10/4/2007 3:07 PM
Years ago, I used to blog or journal quite a lot. Then I began writing poetry, and all my thoughts were turned into tight, concise little bodies of verses, which I completely understood; however, some folks who read my knitted words wondered just what it was I was trying to say. Ah, the joys of poetic form. And now, that form has seemed to have left me, and sadly, without being able to write, I do feel altogether alone. For it was in those moments of expression that I felt the most comfort, even if what I was expressing was painful or even uncomfortable. So, I thought I would mildly attempt to journal a little again, in hopes that I will find some understanding of myself, begin another healing, as it were, even if it would seem to others as utter jibber-jabber about mostly nothing. All of this being said in hopes that you will please try to bear with me as I attempt to find my way.
Last night, at Columbia University’s opening to Queer Awareness Month, we had the honor and delight to hear John Amaechi speak to us in a large room in Lerner Hall. The room was packed with people to hear this 36 year old, 6’10”, stocky, former NBA player, dressed in a navy, tailored suit and multi-colored stripe shirt, speak about his being gay, black, British, and his coming out in the largely homophobic profession of sports. I must admit, he was wonderful, inspiring, handsome, and eloquent, if not also blunt, outspoken, and directly to the point. He is a psychologist now and certainly made us all think, ask deep questions (such as, why do we all feel the need to label people, just as I did above with “gay, black, British”?), as well as laugh and have a good time. Many students ask him questions, some interesting, some boring, some trying to sound intelligent only to sound silly, and still, no matter the question, he pondered them all and then answered each so sincerely, I was enamored.
John spoke of his mother, who passed away some years ago due to cancer, and had such love in his heart for her, it resonated upon every word he used to describe her and brought out an affectionate sparkle in his eyes. While it was endearing to hear him speak of his mother, it did make me sad, and I found myself feeling a little weepy, although I maintained my composure throughout the remainder of the talk. I began to wonder what it would be like to date such an amazing man with such a fondness for his mother, and, as another student raised her hand to ask a question, I tried to picture myself going out to dinner with the larger-than-life Mr. Amaechi in some nice, swank New York City restaurant, where everyone would look at us with awe and admiration. Already feeling sensitive and emotional, it was then that I scolded myself harshly, as the frenemy in me does so often, simply telling myself that I was way out of my league, and how could I even fancy such a daydream.
Then those voices, which I imagine we all hear from time to time, especially when we begin comparing ourselves to others, erupted in an unified chorus, basically affirming that I was NOT successful or accomplished, not all that attractive to look at, ultimately a failure at the 34 years of life I have lived thus far, and that it would be an absolute miracle if anyone of moderate social standing found me the least bit appealing. I mean, my bathroom is dirty and there are dishes sitting in the kitchen sink. Repulsive.
I shook myself back to John speaking at the front of the room, walking from side to side, his hand outstretched and animated as he began to tell us what we could do for all of us, gay, straight, black, white, rich, poor - humanity. He said, we each had to shine our own unique light. We might not believe we were the smartest or the best light. We might believe that we don’t really have much to offer anyone. We might wonder if we even have a light within us at all. But, he assured us, we all do. “Think about a nightlight,” he said. The nightlight is such a dim little light, not even as bright as a candle, with such low wattage, you might wonder what it is good for. In fact, even if you wanted to, it would be virtually impossible to even read by a nightlight. However, he told us, the sparkle in his eyes brightening, remember that the nightlight is one of the most warm, securing lights you have in your home. That one little bitty light in a hallway can keep you from tripping over your slippers while frightening the nighttime monsters away. That light can provide you with enough clarity to see your way through the dark. So no matter what you think of your light, shine it. Shine your light, and perhaps you will help not only yourself, but also someone else see their way through this sometimes very dark world.
The room rose in a standing ovation, which he modestly accepted. And, as I stood, smiling and clapping, I decided to stop listening to the frenemy in my head who all to often tells me I’m not good enough, that my light is far to dim to shine. Instead, I would shine whatever light that I have, the light that I have been blessed with, given, and hopefully, just maybe, someone, even if it’s just me, will find my light quite incredibly bright.
