TINY BEAUTIFUL THINGS LOVE

The best thing art offers us is revelation. Last night at Tiny Beautiful Things (TBT) was no exception.

The worst thing art offers us is truth after the revelation. TBT showed I lack the same empathy gene as Cheryl Strayed. And I was shocked.

I love the idea of reaching out in love, of putting our heart on our sleeve for the world to see. It is the best way forward from trauma damage, the best way to heal from the inside out.

With that said:

After experiencing the Portland Center Stage Production of TBT I heard the Tuesday night crowd go one of two ways.

The man behind me was sobbing. I didn’t turn around.

The woman beside me was dabbing her eyes. On the other side my wife was riveted to the stage.

I sat third row center feeling amazed at the stagecraft, the actors, and the story, wondering what’s wrong with me that I’m not sobbing too.

I came ready to cry after reading reviews and interviews. It was a public place with raw emotions going all around me and I was ready to join.

But I wasn’t going to fake it.

One response to TBT was an emotional purge where shared trauma and grief rose in the audience and helped identify and ease the pain. It felt therapeutical.

That’s what I went for, more tools to deal with rogue feelings jumping up unexpected.

The other response was a Harry Nilsson lyric from the early 1970’s:

“You’re breaking my heart, you’re tearing it apart, so fuck you.”

Dear Sugar brought letters and questions about human events good and bad, sometimes at the same time. Some selfish and awful, some evil, some hopeless, and my feelings toward those causing the pain was Nilsson Therapy.

I’m working to understand what Cheryl Strayed meant when she said, “Tackle love like a motherfucker.” My other senses flared more toward tackling and driving motherfuckers into the ground starting with her dad and grandpa.

Call it a philosophical difference born of hard experience.

In my single guy twenties I lived a selfish life in my Northwest Portland studio apartment. It was all about me, or as much about me as I could stand. But I still found a way to help out.

One Sunday afternoon I crossed the street to help someone in trouble. It didn’t ‘t work out like I’d planned.

Helping a new girlfriend explain us to her old boyfriend didn’t work out like I thought it would either.

Instead of a love and understanding fall-back, I got punched in the face. Twice. And it hurt. I didn’t get dropped, but it was close.

I did my part both times by resisting the bad thing, the unrelenting, remorseless, beat down. Love was a challenge, like doing the right thing. I wanted to tackle something instead.

Tiny Beautiful Things showed a different way. Violence against violence creates more violence. Hurtful, angry, words spit in your face, or into your ear, makes it hard to be kind.

But that’s the real challenge, to overcome the bullshit, the ignorance, the casual insensitivity. Instead of firing back, show a better side.

Should you see Tiny Beautiful Things? Only if you’re ready to confront yourself and how you hide your true feelings.

Have you thought about it? Are you ready? Yes, you are.