If A Tree Falls...

Most nights, there is a moment just before sleep when Lance feels very alone. Though tempted to suggest that everyone feels this, or at least all men do if truly honest about their frailties, he nevertheless resisted the generalization because it added nothing to its veracity. He knew what he felt and even if he was the only one on earth who experienced it, it was real enough to him. Lance didn't read it as sadness, as in loss, or as regret, as in a mistaken life choice. He just took it as a simple fact of his life which, despite the constant presence of family and friends, persisted deep in his chest like a low hum of an engine in the far distance. During the day, the rowdy noise of work, parental responsibilities and social life easily blocked out the hum, but at night, in that quietest of moments, it returned like a one note song of deep loneliness.

The feeling wasn't one of fear or failure. Lance had felt the chilling fear of failure on several occasions. His first marriage had ended within two years and during the separation, the conflict made him physically sick. "Heartache" perfectly described that toxic combination of despair and abandonment. And while he had no regrets about the decision to divorce, he lost weight, questioned his professional abilities and wondered out loud if he was "broken" and never cutout for a committed relationship. He was haunted by being the rejected party and nothing would ever change that. He still has never gotten over an instinctual skepticism when someone says "I love you" to him. Yet, somehow, in his secret self, Lance sees himself as a wild romantic. The kind that wants to romp through a field, sing out loud at inappropriate moments, shout his heart's longings to the heavens or just sit in front of a fire, wordlessly present with another soul. To fail was not something he expected.

Failure haunted him again in the late 90's during the fierce funding battles fought over the building of the arts center. Lance endured many sleepless nights filled with the darkest of dread and technicolor visions of imminent doom. He had witnessed the very real prospect the whole Concert Hall project could stop in its tracks because of some random, short-term political act by any number of politicians who would rather trade the future promise of great music for a momentary victory over an adversary. The scenario loomed large for over three years. When at last, on the day the project funding was in the balance, Lance stood alone in the government chambers listening to a debate more about the worries than the wonder of what could soon rise on that vacant hillside. Watching the matter go right down to the last minute, Lance watched the vote, stepped out into the hallway outside of the chambers and suddenly, outside the window, torrential rain, thunder and lighting crashed down from heaven. It was poetic - a dream born in a storm. But Lance remembered that fear of failure long after. It was palpable.

Lance's aforementioned feelings at night were not fear of failure. This was a profound loneliness. The kind you can't easily talk about. The kind that cuts through all the humanity around us and whispers quietly, "You are still alone." No matter what wives, friends,. pastors and family profess, that was a truth Lance was coming to accept in his older years. A young man can't hear it...the trumpeting of his presumed immortality drowns out the voice. He is invincible, incorrigible, indomitable, the young man, always in a headlong rush to test his powers, challenges authority, fall in and out of love. and slay all the dragons in sight. Even failures are brushed off as temporary set-backs. Lonely is not the sound to which young man falls asleep. His is sound is more like a drum cadence, calling him to arms the next day.

But somewhere around 50, the superman illusions melt and there is an undeniable record of life one has acquired. Not a bad record actually, Lance's was filled with achievements and adventures, but a growing sense of "Who is it all for?" began to prick at his thoughts. Long fascinated by the existential argument "If a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear it, did it happen", Lance's version went more like this: "If a tree falls in a forest and you are the only one who hears it, did it happen?" If you are the only one experiencing a rainbow, and there is no one there to share it, what is the point? With whom had he shared those adventures and accomplishments? Who listened when his doubts outnumbered his confidence. Who could he brag to and not offend? Who could appreciate the connection between lessons learned and lessons taught? Must the answer be no one?

So often, Lance thought, there was no one sharing his rainbows or his thunderstorms. Everyone around him was preoccupied with their own lives, their own struggles, their own weather. He must be no different. To whom did he offer such open-ended listening, acceptance and unconditional acceptance? Actually, there were several people he had extended open invitations into various aspects of his life, but rarely were they accepted. Besides, hadn't he urged each of them to become more independent, self-sufficient, even self-actualized? Hadn't he cheered their success, advanced their careers, empowered, emboldened and encouraged their creative emergence? Of course he had, just as others had done for him.

But now, he simply felt alone in that dark moment before sleep. Perhaps, this is just the "exit music" everyone hears as they descend the arc of life. Despite erstwhile protestations to the contrary by others whenever he alluded to his aging state, there was something new in his perception of time, life and self that came from a place of experience and wisdom. There was a new satisfaction with encountering present life instead of driving it. Of embracing those opportunities which presented themselves instead of waiting for the best of the future. Of living the Summoned Life.

But that didn't stop him from hoping someone would occasionally reach out, take his hand, and just be with him in his moments. Someone who would also hear the tree fall. Maybe the solitude would melt, too.

P.S. Keep this to yourself, please. Lance asked me not to tell anyone about this, you know, being a guy and everything.