At Least We Live Tonight

It has been a ridiculously long time since I updated my blog. I am dutifully ashamed of myself. I do have a good reason, however. Life has been, put simply, very busy. The second semester of the school year accelerated my workload--which I didn't think was capable of growing--and as I started struggling with various concepts, the amount of time devoted to school doubled. I've completed four speech and debate tournaments thus far this year, two of which were this month, and all were more exhausting than ever--although, admittedly, more satisfying. Both of those take up more time as well, especially the latter, since it means I've been working harder than ever to achieve a different sort of success than I claimed last year. Whether I've really succeeded at that or not, well...I can't say I care too much.

The point of this post is not to rant on about my daily life and busyness, though. Really, it's to try to explain to you what the title of this post means to me, and how it's impacted my life over the past two weeks.

That phrase--"the past two weeks"--means a lot for four little words to handle, here on April 1st, 2011. Because the past two weeks, although few have noticed, have carried on a somewhat painful, somewhat joyful, very interesting, and entirely beautiful story for me. The first week started out with pain. Harsh words, stony memories, stress, exhaustion, and a returning air of hurt. The next week began the climax: more aches, frustration, and unbelievable fatigue. I woke up before six on Tuesday to finish an English assignment and quite literally felt like I was going to cry, though I couldn't figure out if it was from the burning in my eyes or heavy stress. I got through that day and the next one, though, and onto Thursday. And what did Thursday give me? The heart-melting, curious, innocent face of my one-year-old first cousin. After seeing her lips curl and her eyes light up in a smile, there was no other option but to be ridiculously happy. She reminded me what it's like to be more than content.

And today? Friday? I'm tired. I'm unmotivated to complete my school work. I'm quickly phasing between being too hot and too cold. The baby is gone, and I miss her giggle. My best friends have all left for various trips, and I miss their cheerful and wise words. I still have a lot of schoolwork to catch up on, not to mention life. But I list these things out and think about my schedule and the date of my next tournament and how much I miss people and. . .and I can't still think of a single reason why I shouldn't be happy. Perhaps it's just a strange blanket of contentment. I couldn't tell you, because my heart and mind usually lay their priorities far from where they should. But these things just can't compare to all the reasons I should be happy.

Or, moreover, why I should live.

Maybe, I'll wake up tomorrow and my life will fall apart. But why does that stop me from singing tonight? Why does that stop me from laughing? Talking? Living? Right here, right now, when the room is silent and the world is muffled in despair and everyone is waiting on baited breath for the next catastrophe. Why can't we find our voices and live--just once?

In the midst of my interesting two weeks, I found a song that relays this thought and inspired the title for my post: Ring the Bells by Satellite.

Find the words that make it right again
Calling birds help you make it through the night
It's just enough to find a way to open up once again
And learn to take all the beauty that's inside

Well ring the bells that lead you home
Cause the only truth I've ever known
Is that nothing ever hurts us more than love
So circle up your best friends
And we'll celebrate the way it ends
At least we live tonight
At least we live tonight

Scream out loud
Until you feel again
And hear the sound of how to heal an aching heart
And those that know you most
Can help you to live again
So keep them close
As you're making your new start

Well ring the bells that lead you home
Cause the only truth I've ever known
Is that nothing ever hurts us more than love
So circle up your best friends
And we'll celebrate the way it ends
At least we live tonight
At least we live tonight

The day you finally turn to dust
And finally hear your name
Brings colors that will never fade away
Sometimes the best in all of us
Can still break down and still give up on love
But it's never gone

Well ring the bells that lead you home
Cause the only truth I've ever known
Is that nothing ever hurts us more than love
So circle up your best friends
And we'll celebrate the way it ends
At least we live tonight
At least we live tonight

It's such an interesting song. It combines this sense of hopelessness and cynicism with a promise of beautiful contentment and color. And it made me ask myself why I so often refuse to think about broken love and aching hearts. Why is it bad to look at the pain, the hate, and the aches? They're real, aren't they? So why so I try to brush past them as if they don't exist? Lose my motivation and ignore reality? It's real, it's prominent, and it needs to be accepted. But it doesn't need to be accepted alone.

One person alone can sing a tune. But when we circle up our best of friends and celebrate the way it ends, we can create a harmony. And that's how we live instead of just surviving.

So that's what I've been learning. How to accept the pain and live with it. People love me. People love you. And they're all watching the damaged world fall. We don't have to be hopeless. Ring the bells that lead you home, because they'll only add to your brokenhearted song. I want to see you thrive, and so does everyone else. You live tonight.

So stop living in silence.