There's little use of a runny nose except that it gives you an excuse to pause, consider your good health when you have it, and pocket a handkerchief.
I'm learning a lot about chinks in the armor this year. Instead of bemoaning my weaknesses, I'm determined to flip the negative on its head and look at it from the other angle. It's easy to point out the bad. News channels thrive on it, in fact. But not me. I think that's why I got this midsummer head cold: it's one more opportunity to build some character, swim upstream, and, by golly, be Pollyanna because why not?
So here's a good story to break up the universal doldrums.
Last week, Nick and I drove a thousand miles to see Shakey Graves play a 45-minute set at the Traveler's Rest Festival in Missoula, Montana. We hardly listen to his music through speakers, but if he's within reach, we'll go hell or high water. He's just that spectacular live. Why?
Shakey Graves, or Alejandro Rose-Garcia (his real name), has a gift. A staggering gift of music. There's no hesitation to share this gift with the world, or anyone who will listen. I've never seen anyone put forth the effort he does into one set. It's impossible to not walk away impressed, inspired, slack-jawed, scratching your head. What was that? What was that thing, that je ne sais quoi thing, he left up there for anyone to pick up and walk away with?
My sister friend, Krissy, and I used to call it the hand thing. That thing that words can't capture so you just throw a hand out, open, giving, receiving, expressing all at once.
Obviously it was passion. It's hard to tear your eyes away from someone doing something wholeheartedly. I want more of that, want to be more of that, want to surround myself with people who leave it all out there, too. When we share our gifts with one another, the bad stuff gets muted for even 45-minutes. It's a blessing.
So, go forth despite your head colds, money woes and family dramas. Shake the grave off, cast your worries aside, roll the bones. Your life depends on it.