The Sighs of My People: What I Learned from the Crowd at the 5 Irish Tenors Concert

The Sighs of My People: What I Learned from the Crowd at the 5 Irish Tenors Concert

The sigh. It can communicate so much, or too little. Sometimes just enough.

Last week Aaron and I got to go see the Five Irish Tenors at the Winston-Salem arena for next to nothing. WakeDiv provided our tickets, so we only had to pay for parking and treats (a shared drink and bag of popcorn). It was a delightful experience for my Irish-American self, especially as it was in such proximity to St. Patrick’s day.

I have to admit, though, that when I walked into our home and dropped onto the couch after the evening bus, I was tired. I was tired from my day of classes, but more emotionally hungover from the events of the weekend. I felt blissfully happy, timidly hopeful, scholastically stressed (5 weeks ‘til exams!), and utterly ready for a nap in the early-evening sun.

Aaron wanted to go to the concert, though. He is like that, ready and willing to experience art and wonder. Now, I’ll face any danger head-on, but the sheer pleasure of enjoying art feels sometimes too luxurious or something. Aaron, though, has the capacity to practice great hospitality toward that which is beautiful, other, or transcendent—and he won’t let me miss out on the grace of it, either.  

God bless him for it. The Irish guys were a hoot. The concert was a gift. 

Where Healing Begins

Where Healing Begins

It had been quite a few months since my parents split.

It had also been quite a few months since my shoulders knew how to relax past my earlobes.

I was tight as a bowstring, ready to hurl my arrows of icy apathy on anyone who came close. I knew getting close would cause me to bend out of my rigid fortress, and I knew it would hurt.

As it was, drawn up like that, there was no feeling. I felt nothing. 

My doctor said I was depressed. No shame in it.

However, as a 17-year-old, there wasn’t much about my life that wasn’t shame-ridden.

My mom had left...