Jubilee - On Loneliness, Connection, and the Grace of Perspective

If “The Road to Ensenada” by Lyle Lovett had a companion piece, it would be “Jubilee” by Mary Chapin Carpenter.

In contrast to the lonely journey of refuge, “Jubilee” feels like an arrival.

The song speaks directly to us. More importantly, it lets us know that it sees us. It asks nothing of us. It simply welcomes us.

If these songs are indeed companion pieces, “Jubilee” allows us perspective, and it offers us peace.

I know that right now, even with all the ways we have to communicate, I feel as disconnected and alone as I ever have in my life. I hear this from others in the counseling room, too. That’s why, after spending decades with this song, it can still make tears swell. It makes me feel like I am not alone.

The song doesn’t coddle us. It respects our autonomy and our anonymity. At the same time, it lets us know that we’re not alone.

If anything, it reminds me of the work that I do and how grateful I am to do it. And if I could say anything about what this work has taught me, it is that we all hurt, and that we are all connected.

When the song invites you to imagine your loved ones gathered, you don’t have to be tethered to religion to simply remember those who have crossed your path on the journey so far. To remember that there are people who have loved you, and that you still carry that love with you each step of the way.

And lastly, the song evokes perspective.

I talk a lot about shifting from perception to perspective. Perspective is something we can’t always find while we are still inside the journey itself.

Which is another reason I think “Jubilee” works so beautifully as a companion piece to “The Road to Ensenada.”

One song gives us somewhere to rest.

The other reminds us that we may not have been traveling alone.