Soul Chronicles: Reclaiming What We’ve Left Behind
Segment 3 of 6 in our Soul Chronicles for the Chronically Ill series.
By Shaler Wright
Introduction
I’d like to thank Health Story Collaborative for working with me to bring you “Soul Chronicles for the Chronically Ill.” This monthly audio series offers a soulful perspective on how to navigate the unique challenges of living with ongoing health conditions. My name is Shaler McClure Wright and I’m a writer/artist living with Chronic Inflammatory Response Syndrome.
Story
(audio clip of “Bring it on Home to Me” warm up vocals from Roger Ridley)
That’s the voice of Roger Ridley, a street musician whose soulful voice inspired the collaborative musical movement “Playing for Change.”
Roger’s warming up to breathe life into the timeless lyrics of American singer/songwriter Sam Cook:
“If you ever, change your mind,
about leavin’, leavin’ me behind—”
This music fills us with an undeniable experience of longing, reminding us of things we’ve lost and long for, and suggesting that what we’ve lost may well be lost without us too. What if the things we’ve left behind—the things we’ve had to give up because of our illness—what if they could reach out to us, and tell us how it feels?
“—oh-oh bring it to me,
bring your sweet love,
bring it on home to me.”
You see, when we give up something—like running or dancing or hiking up a mountain—because we no longer have the stamina or it causes too much pain–we’re also giving up the feelings and memories that go with that activity. You could even say, when something expresses our soul, then giving it up relinquishes a piece of our soul. And bits of soul, when split from the whole, will naturally seek to reconnect. But it’s up to us to answer their call.
This is the time of year when people try to improve their health by giving things up—like alcohol, sugar, caffeine. But in our dedication to become ‘less’ we ignore the equal and opposite idea that in order to be healthy, we also need to become ‘more’. Like Roger Ridley and Sam Cooke, we need to reclaim some of what has been lost to us, even though, through the very act of reclaiming, those very things will be changed. Let me give you an example:
I trained as an actor for many years and was proud of my ability to memorize. Bringing words to life in scripts, stories, and poetry was joyful for me. But my illness has cognitive implications, and over time I’ve lost that ability to a great degree. So I’ve avoided opportunities where I’d be called upon to use my memory.
But how much of that loss is based in practicality and how much is colored by pride?
While it’s true I’m no longer well suited for a leading role in a full length play, in leaving the theatre behind, I’m also leaving behind the artists who were like family to me. Effectively, I’ve exiled myself from my tribe. And exile is lonely. And loneliness goes both ways— but I never even considered the possibility that my tribe might be missing me too. I never considered that even with my impairment, there might still be some creative way I can contribute and collaborate.
And that’s short-sighted, not soulful…
Because in giving up theatre, I’m also leaving behind the imaginary worlds I used to inhabit through the playwright’s plot and a character’s dialogue. Whether it was the epic journey of a Russian classic, the treachery and forbidden romance of Shakespeare, or the hard hitting rage of a rebel like Mamet, the range of feelings I got to experience safely, in a contained space where emotional intensity was appreciated, is simply without parallel in daily life. And our creativity suffers with sameness.
Sometimes I can still hear in my head the words of a character I’ve played. Reminding me their story continues, even though I’ve stopped. Summoning my attention. And as I reconsider the impact of these words, I’m realizing that because of my illness, these words and images and feelings I’ve left behind are even more dear to me now, and my perspective on their value has deepened.
Perhaps those of us with chronic illness can shine new light on old actions. Perhaps we can reclaim the mantle of life’s earlier loves and achievements by adapting our approach. We may not be the star athlete of a team or the lead actor in a play, but we can offer a deeper appreciation of what that was like, and give voice to the richness of those experiences.
One of my favorite theatre characters was a young woman named Wilma, from the Off Broadway play "Easter" by Will Scheffer. Wilma has recently lost her first child in childbirth, and is trying to make sense of her loss while also trying to reclaim her life with her husband Matthew. After acting out her pain in other, inappropriate ways, she describes what she’s learned from her experience like this:
“I think the stars have told me their secret, Matthew. They said the secret to shining as bright as a star is just to live here. Just to stay here in this impossible place. And just like how diamonds are made in the earth, from living under the earth, under all that pressure—that's how we turn into stars. It's like gravity is forging us. And whenever we hurt it's just because we're changing. We're changing into stars.”
At the time I performed that monologue I had never been pregnant and had no way of knowing that my illness would also cause problems with pregnancy. But now that I’ve been through so much to have a child of my own, I can more fully appreciate the way Wilma transformed her pain into light, and that light into a beacon of beauty.
And because I’m now a member of more than one tribe, I can also share her words with a new audience; with people like you, who also understand what it is to have felt buried by our pain. The words have a deeper meaning in our world. And I believe Wilma and her playwright would be honored to become part of our world too.
So now, whenever I have a rough day, I try to remember the things that gave me joy, that I abandoned too completely. And I open myself to the possibility that even though I’m not able to give them what I once could give, I just might be able to give them something new. And that’s true for all of us. But unless we open ourselves to the possibility of reclaiming the favorite things we’ve lost, we’ll never know for sure. So keep your ears open and listen for the melody of longing. It may just be your own past calling you back home.
Original recording source for song clips:
“Bring it on Home to Me” written by Sam Cooke, with vocals by Roger Ridley, recorded by Playing for Change
Shaler McClure Wright is fascinated with the mysteries of creative process, the healing power of creativity, and the creative synthesis of method acting, intuitive learning and depth psychology. A graduate of Wesleyan University and The Actors Studio, Shaler has worked as an actor, writer and educator for more than 40 years, and lives in southeastern Connecticut with her son and husband.
Go here for more episodes of our Soul Chronicles series.