Anchoring One Another

All I really have to know/ Is that you are here/ And I am not alone” — “Anchor Me

My friends, I have a new obsession: The Tenors! I have listened to their covers of Lean on Me and Hallelujah for months on my Spotify ‘Liked’ playlist, and something made me explore the rest of their music this holiday season. Now I’m hooked!

Check out their YouTube channel for heartwarming videos not just of their music, but tributes to their moms and dads, baking adventures during lockdown, and a touching farewell to their longest leading member. They sing with passion and love, driven by the deeply held belief that music heals. I agree, and of course it makes me think about how we relate through music.

So many people are having a hard time now. One friend’s dad recently died; another faces a toxic divorce. A third prepares for major surgery, and yet another finds herself suddenly estranged from her close friends. And oh my gosh the pain all around us in the world, how are we getting through any of it? Sometimes only music and song can convey the depths of emotion and need. The Tenors’ song “Anchor Me” feels like both a lament and a prayer. I find it incredibly hopeful, and also convicting. The first verse is a beautiful expression of pain that we have all experienced:

Oh my soul is troubled
Oh my will is worn
Tired and discouraged
Trampled on and torn
Every breath a battle
Every step a war
My heart a broken vessel
This night an angry storm

The chorus:

When sadness crashes like an ocean
When fear is deeper than the sea
When I am swallowed by the darkness
Will you come and anchor me?

Verse two goes deeper, laying bare the powerlessness and vulnerability of grief, sadness, depression, and disconnection, and the courage it takes to ask for the help we need:

I cannot see through this
Can you be my eyes?
I’m completely hopeless
Can you shine a light?
I have no more strength left
Can you stand and fight?
I’m dying in this doubt
Can you be my faith tonight?

And the bridge brings it all together; this is what we all seek in these times:

Hold me still and hold me close
Until it all passes away
I beg you not to let go
All I really have to know
Is that you are here
And I am not alone

… Who anchors you? Whom do you imagine singing, or sending, this song to?

I think first about my tribe, my pit crew. I call on them first, every time. I could not get through much without them, and I show up for them, too. It’s a boisterous lovefest in joyful times, and a swaddle of steadfast strength and love in grief. But sometimes the hole is deeper yet, and I must call on something bigger than us all. Call it God, Providence, cosmic forces. I can get still and commune with my own deep faith in galactic nature, in the eternal. And I can find spaces where I feel that communion more tangibly–in my favorite chapel, in the mountains, by the lake.

Sometimes I feel I can anchor myself. Through the years my tribe has reflected my own strengths, values, and purpose back to me. They coach me, remind me Who and Why I am. So on my own, I can recall their reflections, feel their love, and that holds me up even when I cannot reach them directly. So maybe it’s not me at all, rather it’s the gift of tribe and belonging, of cosmic energy that ties me, anchors me, like a belay.

And what about strangers? Are we ever truly strangers? The most loving and inclusive aspects of our faith traditions all share a teaching of communion with all of humanity, no? And haven’t we all had the experience of random kindness, offered by a random other, while we flail in the throes of despair, throwing us a line and tugging us back to somewhere solid and light? Where do these angels come from? Perhaps the cosmos sends them? Whatever we believe about it, wouldn’t it make everything better if we each resolved to participate in the giving, to be that kind and anchoring stranger whenever we can, in whatever way we can?

It may seem trite and cliché, but just making eye contact and smiling at ‘strangers’ on the street makes a difference. To acknowledge another person, to mark them with your presence, to exchange a mutual nod of existence, this is anchoring. It proves that we are visible, that our being is noted. Imagine walking down the street, never once meeting anyone’s eyes, never catching anyone’s awareness. Research shows that this–to be ignored by people we don’t even know–affects us deeply; it feels incredibly lonely and isolating. Harm occurs when we do this to one another.

“Do not pass by a man in need, for you may be the hand of God to him.” Memes of this quote atrribute it to Proverbs 3:27, but I’m not sure that’s correct. Regardless, the expression is instructive.

All I really have to know/ Is that you are here/ And I am not alone.

This can be any one of us, for any one of us. Maybe we can all try a little harder to help one another feel less alone, ya? Whom can I anchor today? On whom will I call, and/or who might just appear, to anchor me tomorrow? Everything goes around and comes around. We can make it better, help one another suffer a little less.

We can hold one another steady.

14 thoughts on “Anchoring One Another

  1. “To acknowledge another person, to mark them with your presence, to exchange a mutual nod of existence, this is anchoring. It proves that we are visible, that our being is noted.” A difference indeed. 🙏🏼

    Liked by 1 person

  2. “ And what about strangers? Are we ever truly strangers? The most loving and inclusive aspects of our faith traditions all share a teaching of communion with all of humanity, no? And haven’t we all had the experience of random kindness, offered by a random other, while we flail in the throes of despair, throwing us a line and tugging us back to somewhere solid and light? Where do these angels come from? Perhaps the cosmos sends them? Whatever we believe about it, wouldn’t it make everything better if we each resolved to participate in the giving, to be that kind and anchoring stranger whenever we can, in whatever way we can?”

    This is so beautiful. It bears re-reading again and again. And it’s all in the form of questions as only you can do. ❤️

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Cathy, I was unfamiliar with The Tenors, and now I am hooked. Thank you for the introduction. And, wow, “Anchor Me” is a gut-wrencher. I love your notion that anchors come in many guises—from the familiar and expected to the fleeting and unforeseen. I think another anchor, for me, at least, is connecting with nature—the mountains, trees, birds, rivers, ocean…. Thanks for a beautiful (anchoring) post!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you Donna!
      I’m so glad to share this music with you now, it really is bonding. 😊
      Oh yes, nature… and you live in a place where it is so accessible!! I suppose I do, too—I’m walking distance from Lake Michigan. And yet I go to the water so seldom. 🤔 Maybe I take it for granted? Oh well I can change that, act on my impulses to walk out there more often. 😊
      So, onward in mutual steadying, Woohooooo! 😄😘

      Like

  4. I kind of love that you wrote this on a day where I was both deeply anchored by the past and also by the immense love that surrounds me in the present. In the deepest throes of my grief I ache to both receive and give that kindness and support. Gah! you’re so good at this!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sarai, if you are who I think you are (I know only one person with your name), then I am absolutely honored that this post spoke to you. 🙏🏼🥰🥰 Also, it has been TOO F*ING LONG since we communed. I will call you. 😉❤️

      Like

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