I’ve been listening to this song on repeat. It popped up on my Discover Weekly mix, and I turned the little heart green because of how it sounded and felt, not necessarily because of what it said.
But then, once I had internalized the rhythms and the repetitions, I started to hear the lyrics, really hear them. The song is structured in one of my favorite ways, where the whole song is kind of the chorus, but it isn’t a true chorus, because it doesn’t really repeat, instead presenting variations on a theme. It’s about forgiveness, but not the Eliza Hamilton heart-wrenching tear-filled version, more the kind that allows you to shake off the vestiges of something either recent or long-ago done or not done to find space to move forward.
If you did, oh if you did, even if you did
Been where you shouldn’t have been,
Seen what you shouldn’t have seen,
Dreamed what you shouldn’t have dreamed,
That doesn’t mean you have to be locked up here forever
I’m gonna set you free.
This first verse is freeing because it doesn’t point fingers - it doesn’t place any blame on you for the thing you need to be forgiven for. This verse says, “sometimes you end up carrying around baggage that you didn’t even pack, and that’s okay.” It has shone some light on the challenges from last school year that have had a hold on my heart and my decision-making and my reactivity this year; regardless of the fact that those conditions no longer exist, my body has been reacting like they do. And this verse frees me from having to feel guilty about those reactions because I didn’t create the conditions for them. And, correlation or causation, some of those tight tendrils have started to loosen up a bit this second semester.
If you did, oh if you did, even if you did
Done what you shouldn’t have done,
Run when you shouldn’t have run,
Lost when you shouldn’t have won,
That doesn’t mean you have to be paying the price forever,
I’m gonna set you free
I’ve also been thinking about how young people are the experts in forgiveness. Teaching sixth grade has been a master class - students who I’ve talked to for many, many minutes (eons in 12-year-old time) about a particularly devastating friend situation are best friends again by the next time I see them. And it’s not just forgiving each other. Two of my girls in particular have shown me a type of grace that I’m certain I don’t deserve. These two are wickedly smart, with fiery hearts guided by golden compasses of right and wrong. They have the biggest feelings and they are the fiercest friends. And they absolutely never, ever, under any circumstances, stop talking. Despite my admiration, my overstimulation from the incessant conversation has caused me to lose my temper with them, speaking and acting harshly in ways I’m not proud of. If I were them, I’d hate me; I still remember the ONE time a teacher spoke like that to me in high school, and, if I’m honest, I’ve not forgiven her for that.
And yet. Even after a day where I’ve spent 90 minutes fussing at them, moving their seats, and sometimes being even less kind and measured than that, they still say good morning, still trust me with their problems, still tell me when someone else in class is sad and I haven’t noticed yet. And I don’t know why. But I tell them thank you every time, and I have also started to tell them “thank you for forgiving me.” And I know that I’m in the presence of grace alone.
If you did, oh if you did, even if you did
Strayed from the beaten track
maybe you never got back,
Went in off the black,
that doesn’t meant you have to be lying around here forever,
I’m gonna set you free
I’m new at everything this year…new content, new grade level, new leadership roles, new yoga teacher. And I’m bad at being new at everything, because being new means you are constantly unsure, frequently publicly wrong, and almost always confused about something. I feel deeply guilty about the lessons that don’t go well and the conversations that don’t make sense and the questions I have to ask more than once. And the idea of “never getting back” to the kind of planning and execution that at least approaches my standards is very real. However, in the past few weeks, I can start to see my full curriculum design brain re-emerging from the weeds, my ability to connect and build on a strong foundation and see a brighter future for next year starting to fire on all cylinders again. This verse reminds me that it’s okay to be in survival mode, and it’s okay to imagine an eventual reality beyond it.
If you did, oh if you did, even if you did,
Suffered from a broken heart, got off to a poor start,
Maybe you fell apart,
That doesn’t mean you have to be locked up here forever,
I’m gonna set you free
This winter, I’ve been working on arm balances in my own yoga practice. About three years ago, I tried crow pose (arguably the most straightforward of these poses) in a class without having the strength or anatomy knowledge to do that pose successfully. Arm balances require considerable core strength, upper body strength, and flexibility, none of which I had at the time. So I fell. Hard. I didn’t get hurt physically, but my ego was bruised, and it took a long time before I was able to even seek out the training I would need to embark on this pose, and others like it, successfully. The first step, it turned out, was forgiving myself for trying without being ready, forgiving myself for falling, and forgiving myself for not trying again right away, though I could have. Only then did I have what I needed to face what my teacher calls, “you know, the regular fear” of balancing when you might fall. The most helpful cue she offered was to look forward - because if you fall, you will fall where you’re looking, and falling forward is better than falling down on your head and risking your neck. If that isn’t a metaphor for moving forward from a poor start, I don’t know what would be.
If you did, oh if you did, even if you did
Known what you shouldn’t have known,
Shown what you shouldn’t have shown,
Thrown what you shouldn’t have thrown,
That doesn’t mean you have to be paying the price forever.
Half the time, the things that seem like they need forgiveness are the things that I shouldn’t have said, shared, or burdened others with. The last in-person yoga class I attended, I had what, in the moment, felt like a lovely conversation with another teacher in my studio who I really like but don’t know super-well. But, as I started my physical practice, all the ways that I had said too much, said the wrong thing, not asked enough questions, not listened well enough came rushing back to me. This verse reminds me that we can only do what we can with what we have, and that even if the conversation did feel weird to her, there’s nothing to be done besides try another conversation another day. That day is also a reminder that the postures are there to prepare the mind for meditation, to work through the guilt and the aches and the what-ifs to make space for focus, for concentration, and maybe, for forgiveness.
If you did, oh if you did, even if you did
Been where you shouldn’t have been,
Seen what you shouldn’t have seen,
Dreamed what you shouldn’t have been,
That doesn’t mean you have to be locked up here forever
I’m gonna set you free.
I appreciate the way that this song ends the way it starts, looping back to its original freedom from things that are not your fault. The one time I’ve ever experienced complete and spontaneous forgiveness was with a supervisor who made my life a living hell for the months I worked with her. I spent that time certain the whole situation was my fault; I was simply not smart enough, not experienced enough, not skilled enough, to meet her expectations, and, while I didn’t like her management style (which involved a lot of public castigation), that it was my fault this thing was happening. I reached out to a previous supervisor, someone not known for her leniency, and asked her, “What can I do to be better so this will stop?” As gently as I’d ever heard her, this person gave me one of the greatest gifts of my career when she said something to the effect of, “Have you considered that it might not be your fault that you’re being treated this way?” She offered several practical suggestions for surviving to the end of the situation, but the reframing to remind me that sometimes things just happen was revelatory.
And I’m convinced it paved the way for the moment, mere hours after my contract ended and I drove away from the city where it took place, a thought came into my head loud and clear: “I forgive her. I just forgive her for all of it.” My thoughts are not clear or free from clutter often, but when they are, I’ve learned to stand up and take note, because they usually say Big Important things, like “move back to Texas” or “get a dog,” or “thank your mom for making rather than buying your Halloween costumes when you were in elementary school even though you were a brat about it at the time” or “fight this battle because it matters.” So I listened. I will never, ever put myself in a position again where I work for someone whose methods are even reminiscent of hers; I learned from the situation. But I forgave her and I forgave myself for not quitting when I should have.
What are your thoughts on forgiveness?
What songs are working their magic on you this month?
What are your intentions in this last month of winter?
Some other songs on repeat at the moment:
This one about what’s really scary and what feels scary.
A quiet love song that’s usually not my style.
A good reminder (though there are a few phrases that I wish the lyricist had made more inclusive)
I’m re-reading Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer, which I’m remembering I should always be re-reading, because of the writing and the celebration of multiple ways of knowing because “it takes real effort to remember that it’s not just in a wigwam that the earth gives us everything we need. The exchange of recognition, gratitude, and reciprocity for these gifts is just as important in. Brooklyn flat as under a birch bark roof” (pg. 240). I just ordered the Young Adults Version with my imagination (and previously mentioned awakening curriculum brain) set on using it as a framework for next year.
If you haven’t read it, I can’t recommend it highly enough.
After spending quite a few hours with the ideas of reciprocity with the earth, with ideas about honoring the lives that make your food and your life possible (the trees, the animals, the plants), I’m paying closer attention specifically to how I mindfully (or not) interact with food. We have been working consciously the past several years on reducing our food waste, but the past two weeks haven’t been good ones in that effort. A tiny space of forgiveness (though not absolution) emerged this weekend, as I found a full-blown potato plant and an onion shoot in my compost pile. While I made an error that was disrespectful of the plants in failing to eat the food before it was bad, giving it space to do what it does led to new growth, to resilience, to a reminder of exactly why I want to use my food mindfully and reasonably and not take more than I need to.
In honor of the song and some of the winter clouds lifting (literally, metaphorically), next weekend’s Hatha Flow class will be “set yourself free” themed. I hope to see you there!
