Could our wounds be catalysts for new life within the very structures which caused them? Could there be a way forward for some of us that doesn't leave faith behind entirely? Is it possible to cling to a beautiful essence while still shedding the ugly dogma? Can we take what we've learned and allow it to completely reshape everything we believe? And might some of us find a way home if we could ensure that home no longer felt like a cage?
Coming of age is hard enough without a religious culture feeding you the narrative that you are - somehow - especially defective. But what if the burden of words and ideas that you were forced to live under were lies? What if they denied you your humanity? And what if shedding them meant life and love and liberation? What if coming into the light of day as fully embodied was your victory and not your defeat? What if you are as good as you have always been?
We begin SEASON 2, not with a story of deconstruction... But with a deconstruction of our deconstruction. A disruption to our disruption. A platform offered, and taken, only to be refused. And all of it is valid. This is a moment's pause for reflection, taking stock and orienting ourselves deliberately. Breathe. Listen. Breathe again. We dedicate this episode to good intentions... and false starts.
We find ourselves between Winter and Spring... between seasons 1 and 2 of The Airing of Grief... and between seasons of how The Airing of Grief is even produced. In all these things... a reckoning. This surprise bonus episode is a sneak peek of what's to come. BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY, IT'S A SPECIAL REQUEST FOR YOUR HELP IN MAKING SEASON 2 HAPPEN.
Pretty much everything comes to an end, but grief can be persistent. For some of us, it remains a constant companion despite how much it might subside. And that's because it's not purely an internal thing. Grief is also outside of us – something we cast like a shadow, with a shape that serves as its reminder. It tells us where we've been. It tells us who we've been. It tells us why we changed in the first place.
It's okay to demand your own right to live deliberately and listen to what truly reaches you. To some degree, we're all flying blind. None of us knows much of anything. And fear does not make the core questions go away. It just hides them, turning the wellspring of any inspiration and wonder they might have carried into a stagnant pool of cynicism and disillusionment. A persistent thread of doubt is worth pulling on. It might just lead us somewhere better. Or it might even lead us back with a new perspective that makes everything we've known real and meaningful for the first time. But it starts with saying "no" to the fear, and everything else that manipulates and reduces us.
If you think about it, virtue can be even more significant when it's detached from religious order or lawful observance. Goodness is truly remarkable when the person displaying it doesn't believe it factors into any sort of endgame or grand scheme. When people just live and move in goodness because it's good, and that's enough for them, that's actually pretty damn beautiful. Because, if nothing we do matters, then really all that matters is what we do.
If you ever happen to go through a season of dramatic change, some people will simply refuse to take you seriously. They'll dismiss you, talk down to you, or otherwise treat you as though you've changed flippantly. Often, they will explain their perspective to you, as though the only reason you now disagree with it is that you don't understand it. When you change, people will quickly forget that you used to hold to the same views they still hold to.
Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. That's what they say are the "five stages of grief." It's a good list. But the idea that such a world-shattering process could ever be neatly labeled or easily digested really does a disservice to communicating what a mess the actual process is. Stages of grief cycle back and repeat, or a bunch can occur all at once, or in the span of minutes over a heavy conversation. It's a frantic world of emotional rock bottom.
Tragedy is hardest on those left behind to remain in its wake. Sickness, death, loss... It is what it is. And even though all of these things affect every one of us, they never stop feeling alien. They never stop feeling like they've intruded on what should have been. We are sentimental, idealistic and romantic creatures of community. Our connections might sever, but they always remember the connection which used to be.