And a Lightbulb Extinguished in the Night

I came upon this poem by e.e. cummings

let it go - the
smashed word broken
open vow or
the oath cracked length
wise - let it go it
was sworn to
go

let them go - the
truthful liars and
the false fair friends
and the boths and
neithers - you must let them go they
were born
to go

let all go - the
big small middling
tall bigger really
the biggest and all
things - let all go
dear

so comes love

And it reminded me of what I must become better at doing.
Of what I have never been good at doing.

When I was a junior in my Catholic high school, I went on retreat. There was praying, but more than that, during retreat, you got to interact with people you didn't know very well.

They broke us into small groups where we shared who and what we were with one another. Where we rehearsed our stories of suffering. For some reason, the magic of sharing made people show one another empathy and for a time after retreat, people would be kinder to one another. This would fade over time, and retreats did not cure the incurable drama of high school, but your feelings about the people in your small group were changed drastically for that time and the time immediately following.

Bob Buckler was in my small group. We never really liked one another. I mean, I don't think we ever had strong feelings about one another. Well, other than mild irritation sparked by random comments - irritation that, while frequent, would fade as quickly as it struck, leaving no mark.

Bob was assigned to be my small group partner on the last day, the day of acknowledgements. I have to be honest, I was bummed. Despite the magic of retreat empathy, Bob was still not all that impressed with my stories of suffering and hardship. He was just one of those guys. So, I was dreading what he'd say when we gathered in a circle to give the other person a handmade gift that represented their journey this retreat.

When it came time for Bob's turn, I steeled my face against showing emotion. He awkwardly held out a lightbulb cut out of white construction paper and drawn on with black magic marker. It had a green piece of yarn hanging from where it was glued to the side. Written on the lightbulb in utilitarian printing were the words:

Turn
it
Off

Bob's explanation for his gift went something along these lines:

You take everything too seriously, you think about things too much. Sometimes, you need to give yourself a break. Turn it off... you know?

I didn't know. ...but I was 16, so I acted like I did.
His words and explanation rolled around in my brain for a long time after that.
Sometimes, I felt it was advice offered with good intent.
Sometimes, I felt offended.

I kept that lightbulb above my dresser at my parents' house for several years, not because it meant so much to me, but because I never really understood it.

I haven't thought about that lightbulb in the last decade. Until now, as I read the words of e.e. cummings.

e.e. cummings said it better than Bob.
But, Bob said it with brevity.

Yeah, Bob. I do know, now.