I woke up last Friday to texts from friends making sure I was not near the horribly sad events in Aurora and to news stations filled with stories of carnage and horror and broken-hearted people. All of Denver was thrown into a state of confusion and panic. We were devastated while hearing about all those who were hurt and killed in the attack. We were confused and angry, wondering how and why anyone would want to inflict so much pain.
The question that comes up whenever we are faced with tragedy is "what do we do now"? No one can plan around the choices of a madman. We can't insulate ourselves from all possibility of danger without cutting ourselves off from society entirely. The sad and frightening truth is that life is fleeting. Life is fragile. So, beyond remembering those who were lost, praying for those left in pain, and making effort to love and appreciate friends and family, what do you do?
Turns out, in our case, you go to a renaissance festival.
The ale flowed and the bosoms heaved.
We had planned to go this weekend anyway. Our friend was having a birthday and it sounded fun to go out and take in the fabulous strangeness. Though it felt strange to go to something so light-hearted after something so dark, we thought it was necessary. It was almost like defiance against the sadness. A passionate "screw you, I say this is not going to take the joy out of life. I say we are going to go amongst the renaissance folk and have fun!" And fun was most definitely had.
It is fun to drink beer in hundred-degree heat surrounded by men in chain-mail and women dressed like fairies. It is funny to walk past the shops full of chalices and war-horns and wonder whether the people in metal or black wool or animal skins are feeling the heat quite as much as you are. Watching acrobats drag your friends on stage so they can wear tutus and participate in stunts is wonderful (it looked great on you, Todd). And getting to revel in my own nerdiness by being able to readily identify Link and Zelda or various Game of Thrones characters? It was great.
But beyond the moments of vague mockery, revelry, and the occasional judging (if you are a sixty-year-old woman, you should not be wearing just a bedazzled belly-dance bra. And, no, the fairy dust does not make it better), there was a strange sense of joy in all of the dirt and sparkle and madness. Despite how ugly the world is sometimes, we are still free to laugh and eat and dance and drink and let those freak flags fly. We get to enjoy the sun (scalding though it may be), and the music (though it may come from pan-flutes), and the sights, and most of all, each other.
When we step away from all the very real ugliness that exists in the world, we remember that there is still beauty and light and warmth out there. We remember that when life seems most fleeting and fragile, the very things we fall back on are what makes it worth living. We find ourselves surrounded and supported by love and faith and the belief that the good in the world and in the people around us still outweighs all the fear and evil that we may see.
For everyone hurt and confused and angry and broken and still recovering from the tragedy in Aurora or any other of the very real tragedies, big and small, that we face in our lives, know that there are people around you who love and care and understand what you are going through. And I hope that some day you will come out the other side of it and be able to see the wondrous and beautiful and incredibly strange things in life that can bring back joy.
Until then, you are not alone.
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