Scratching my niches: #8

Tribute to THH • If you're gonna do something, you might as well do it right"

Welcome to the 23 new curious minds that have joined since the last post! If you know someone that may enjoy reading this, please forward along or join us here:

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👋 Hi friends,

Going to jump right in. Though these thoughts have taken on many shapes, this one is really about grief. Let’s get to it.

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1 • “If you’re gonna do something, you might as well do it right”

My stepfather, Thomas Herman Highley, passed away in January 2021. Being the peak of the second COVID wave, we scheduled his memorial for the summer, and then had another postponement with the Delta wave. 

With all the time that passed, and how long he’d been battling, I didn’t realize how hard it would be to process. There were so many near death moments, yet the man always pushed through and bounced back, and would never admit to himself or others that he wasn’t capable of overcoming. So when it happened, and with the delay, it just didn’t feel real. 

We came together to celebrate his life this past August, and I put together some words to share at his service. 

As the past couple months have gone by, I’ve wrestled with the impulse — and the resistance — to share.

But the signs and reminders have been eerily persistent and omnipresent (the yellow rose, the cardinals, the readings, the struggle). A few weeks after the service, my daughter started speaking her own made up language, and when I asked what that was, she said “I’m speaking ‘Pop’” (what she called him). 

So, here’s that speech below, which I think captures what he meant, both to me and so many others, and will serve to further instill his reminders and legacy worth carrying on.

I wasn’t going to say anything today. Thought I’d make my peace when we meet again someday.

But then I could hear the old man say, “Well son, that’s nice and all, but you’re a day late and a dollar short.”

In addition to his many aphorisms, Tom always seemed to know the right thing to say.

He knew the right words to comfort you. To make you laugh, or to lift you up. And the words to encourage, or to inspire.

He had this unrelenting optimism and an infectious positivity that he brought into every interaction.

Though he was a busy man, when you had your time with Tom, you always felt he was giving you his best.

He also knew how to listen and ask great questions. And he did all this in his unique way that made you feel seen, heard, and loved.

So many of his words like this continue to live on and speak to me everyday.

Just looking around this room, you can see how many lives he’s touched and how he did this with everyone.

So I wanted to take the opportunity to tell him what I’d say if I could see him now…

And that’s thank you. For changing my life, for believing in me, for all you’ve taught me and all you did for us. And for the mark you left on this world, leading by example till the very end.

There’s one particular saying of his that bears repeating and acknowledging, which he once told me when I was young doing some chores, cleaning his boat at the time… I was likely trying to find a shortcut so I could jet out to see friends, and he asked me to pause and join him in inspecting the watermarks I neglected on the windows.

He said, “If you’re gonna do something, you might as well do it right”

He meant it, he lived it, and he showed it everyday in his passion for his work, his desire to bring out the best in people, and the many many relationships he developed and cherished.

In his later years, a few of the things he loved most were ripped away from him. He could no longer eat meals, it was difficult and sometimes impossible to talk, and hard to hear or listen.

He had to battle every day, for many years. Yet his spirit would never wane, and when he saw you, lighting you up was still the center of his attention.

Through countless setbacks and struggles, he remained optimistic he was going to overcome. He always faced the challenge.

“If you’re going to do something, you might as well do it right.”

I’d give anything to watch him light up a room just one more time. Or cracking up a waitress at the table, or bellhop at the hotel.

So, Tom, I’m forever grateful for the time we spent together on our visit in those final few weeks. For seeing the smile on your face and fist pumps in the air watching my little girls jump around in the pool. You said, “I’m sad I’m not gonna see those girls grow up.” I am too. But I know you’ll always be with us, always teaching, always loving.

If you’re gonna be here on this planet, if you’re going to live this life, you might as well do it right.

Thanks Tom, I love you big guy. Until we meet again…

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2 • Universal Sound

A week before the memorial we went out West to Jackson Hole for a family vacation. I had yet to put any words together for the speech that felt right, and was beginning to feel the pressure to find them. 

One of the things I love most about travel is how it transports you outside of your normal patterns of thought and feeling, and forces an opening within you to experience more. When you’re in an unfamiliar place, senses are heightened and alert, old patterns are broken and new ways of seeing emerge. You can truly pay attention. 

The Tetons are a special place. With vast wilderness and wildlife, and mountainside wildflowers in bloom all around — it’s hard not to feel the divine forces that shaped this magnificent landscape.

Tom was a huge fan of Western movies and stories — I think it was that frontier spirit of adventure and exploration and the cowboy grit. 

One particular scorching afternoon, I ventured out and took the steep ascent up the mountain, hoping to “unstuck myself” from the many ideas and words floating around. 

Music has always been a way for me to connect with those feelings that are ineffable. I’d curated a playlist for the trip (I called it Frontier Vibes, link here) in hopes of connecting to the place and myself in it, and I fired it up. 

As soon as I struggled for that first gasp of thin air, I began to feel his presence as we climbed. It was surreal. Then a new song began to play and I hung onto every word… 

My mind's a mile a minute, and my thoughts they bark like hounds
I focus on my breathing and the universal sound

Passing along ridges and cliff sides I faced the sensations of fear, pausing my racing thoughts as I paid extra attention to each step and foothold. Each break, huffing and puffing, I smiled with gratitude to have this essential ability right now. 

I recall when I was a baby, I didn't need nothing around
But a little bitty rattler and the universal sound
I'd close my eyes
It was all so clear
It was all right then
It was all right here

How did he endure for so long struggling for this basic necessity of living? How terrifying to gasp for air, constantly, and indefinitely? How often do I get caught up in the minutiae of optimizing everyday life, and take for granted this simple, incredible gift?

I focus on my breathing and the universal sound
I let it take me over from the toenails to the crown
Of the body that I'm in 'til they put me in the ground
And I return to the chorus of the universal sound

Though I didn’t find all the words up there, a core part of me was unblocked and I began to work through that grieving process more intentionally. The experience of that hike and our time together was one I’ll never forget. 

I've been up on the mountain, and I've seen His wondrous grace
I've sat there on a bar stool, and I've looked Him in the face
He seemed a little haggard, but it did not slow Him down
He was humming to the neon of the universal sound

Lyrics from Universal Sound by Tyler Childers

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3 • Push it down, it comes out sideways

Love demands to be felt and I’ve learned that grief is a type of love. There’s no denying it, no bypassing it, the love you have for someone and the loss you feel when they’re gone is not something you can intellectually ignore because your body — your heart — will know better. The only way out is through.

There’s one final song I reconnected with that clarified my commitment to this experience — feeling it, recognizing it, and doing something with it.

I first discovered this song, Sideways by Travis Meadows, about a year ago — this incredible guitar teacher (Michael Palmisano) I’ve been following shared his reaction video to the song. 

For whatever reason (maybe the reason reaction videos are so popular), hearing Michael’s experience revealed so many of my own suppressed emotions.

The song shone a light in the dark corner of my heart where grief resided, and uncomfortably enough, I found grief wasn’t the only thing hiding there… I saw regret, shame, stupid grudges I was still holding on to, and I saw how these emotions, while seemingly hidden, were constantly seeping out the edges of my life. 

They were coming out sideways — and it was only now that I was able to see that — and start to deal with it. 

I’m grateful for the time I had with Tom. I’m grateful for the trip and for the time I got to pay attention. And to be able to discover, if you process grief, or whatever else you’re resisting, and accept the changes it makes to your life (whether you like them at first or not), you will make room for gratitude and deeper love.

We may not have control over when and how we die, but we can control who and how we love, and if we're gonna do that, we might as well do it right.

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In loving memory of Thomas Herman Highley • November 19, 1940 — January 25, 2021