U2 - Mysterious Ways

Let Her In

1. My high school girlfriend took my virginity on a warm August afternoon near the edge of the forest in a gorgeous farmhouse while her parents were at work. She was the more experienced of us two, warm with captivating curves and delights, riveting hips and lips and breasts. I was all angles and angst. The breeze was blowing, curtains billowing as a result, and we were together. Her confidence was on display and I could tell I was dealing with forces and emotions beyond my control. Meg was in control, not me. She was altogether lovely and in love with me, and I had absolutely no idea how to accept that love in a reasonable way. When one comes of age in an abusive home, love and adoration are foreign concepts. If only I had known how deep her empathy moved I may have shared what was happening to me, but I was so emotionally wounded I had no idea empathy was a word. Being on the receiving end of empathy was akin to being dropped into Tanzania. That is to say, I don’t speak Swahili. In those moments, on the second floor of that house, looking out over the deep, dark woods, with well-worn wood floors and farmhouse features, I learned something about myself, and that thing was that I would always know less than all the women in my life. I want to write that I learned how much she cared for me, but that would not be true. I wouldn’t come to that realization until many years later.

   One day you'll look back, and you'll see
   Where you were held now by this love
   While you could stand there
   You could move on this moment
   Follow this feeling

   -U2, Mysterious Ways

2. We danced. God, we danced. Meg and I danced all the time. We danced in her yard, on proper dance floors, and in bed. We danced to pop songs and rock songs and soul songs, and Mysterious Ways is all three. It’s Bono with a mic in his hand, so soul singing is built into the mix. Accept U2’s preachiness or don’t, but Meg and I went all in. Mysterious Ways was an inspiring call that could not be refused by either of us because we adored each other. She knew the song made me happy, and I wanted to make her happy. We shared in that, and the spiral simply rose and rose. She would touch me gently in our private moments - on my hand or on my neck - and I would find a definition of myself that included the word peaceful. In my life at that time, Meg was the only semblance of peace. Teenage boys are also roving packs of idiots, and I was especially mercurial. I broke her heart several times. When Meg heard me explain what was happening at home, some 15 years after I left for Uncle Sam’s Yacht Club, she wrote me. In her since-expanded empathy (she’s a doting mother now), she raged at what happened to me.

   She's the wave, she turns the tide
   She sees the man inside the child, yeah

   U2, Mysterious Ways

3. Mysterious Ways should have been an instruction manual for me regarding Meg, but again, teenage boys are morons. The opening lyrics come inspired by the mystical friar St. Francis of Assisi and his poem Canticle of the Sun, popularly known as Brother Sun, Sister Moon.

   Johnny take a walk with your sister the moon,

   Let her pale light in to fill up your room

   St. Francis’s first name was Giovanni or… wait for it… Johnny. If I had been emotionally equipped, I would have let Meg’s light into my room. A few moments later, we get this from Bono and the boys:

   Johnny, take a dive with your sister in the rain
   Let her talk about the things you can't explain

   This also comes from St. Frank’s Canticle of the Sun. Specifically this bit: Be praised, my Lord, through Sister Water; she is very useful, and humble, and precious, and pure. Meg was and remains humble, among many other attributes and superlatives. Young love is an overwhelming mess. Everything is dialed into overdrive and absolutely nothing makes sense. At the same time, it all makes complete sense, because youth is a maelstrom of unreasonable certainty, anxiety, and confusion. I genuinely wish I could be one of those annoyingly optimistic buttholes who can tell you with absolute purity of their convictions that they have no regrets. I have regrets. I regret not getting help sooner. I regret my angry outbursts. I regret some gas station sushi in the autumn of 2011 that caused a number of problems. I regret how I never properly confided in a woman who adored me and my myriad flaws. I do not regret our time together, and I never regret dancing.