Rejoice Regardless ! Pedaling through Life's Potholes.

by Storyteller Carol McCormick

On Nov. 2nd, I was in the audience hearing the remarkable storyteller Laura Simms who lives in New York City. Her program “Rejoice Regardless” at the American School of Storytelling in Minneapolis was soul vitamins washed down with a cup of laughter.

Rejoice Regardless

Little did I know that the very next morning I’d get to test that wisdom. My husband called to tell me that our dear friend and next-door Wisconsin neighbor, a single man in his early 50s who appeared to me to be the picture of health, was found dead in his home the day of Laura’s program. The police had come to our house that evening, inquiring when we’d last seen him. My heart sank. Grief rolled in like a thunderstorm, loud, sudden, overwhelming, and not on my schedule. The kindness of friends helped steady me. Folks called, listened, shared stories. They helped me find my footing again. 

On my three-hour drive back home to Wisconsin, my CD player quit working. I couldn’t listen to the audiobook I’d brought. Instead of listening to the radio, I sang for most of the drive - sad songs, happy songs, protest songs - the whole jukebox of emotions. By the time I pulled into our driveway, my heart was a little lighter. And who knows? Maybe a few cows along the highway joined in on the chorus.

We live in stressful times, don’t we? Between the wild weather, the absurd politics, and the sense of uncertainty, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed. Unsafe. Afraid. Anxious. Out of sorts.  

"I think community is the medicine for our weary hearts and despairing souls."

That’s why I’ve started pairing my stories with short a cappella songs. After telling a story, I teach the audience a song line by line, no words on paper, no music to read. Just a call and response the old-fashioned way. Afterwards, I give them the lyrics so they can keep singing these songs. It’s amazing how singing can build community, provoke joy, and turn strangers into friends. 

Now, onto another kind of joy. Last year, for my birthday, my husband gave me an adult tricycle. (That phrase always makes people giggle.) Since our Wisconsin home has gravel roads and my balance isn’t what it used to be (also swinging my leg over a regular bike is now an Olympic event), this was most welcome. It even came with a basket for hauling stuff.

We kept it in the box last year because of moving from Minnesota. So, for my birthday this year, I told my husband, “No more waiting! It’s time to assemble my tricycle.” 

Now I can ride the half mile to the Christine Center,  arriving much faster than by walking and with far more flair. With the tricycle’s basket, I can carry things without trying to juggle walking poles like a one-woman circus.

So here’s my question for you: 

Is there something in your life still sitting in a box - some practice, tool, dream, or piece of joy, waiting for you to open it up? 

Maybe it’s time to take it out, dust it off, and pedal toward whatever helps you “rejoice regardless.”