“Ring the bells that can still ring. Forget your perfect offering, there is a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.“- Leonard Cohen, Anthem
I have been thinking a lot about vulnerability recently. I’ve been a big fan of Brene Brown for about 15 years now, so believe me when I tell you that I have read and listened to almost all of her work on this topic. Therefore logically I know that vulnerability is not weakness, we are all vulnerable sometimes no matter who we are. However, I must admit that hearing from the government on a daily basis that I am in a more vulnerable category and so I must be more careful and stay away from people, is beginning to get to me. These messages have begun to erode my confidence somewhat and as a result I’m not feeling very strong these days. As we enter yet another phase of lockdown in my country I realise that I need to be mentally and physically strong in order to get through this time of great uncertainty. So I must do my best to change, and as I sit here typing away, write a new narrative for myself. One that allows me to see that there is more than one type of strength and that we all have it within ourselves if we choose to see it.
I was reading an article the other day about the Japanese art of Kintsug. For those that don’t know what that is, it’s basically the art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas that are broken with lacquer dusted with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. This enhances the scars with precious metal instead of trying to hide them. This 500 year old art serves as a great metaphor for embracing the parts of ourselves that we perceive as weak or broken. The idea is to celebrate the broken, and not to focus on the false idea of perfection. They find beauty in the damaged or imperfect parts. Or as Leonard Cohen would say “there is a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”
Every repaired piece of pottery is considered unique, because of the randomness with which ceramics shatters and these irregular patterns are enhanced not concealed. The process takes a long time but afterward the pottery, no matter what it’s been through emerges stronger and more beautiful than before. All the pieces are unique works of art that can’t be replicated, just like all of us I suppose. I find this metaphor quite comforting these days. So I am attempting, as I head into the winter days, a bit scared and battered from the events of this past year, to try to continue to see the beauty in all the brokenness around us and to try to let the light in where I can.