I
feel as though I've become much more keenly aware of the passing on of life in
recent years. Not so much out of fear, or a heightened awareness of my own
mortality, but more so because of the void that is left in those that remain
behind. Of course I know that it's normal (and emotionally healthy) to
experience empathy for others; to understand –and to an extent to share in- the
pain and loss that they feel. But, it seems like these emotions linger with me much
longer in recent months. My customary reaction is to pray for those that are
grieving and to perhaps to send a card, an email, or give them a phone call. I
struggle with that sometimes, though because it all seems so “routine”. I know
there is only so much I can do, and it’s so much better to do SOMETHING rather than NOTHING, but usually these gestures
leave me feeling empty and frustrated; as though the true depth of my
compassion and concern aren’t fully and genuinely expressed. With all that
aside, I still recognize that death is a certainty for us all and that for
every beginning there is an end.
And
then I learned of the death of Maya Angelou.
My
first thought was “Well, she was 86
years old and sick. Clearly she has made her mark on this world and left an
amazing legacy. She deserves the rest.” And I was fine with that idea- for
about a day- until I really started to remember how deeply her life and her
work had affected me. My first encounter with Maya Angelou was at age 12 years when
I was in the 7th grade. I'd read her first autobiography, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, and I was
so moved by it that I wrote about her and the impact of her work for an essay
contest that I was entering. Admittedly, I've never been much of a fan of
poetry (most of the time I just don’t get it!), but the breadth of her work,
and her wisdom, resonated with me in ways that I still cannot fully express.
As I
was thinking about her story and how she overcame so much to truly touch and
influence the lives of generations, I heard and old interview of hers from the 1990’s
on NPR. In the interview, she spoke about the years that she was mute as a
child. And then she spoke about her constant struggle NOT to go back to a life a silence. She called it an addiction. She
spoke of it as an inviting presence that beckoned to her whenever times became
difficult and things got to be too much for her to bear. She said that whenever
she got to the point that she was battling the urge to go back to a life a
silence, she would start to sing. And her mother and son could tell by the tone
of her singing that she was in trouble and they would come to her and stay with
her until she was in a better place.
I
was completely blown away by this. How could this woman with such an amazing
and unique voice, dripping with wisdom and strength NOT want to speak? How
could it be that she had to fight to do that thing that was most clearly her
gift?
And
then there was Denzel. I’m sure everyone, men and women alike, can go on for
days about all the ways that Denzel Washington is great. From his truly amazing
acting talents, to his good looks, he seems to be doing pretty alright. Yet
just yesterday, while listening to NPR (yes, I really do love public radio!),
they were talking with him about his current role on Broadway in A Raisin in the Sun. As they were about
to play a clip from the play- he lost it. He told the interviewer that he could
not listen to the clip because he can’t stand to hear the sound of his own
voice. WHAT?!? He literally, went off air so he wouldn’t have to hear it, and
Latonya Richardson Jackson, his costar in the play who was also being
interviewed, had to let him know when the clip was over so he could return. He
later went on to explain that all he can hear is how imperfect his words sound and he is unable to see the beauty that
everyone else sees.
So
what’s my point? It’s no secret that I struggle with my own insecurities on my
journey to honestly and sincerely use all that I've been given to pour into the
lives of others. I wonder daily how to be effective with my gifts and to use
the passion that I have for human connection, service, and nurturing: the
desire to help others find the strength from within to overcome and to thrive. And
sometimes I fear that I'll just disappear one day having accomplished nothing
in the way of making life a little bit better for another human soul. The
lessons and revelations shared from those that I admire have given me that much
needed assertion that I am not alone and that I can overcome…myself.
Having
come to all this I have a renewed focus to write the story of my dash. To purposefully
create what I want the story of my life to be, and use my fear as fuel to push
me past stagnation and complacency, to a place of action and creation. What
matters most in life is not that it begins, or that it ends, but that it is
lived. The time between those two finite moments-the dash so eloquently
described in the poem by Linda Ellis- is truly what matters the most. To overcome
fear, self doubt, turmoil, heartache, heartbreak, and insecurity to use your
innate gifts and talents to transform the world. I’m choosing not to think of
it as “what do I want people to remember about me or say about me when I’m
dead”, but instead what do I want my life to mean as I live it.
