Let It Be

The good thing about the frigid winds this week, I decided last night, is that they make you walk quickly, and then the walk is lovely in the end, bracing and invigorating, even though the initial temptation was to stay by the fire. And there’s nothing like an invigorating walk to help keep things in focus. Well, actually, now that I think of it, there are many things that help bring things into focus, and Paul McCartney the other night was another.

The walk truly was though, as many thankfully are, a lovely moment. Other moments are nothing short of divine, others still utterly horrid. But most, I find, are a bit of a potpourri, the delectable and unpalatable, the delightful and agonizing, the lovely and unlovely, all present side by side in a split second.

“Let it be,” sang Paul McCartney as I wept. Words of wisdom, yes, words I do my best to heed every day of my life, but sometimes fail miserably at. I don’t want to let some things be, I don’t, I don’t, not the big huge frightening things, nor the completely trivial but annoying ones. I want to be in control of my life.

But we’re not in control, I just keep forgetting, and life is a little random and unpredictable, quite the ride at times.  And though I loved roller coasters when I was a little younger, I no longer do, not since they have a few times unmercifully dumped me out into a terrifying freefall followed by a hard, hard landing.

I don’t want to visit my oncologist next week again, nor do I want to fight not to think about it every second of every day between now and then.

Infinitely more trivial, but surprisingly powerful in its own weird way, I didn’t want to get a party dress this Christmas either, because I have trouble letting things be. I have not, I realize, accepted my post-ovarian, post-chemo depletion and lumpiness, and shopping for underwear to go under pretty dresses is my new definition of misery.

But Let it Be inspired me. First thing next morning, I went out, walked into a store, and told the clerk to help me find a dress that did not require a waistline to look good in. (I’ve truthfully never had much of one for much of my life, but now, well now it’s even worse, and menopause seems like a good thing to blame it on.) I asked the lovely young woman helping me to do it quickly too, before I changed my mind and opted for the couch and a movie instead of the party.

These young and beautiful fashion experts may often just be filling in time, but sometimes they are saints. She found me a dress, and I’m going to the party. And that, as trivial as it may sound, is not at all trivial. It represents the power of music, and kind and generous spirits, and another small victory in letting it be.