Anything Mentionable is Manageable

I saw the new Mr. Rogers movie, A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood. It’s unlike any other movie I’ve seen. A unique story structure, beautiful set design, and phenomenal acting. Give Tom Hanks the Oscar now.

A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood is a movie that will stick with me for a while. I was teary-eyed the entire way — both from the sheer beauty of this story and its haunting connections to my own.

I wasn’t like a huge Mr. Rogers fan as a kid. I remember seeing a few episodes. Looking back on it now, I can see why many — especially those from a zippier, shorter attention span TV culture — would call the show pretty boring. I mean, an old guy with rudimentary puppets who encourages kids to feel their feelings?

But I’m fascinated by the culture’s attention on Fred Rogers all these years later.

“Look for the helpers,” has become one of Mr. Rogers’ famous lines after his passing. A plea spoken by his mother when asked by her son about disasters and tragedies. She’d point to the television screen and tell her Fred, “Look for the helpers.”

Watching this movie inspired by true events, I’m amazed by how present Mr. Rogers was. Every child — and every adult — he encountered got his undivided attention. And not just undivided — but enthusiastically undivided.

A Make-a-Wish child visiting the studio.

Kids flooding him on the street or subway.

A reporter conducting a magazine interview.

Everyone mattered, and everyone mattered extraordinarily. Like he or she was not just the only person in the room but the only one in the universe.

As someone always so eager to retreat from social-time back to solo-time, back into recharge mode, I felt convicted by this facet of Mr. Rogers’ life. I’ve gotten better at being present the more I’ve traveled and couchsurfed with strangers and met readers for coffee.

But being present is still a daily struggle. Obsessed with my emotions, I either live in a broken/unfulfilled past or in the promise of a more hopeful/complete future.

There’s just no room for the present since the present is always dying. Or so I unconsciously tell myself.

Seeing Mr. Rogers’ interactions with others, person after person after person, including one of the more unique movie scenes I’ve ever watched with him and a reporter and sixty seconds of silence was alone worth the price of admission. And a solid portion of my tears.

The scene I honed in on most was Rogers’ visit to the family of a dying father. Death often being a difficult topic to talk about, Rogers said:

“Anything mentionable is manageable.”

I felt a boulder drop inside of me. One that’s been buried inside for many years.

At the end of the day, this is why I’m in counseling. Not because it’s cool or trendy. Not to give me something to tweet or blog occasionally. But to mention the unmentionables. And then to manage them.

It may or may not be surprising to my readers that I have a Juke-load of unmentionables. Despite my vulnerability in books and blogs and podcasts, I’ve left plenty under the table and swept into the shadows, and rightfully so. Some things aren’t meant to be seen by every eye.

But all these shapeless things need to be seen by somebody. Need to be spoken into existence. Need to be given a form. Need to be confessed.

Need to be conquered.

I’ve been sweeping and concealing things for many years now. As I build this life into my thirties, a life of scattered homes and relationships, I feel the weight of these shadows now more than ever.

“Doesn’t he ever get angry?” someone asked of Mr. Rogers. His wife responded, “Oh, he does. He’s got a temper. But he swims every morning. He prays every night. Prays for people by name. He’s learned to control it.”

What a legacy.

One day I hope people ask of me, “Doesn’t he have any unconquerable problems? Any endless dark nights of the soul?”

With a response that goes something like, “Oh, he does. He’s written about some, and he also hasn’t written about a bunch more. But he goes to counseling. He confides in his closest friends. He prays to God and confesses every struggle by name. He talks about things. All the things. He takes care of his body and mind and soul, all three. He believes anything mentioned can be managed.”

And with a quick pause, such a response might finish: “And despite his struggles, he’s present with everyone he meets.”