9:07 PM, Austin, TX.
It’s pouring. We’re under flash flood warnings and a tornado watch. My eyes are full of tears and yet I’m smiling with my whole soul.
Tonight, I miss our house in Florida. The metal roof our friend (and Aviator alumni) Jorge put on it was built well beyond the requirements of Florida codes. Designed to sustain 200mph+ winds, it doubled as an instrument every time it rained… And to be fair, it rained most days in Florida.
It’s raining hard here now, the thunderclaps rattle the windows. The air smells like my childhood, and the roof as an instrument is sorely missed.
Yet, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
I find such meaning in missing; things, experiences, even people. Those who are gone from my life for a time, and especially, those who are gone forever.
I don’t know where I first heard the phrase “The only way to grow is through grief”, but I remember my body’s negative reaction to the concept. My revulsion to this truth.
In December of last year though, I was deep in a breathwork session at Front Row Dads Live. My friend Mike Miro Brcic was leading and I was unironically in the front row. I’ve done a lot of breathwork. I was even invited to become a practitioner by the incredible humans at Soma+iq last year (their course is worth its weight in gold btw). But this time was different.
I’ve gone deep, dark, heavy, and light. But this was the first time I’d experienced pure, unbridled bliss. As the 120 men in the room around me each went through their own experiences, silent, or crying, yelling, even screaming at the top of their lungs, I laughed.
Like the sound of rain on a metal roof, I laughed with all my soul.
I sat with all the joys I’ve had in my life, and got to be a true observer of my story.
Then I felt that same joy shatter.
I felt the depths of my grief. Of my sorrow, my regrets, my learnings, my failings, and my shame.
The friends and family members I have lost, the resentments, and rejections, the betrayals by those I have trusted the most.
In that void, I felt something new.
Some new knowledge that these feelings are so close together. The bliss, the abyss. They felt like sides of the same coin. One side, total joy, the other, complete misery.
In my breath, I decided to play with the coin. To be present with both sides duality. Suddenly, I was laughing again. One man in a sea of emotions shifting from sobbing to joy. Being present with all of me.
As I’ve written this, the thunder has passed. All of our warnings and threats have abated. I don’t miss our house in Florida, but I do miss the singing of the metal roof. Maybe we’ll find that again in our next home.
If you’re still reading this, thank you for being present with my heart. I am so grateful.