Say Something

If you know me fairly well, then you know that I don’t give up on people or institutions very easily. If I believe in someone or something, then I am one of the most loyal people you will ever meet.

As such, I find it strange that I’ve been walking around singing lyrics from A Great Big World’s song, “Say Something,” today. What’s even stranger is that I’ve only heard the song twice, and neither of those times was recently.

Yet all day, I’ve been singing:
“Say something, I'm giving up on you.
I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you…
Say something, I'm giving up on you…
And I will swallow my pride.
You're the one that I love
And I'm saying goodbye.”

The strangest thing, though? I’m actually doing it.

I’m giving up,
letting go,
accepting limitations,
saying goodbye.
To persons who, for whatever reasons, do not accept my friendship,
To institutions that, for whatever reasons, do not accept who I am.

Somehow, while singing my mysterious ear worm today, I realized that this surrender has been happening for quite some time. It’s been a quiet surrender for the past year or so: a gradual understanding that I cannot be all things to all people no matter how hard I try or how deeply I desire to be so.

Some people choose me. Some people don’t. The same goes with organizations and institutions. So instead of chasing the ones who don’t, I’m actively choosing to embrace the ones who do—like you, reader—and trusting a Love bigger than myself with the rest.

I don’t understand Love. I don’t understand the vastness of it all—its presence in stark opposites—its miraculous appearance in a baby who grew to be a man who looked into the face of brokenness and said, “I see light in you, too.” Yet I know that Love is vast enough to surround all and not give up on any…even as Love tells me it’s okay to set some free.