“Most of us go to our graves with our music still inside us.”
Oliver Wendell Holmes

I’ve always found it hard to make myself vulnerable. Opening my mind and spirit to deeper parts of myself. Let others see me as I really am. Not knowing how they will react or respond to what I reveal. My experience when doing so? The responses mostly go like this.

“Bob, that’s too heavy.” … “Bob, you’re being too intense.” … “Bob, most people really don’t want to hear about this.”  

But as I age, I find I’m less dissuaded from offering my true feelings, my true beliefs. Going public. However different these may be from ordinary, everyday conversation.

What comes to my mind as I write here? Experiences I’ve had in recent years with friends and family who have passed away. How taken I’ve been when attending their funerals. Only learning then who those close to me really were. Only learning then their accomplishments and how they lived their lives. I wish I’d known. I wish I’d taken opportunity to sit and allow them to reveal their feelings, their beliefs … to me. Let’s agree. There is a fine line between humility and boastfulness. Boastfulness is generally an admission of an inferiority complex. Humility an indication of strength of character.

But … Most of us go to our grave with our music still inside us.

There was a really nice guy, John (not his real name) in my church group. He was fun, gentle. Kind. I’d chat with him casually at lunch. You know, “How are you? How’s the job going.” Then one day I learned John was in the hospital being operated on for a brain tumor. He recovered. But lost a lot of his motor skills. Used walking sticks to get around.

Still fun, gentle … John died about six months later. As I walked into church attending his funeral, there was an uncharacteristic sound of robust music. Operatic in ways. Hardly normal for a funeral service. The music so resonated in the church it almost sounded irreverent. But no. I was to learn as the service progressed? John was a devotee, an expert on spiritual music and opera. An expert in music. I never knew.

Should I have asked? Probably. Might he have told me? Maybe. But I did not. John did not. Our tendency is not to tell others who we really are. Or we are hesitant to ask someone a few questions that will lead us to learn … who they really are.

Then there was the fraternity brother who was an expert fly fisherman. A dear friend who was celebrated as the erstwhile “mayor” of Concord, MA. Guys I knew, but never really knew. Both of my friends died … with their music still inside them.

These experiences have brought me to this. As I’ve written before, everyone has a story. Too many times left inside them. Unrevealed. I feel ashamed when I learn another’s story after they’re gone. I’ve decided that every time I have the chance. Casual or more formal. I’m going to question, probe. Learn about the person in front of me. Invite acquaintances to lunch or just have a drink. Let them sing. Ask them to let their music out. If we get there, discuss our passions. Vulnerably allow each other to connect on a deeper level.

Maybe age has something to do with this. But honoring someone by helping them surface who they are. While still here. Is a bit of a mission for me.

Oh, and by the way. To be totally transparent. I hope occasions with others will give me opportunities to let my music out as well. Be totally vulnerable. Tell them who I am … really.