So, around a week or so ago, my closest friend posted the following Facebook status: "inspire me."
I have been thinking about that simple, yet impassioned plea ever since, and today, I am watching something that prompts me to respond with the following: "look around."
I sit watching a report by Richard Engel on gold mining in Mali, West Africa. Gold mining in Africa is nothing like mining during the Gold Rush of the American West. It's not the adventure of men hoping to strike it rich. It is backbreaking work done by children and women who often receive little if any payment for their efforts. Engel speaks to one boy on his first day who has no plans to be working the mines forever. He aspires to be a student and a soccer player. Families work side by side for at most, four dollars a day. The young boy Engel speaks to will be paid a bucket of dirt for his first day's work--it might have gold in it, if he's lucky. It's heartbreaking to watch as children lie on the ground exhausted at the end of the day, with nothing to show for it. Engel himself climbs down into one of the mines, which have footholds near the top, and then as he describes it, "nothing to hold onto" as he goes down.
And that's the truth of it, there's nothing to hold onto. The people working the mines of Mali have nothing to hold onto. Everyday, their hopes are chipped away like fist-fulls of dirt. Every bit of inspiration, lost, like the footholds that stop as you go down.
It's easy to be dragged down by the day to day grind of life. It's easy to get lost in hopes and dreams that sometimes seem completely elusive. I know that I often feel that. I have the "gift" of experiencing hopelessness, but fortunately, even I sometimes forget what that truly means.
I forget that not getting to do something I really want to do so badly is not the same thing as being without hope. I was reminded of this last night. I desperately wanted to see Florence and the Machine, but the show was completely sold out. There had been no hope. As Florence says, "it's always darkest before the dawn," because as it happens, I scooped up a couple of tickets at the last minute. Impossible. When Jeph and I were discussing what I thought of as good fortune, he said "There's no saying 'no' to you."
I wasn't sure how I felt about that statement. On the one hand, perhaps it speaks to my perseverance: when I really want something, I do everything I can to make it happen. On the other, it speaks to a possible sense of entitlement. I know Jeph knows that for a great deal of my young life, when most people are making all kinds of mistakes, and running wild, I was told 'no' at every single turn. It's probably why he works so hard to make sure 'no' is a rarity and that as many as my "have to's" happen as can.
I have a great life filled with amazing amounts of opportunities. In some respects, every opportunity stolen from me in my childhood and youth has been returned to me in spades as an adult. As I sit here and think about the fact that there's no saying 'no' to me, I think about that boy in Mali who looks around him and wants more, and I wish there was someone to say 'yes' to him. I wish there was someone to give him footholds so he will never stop trying to climb to his dreams.
Even under the worst of circumstances, being born and raised in the West affords one the option of living a life built on inspiration. Having the freedom to try and overcome our most difficult of origins is more than most people in other parts of the world can even dream of. We literally have the opportunity to dream, and often, there are people and things all around us to plant the seeds.
Another friend posted a link about a book he recently read and recommended to his friends. It prompted a brief discussion of a couple of teachers we had in elementary school who planted the love of reading within us. For two of us, it was Mrs. Johnson reading "James and the Giant Peach" in first grade, for Bob, it was Mrs. Highfill reading "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe," in fifth grade. Imagine if you lived in a world where a teacher was akin to that fictional witch. While it's true that we all want and expect more from our education system, just the fact that we have one is something we never should take for granted.
A few weeks ago, I took on the second of my required shifts at a local emergency veterinary hospital. It was the hardest day of work I have ever had--hands down. For days, I fought to recover from the feeling that I didn't do nearly enough. Every moment of the ten hours I was there, I was both painfully aware of, and awed by how amazing those who do it every day are by comparison. Even though I felt like a failure in many respects, that day of work increased my awareness and it makes me want to do better in my regular job.
Inspiration can be practical and impractical.
Yesterday, I watched part one of the new Syfy miniseries "Neverland." Though we've never talked explicitly about it, I think "Peter Pan" must always have been a favorite story of my grandmother's. As a child, I remember every time she would come to get me to go someplace, I would ask how to get wherever we were going and she invariably answered the same way: "Second star to the right, and straight ahead 'til morning." As a result, I'm kind of fond of "Peter Pan" myself. Over the years, there have been many treatments of the J. M. Barrie tale. I've enjoyed most of them, and to a degree, "Neverland" is no exception. It gives a little bit of the backstory behind how Neverland came to be in the first place and how the characters came to be there. Admittedly, the story is much "thinner" than the imagery and effects, as is not atypical of Syfy's attempts to be "epic." That said, as a lover of "eyecandy," I still find it wonderful. What strikes me about it is that this old story has captured the passions of people who work in very modern industries.
You just never know where inspiration is going to come from.
Another story from my childhood that never failed to capture my imagination was "Charlotte's Web." Every year, the animated version worked its way onto television. Most people gravitated toward Wilbur or the beautiful Charlotte. I found myself drawn to Templeton. I remember the character voiced by Paul Lynde, a favorite of mine from--yes--the Donnie and Marie show. Templeton was the brains of the outfit. He collected tidbits and scraps of--everything! Each little scrap of paper or packaging was potentially valuable to him, and thanks to his pack-ratting ways, Wilbur never had to worry about the slaughter house. So now, Jeph, you know why I can rarely throw anything away.
Inspiration can come from that piece of trash you're getting ready to throw away.
It can also come from giant and fantastic displays of talent and beauty. Last week, I watched a movie I hadn't seen in quite some time. As I watched Julianne Moore, Meryl Streep and Nicole Kidman bring "The Hours" to life, I was reminded of a story I have to tell and where pieces of it come from. There is something about tragic, haunting stories that touch me in a way that nothing else does.
Last night, I didn't have to hear the word 'no.' Last night, I got to watch Florence Welch wail like Boudica in one of the most beautiful venues in Kansas City. Based on her lyrics, I think Welch is also moved by the tragic and haunting. There's a fragility in her strength that I can't compare to anyone else in music right now. Her extreme talent fills me up like a gas tank that was hanging at a quarter full.
It's as simple as looking around. It's as simple as selecting a play list. It's as hard as dreaming, and it's as hard as stretching to reach the footholds that can allow us climb to those dreams. Never overlook the availability of inspirational opportunity. For some of us, it's easier than mining for gold.
"Rabbit Heart (Raise it Up)" Florence and the Machine
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