My Year of Hopefulness - A Random Sign to Set the World Right

"There is more than a verbal tie between the words common, community, and communication ... Try the experiment of communicating, with fullness and accuracy, some experience to another, especially if it be somewhat complicated, and you will find your own attitude toward your experience changing." ~ John Dewey

This morning when I stepped outside, there was a decided feeling of Fall. I felt like I might have just stepped through some kind of portal and been taken back in time. All of a sudden, it didn't feel like New York anymore. It felt more like Society Hill in Philadelphia, where I went to college. The squat, ornate brownstones. The crisp air. The feeling that some great historic figure would emerge into the street at any moment.

I didn't sleep much in college. One, because my insomnia was at its peak for the entire 4 year stretch. Two, because I was woefully behind all of my other classmates, meaning I had to work twice as hard, at least, just to keep my head above water. Three, because I had to work multiple jobs all the way through. I spent a lot of early mornings watching the sun come up. During my senior year, I worked at Olde City Coffee all the way downtown. I loved the trip down there in the early morning, before anyone was awake. I felt like I had Philly to myself for a little while. This morning took me back to those early mornings at Olde City and everything I looked forward to when I was 21.

I remember a few thoughts vividly from that time. I was interested in making a strong, lasting impact on the world. I was determined to be financially stable. I spent a lot of my time thinking about what I wanted to be my contribution to humanity. Going to school in Philadelphia, a place that is steeped in history, intellect, and righteous rebellion, renders people practically unable to consider anything except the big picture. Now, I treasure those days. At the time, I was really scared that I'd never live up to the impossibly high standards that my school impressed upon us daily. The constant reminder of greatness that the founding fathers left scattered around Philly didn't help either. At some point, you begin to worry that anything short of founding your own nation is just not a high enough achievement.

As I made my way to the subway, I saw the sign depicted in the image above. In some type of chalk / paint / marker, someone had written "If we all do one random act of kindness daily we just might set the world in the right direction. ~Martin Kornfeld". Maybe it was thinking about my college days that had me waxing nostalgic; this sign really struck me. I had to stop and take a photograph. It communicated a profound message to me so simply and beautifully, and I'm sure it's done the same for countless other. If only I had seen this sign sooner, about 12 years sooner, I might have been able to calm down a little bit about my life and its direction.

I thought about this sign all day and how much good it does for all who see it. Imagine if all of us, everyday, did just one nice thing for someone else. Someone we know. Someone we don't know. Someone who may never know us. How different would our communities and the larger world look? And imagine how different our own attitude toward our experiences would be. Maybe it's all we can hope for - giving a little kindness, getting a little kindness, and doing our small part to make our communities a tiny bit better than how we found them the day before. It seems to me that that is a contribution to humanity that we could all be proud of.

My Year of Hopefulness - Legacy Building through Others

"When something comes to life in others because of you, then you have made an approach to immortality." ~ Norman Cousins

Donna, a friend of mine from Owning Pink, sent me this quote when I put up a post about the after-school program I hope to pilot in January. It made me re-consider my earlier post on legacy and my post on dreaming big, drawing a through-line that connects them. Is our best chance at legacy not through something we build, but through our efforts to helps others build something?

All night I've been considering people who have built great public legacies in the not-so-distant past and put Norman Cousin's spin on their contributions. The one I kept coming back to was Walter Cronkite. He was a great journalist, perhaps the greatest journalist, who kept the country calm during tumultuous events. And while his own career is impressive, the great majority of the coverage of his death was linked back to the fact that he inspired an entire generations of journalists, including all of the household names we turn to every day to help us understand what's happening in our world. They are his legacy.

Walter Cronkite is a perfect examples of what Wes Jackson meant when he said that we should dream so big that our life's work can't be accomplished in our lifetime. It should continue on long after our time has come to pass. There seems to be no better way to do that than to let our legacy live on within the work of others, in their accomplishments, in what they do with the lessons they learn from us.

Last week, I had another discussion about legacy. Someone told me that he didn't have any idea how to build a legacy, that he wanted to explore things that interested him in the hopes that somewhere down the line his pursuits would help someone else in some way.

At the time, I must admit that I was a little confused because this is the person who got me thinking about legacy to begin with. If he is so interested in legacy, then how could he not know how to build one? Now his comment makes sense - he's doing what all great legacy builders have done. They didn't set out to build a legacy, to make people remember them. They set out to do something interesting and helpful with their lives, and do that as best they could. When that becomes the focus - doing your best, pursuing something interesting and helpful - the legacy building will take care of itself. With that focus we have the hope of living long after we've passed through this world.

My Year of Hopefulness - Judged by the heart

"When you meet a man, you judge him by his clothes; when you leave, you judge him by his heart." ~ Russian Proverb

This quote reminds me of a recent discussion I had about legacy building. The discussion got me thinking about what remains of us when we leave and how what we want to remain effects what we build right now. I can't say for sure what specifics I'd like to be remembered for, what one or two things I'd like to build during my time here that will last well into the future. I can say that there are certain sentiments that I hope will be a part of my legacy.

I hope that I am remembered as someone with great heart and compassion and empathy, someone who always considered walking in the shoes of others before passing any kind of judgment. I'd like the words "concern" and "commitment" to appear numerous times in my history. That my integrity remained intact through challenging and easy times. Someone who had dreams and pursued them, while also encouraging and fostering the dreams of others.

I'd like to look back on my life with no regrets, no missed opportunities, having gained and lost in large amounts because I was always willing to take a leap of faith. Someone who remained hopeful in the face of despair, calm in the presence of tension, always looking up even when circumstances at eye level were dire. Having done the very best with what I had, maintained grace and kindness and wonder. That this world be a happier, more peaceful, creative place because I passed this way. Most of all, I hope that I am remembered as someone who rose to my potential while also reaching down to help others rise, too.

There's a lot of pressure in the world around us to look, feel, and act a certain way, pressure to conform and take the journey that's the easiest, safest, and most secure. Just because a path has very little resistance doesn't mean it's the right path for us. Finding our calling, building our legacy, takes more effort than just following the easy road. It involves knowing who are, and more importantly, who we are capable of becoming. It involves listening to the heart as sincerely as we listen to the mind.

My Year of Hopefulness - The doors we close

Today I started packing up my apartment. I'm moving blocks down the street to a large, renovated apartment for less than I pay now. Go figure - one of the positive side effects of the recession. Rents are dropping in New York City like never before.

Packing up for a move is a curious activity. It begs the question, "what things do I really want to keep." I packed up a few big bags this morning and hauled them off to the Salvation Army. Even though I do my best to combat clutter of any kind, things still accumulate. For me it's mostly papers, magazines, and materials that relate to my writing that clutters up my apartment the most.

As many times as I've moved, I still get a little sentimental about leaving an apartment. Though my new space is much better than the apartment I currently live in, this apartment in particular has really meant something to me. I started my post-business school life here. I went through a job search, found my voice as a writer, and began my path to entrepreneurship right from this couch I'm sitting on. I watched President Obama's acceptance speech and his inauguration here. I mended a broken heart and fell in love with New York again inside this tiny studio. The stock market crashed and the economy was driven to the brink as I watched CNN. Friends and family came to visit. My little niece, Lorelei, took her very first Manhattan step over the threshold of this apartment. It kept me safe, sane, and calm in the midst of a very busy city.

Any home is a lot more than just four walls and a roof. It's a place where memories are built. Where great moments, big and small, take place. Everything in our lives stems from where we lay our heads at night so it's only natural that there would be a little emotion in saying good-bye. After all, when we move, we are passing through a door that will close behind us for good. It's a place to which we will never return and the only choice is to move forward.

So while I'm looking forward to being totally packed up and moved into my new four walls, I want to make sure I take the time to look back, just for a moment, and count the blessings that my current four walls housed. As Stephen Sondheim said, "This is where I began, being what I can."

What, and who, used to be in Nashville

During my long weekend in Nashville, my friend, Dan, and I stayed in a Holiday Inn Express close to downtown. It took me a day to realize that the hotel was across the street from the Union Station Hotel, where I stayed back in 2000 during my first trip to Nashville. It was early on in my first theatre tour - a production of Sunset Boulevard. 

Dan I took a stroll over there yesterday afternoon. In the Union Station, I had my first of many meals that I would have with Petula Clark, the star of the tour. I was seated down in the lobby having breakfast and she asked if she could join me. And of course I said yes. To this day, she's the greatest person I've ever worked with. The magnificent stained glass ceiling is the same, as are the rooms around the atrium, but the breakfast bar is gone. Even though I can clearly remember that breakfast with Petula as if it happened yesterday.

Next door to Union Station is a restaurant called the Flying Saucer. In that space, I met Susan Schulman, the director of the Sunset tour, and the first well-known director I had ever met up to that point. It was also the place where I first talked to a man that I would eventually fall in love with and be involved with, off and on, for several years. 5 years ago, that man was in a motorcycle accident that would cause him to become a quadriplegic, though in truth he was lucky to survive at all. And that first conversation with him is so vivid to me that it could have just happened.  

It's a funny thing about places - they serve as the backdrop of the events that comprise our lives and yet they often don't retain any of the physical evidence that we were there or that anything significant happened to us in their walls. What's amazing about Nashville is that every place seems to house a story, or many stories. That city lives, and breathes, and of course, sings.