I saw Hamilton: An American Musical last night.
There's a fantastic song called: "Who lives, Who dies, Who tells your story".
It spoke to me as I've been contemplating personal story-telling the last few weeks. It's something I believe in, and I think my best and most meaningful writing comes from this place of vulnerability.
Yet, I struggle with the vulnerability of story-telling. What if people judge? What if they don't like it? What if what I have to say bothers those close to me? What if I open myself up to too much criticism? What if I say too much?
These are the inherent risks of story-telling. They are also the risks that make for great writing, personal transformation, as well as an ability to touch deeply the heart of others.
I also contemplate what kind of mark I am making on my world. Especially on this, my birthday, I'm grateful for the people who've reached out to me with kind words and expressions of gratitude for the role I've played in their lives. That means so much to me. It reminds me to keep being my authentic self and to live out loud because people need what I have to say and give.
I believe one of the best ways I can make a mark is through the vulnerability of telling my story. Knowing that I control the narrative helps an awful lot.
I haven't always felt like I controlled the narrative--especially when I worked directly in the religious world. There were people who liked to gossip, malign, and revel in the humanity of others--even my own. (I've often said some of the meanest people I met were those who thought they spoke for God.) I sometimes suffered due to the words said about me and my family. But now I believe much of that suffering was perhaps not-so-necessary.
You see, the words that others say about us really don't mean a lot in the end. Words of criticism come and go, but they only last if we give them power. The words of people who didn't like what I represented then or now don't really matter in the end because I control the narrative with my actions and staying power. (And God knows I got staying power!)
This is the good news: we have the final word by how we live our lives as well as by the community we choose to surround ourselves with. On this birthday I'm grateful even for the criticisms of years past because it has spurred me on to stand in my truth with less fear of what others think.
Those criticisms and indictments against me have caused me to surround myself with people who love and accept me, no matter what stage of my journey I'm on. Those are the ones who truly matter.
There's a Tibetan saying that goes: Wherever you have friends that's your country, and wherever you receive love, that's your home. I'm grateful for the diverse community that surrounds me with friendship and love. Those are the ones I call my spiritual country and home.
Now the truth of the matter is that not everyone is your particular country or home. Not everyone is in the game with you. The armchair quarterbacks who sit on the sidelines lecturing you how to play ultimately don't matter. They aren't in your game so don't give their words credence. Listen to those who are laboring with you, struggling with you, and journeying with you through life's ups and downs.
But having said that, armchair quarterbacks do give me two kinds of gifts. First, they remind me to only listen to those who are fully in the game with me. Their other gift to me is that they give me courage to find my voice.
Part of finding my voice means decrying oppression and discrimination in its many forms and manifestations: racism, misogyny, islamophobia, anti-semitism, homophobia, transphobia, ethnocentrism, nationalism, even false piety and platitudes that condescend others. Finding my voice is speaking and acting on behalf of those who do not have a voice.
In fact, I believe we have a great moral responsibility to publicly renounce the words of those who preach oppression and discrimination against other groups of people. Kindness, compassion, and empathy compel us to do so. The teachings of peace and non-violence as exampled through Jesus, Ghandi, Dr. King, Rosa Parks, Nelson Mandela, Archbishop Tutu, the Dalai Lama, Malala Yousafzai, and so many others past and present compel us to do so.
Moreover, our conscience compels us.
So I will continue to live courageously with authenticity and vulnerability. I will also speak out and tell my story. Because in the end, that's how we make a difference.
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