I deliver the affirmation lightly,
letting Miles Davis know he still has the reins here.
We're somewhere around the 13-minute mark
of Davis' colossal 27-minute "Great Expectations."
One movement ends and another begins;
as the color drains from a contorted trumpet –
a benevolent sitar takes over.
It's a relief.
I know that,
while Davis is playing,
this conversation is between the two of us.
At 41,
I am as fortified as I have ever been
against self-judgment,
but I think gratitude is arrogant,
even though I make gratitude lists every damn day.
We've all had to push through
the vulgarities of regular life,
and work really hard
to continue to hold on.
The things that helped me hold on
are music, basketball, gratitude,
being humbled by a nine-year-old,
embracing my age,
welcoming being weirder yet gentler.
Exiting the noise of your youth
and entering a peaceful phase,
there will still be grief and pain,
but once you've opened that door,
you might be greeted with Miles Davis
and benevolent hope.