing at recess.
And later, friends break bread together
 
Before our first concert...
Live. In-person. Andrea Bocelli.

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May the peace of the Lord Christ go with you: wherever he may send you; may he guide you through the wilderness: protect you through the storm; may he bring you home rejoicing: at the wonders he has shown you: may he bring you home rejoicing: once again into our doors.