Wednesday, May 19, 2004
Hello, America
I was taking pictures of the Michigan Capitol area today with a friend of mine, when after doing a circle of the complex (which includes the new comic-book-sounding "Hall of Justice") and preparing to leave, we eyed a gentleman in a bright orange t-shirt shouting "Hello, America!" to the capitol building itself. Funny, I thought, that sounded familiar... but before my mind could remind me of its relevance, the gentleman approached us and asked us for -- I kid you not -- thirty cents.
"Yard Dog!" I said, enthusiastically. He smiled and stepped backward with surprise and recognition, than ran forward and gave me a hug. "How in the hell are you," he asked, and then turned toward my companion, saying "I bet you're pretty shocked that your boyfriend here knows me, eh?"
(At this time, for those of you who don't know the significance of this individual, I strongly encourage you to read this article I wrote last December.)
Yard Dog was his usual happy self, and detailed how he smartly threw his liquor away only moments before police approached him, before he approached us. We chatted briefly, and both waved goodbye as he went to convince a nearby police officer to "drop" a cigarette on the ground which he might then pick up (rather than break protocol and actually hand him one.)
More than ever, I was struck with how content he was. (And I still don't believe it was an act in order to better obtain wealth through individual accumulated thirty cent donations.)
The old saying "money doesn't buy happiness" was given some academic backing earlier this year when several studies confirmed that wealth and happiness have no statistical correlation. Indeed, my own experiences going to school in both very poor and then very wealthy neighborhoods convinced me of that years earlier.
Truthfully, I've been a touch down lately, uncertain as to whether my accomplishments thus far meet the level of success I've envisioned for myself at this point. Turning 27 last month was the first time I'd actually felt a bit "old", for two main reasons: first, that the vast majority of my friends this age are now married while I am not, and second, that, for example, too many great musicians (Morrison, Joplin, Hendrix, Cobain, etc.) died at age 27, already leaving behind a lifetime's worth of work. And after all, from a purely ego/vanity perspective, when I was only 23 with a successful career and owning a home, I felt special -- at age 27, those things are expected.
So, I began wondering what my "legacy" would be if I were to be struck by lightning tomorrow. And I felt like I wouldn't be "leaving behind" a fraction of what I had hoped to.
A good friend and coworker of mine passed away last week, and I attended the funeral on Friday. During her eulogy and subsequent sharings of memories, I was struck with how little was discussed regarding things she did. Instead, everyone shared stories concerning who she was. This was someone who had accomplished a great deal, certainly more than I have -- and yet that's not what people remembered. It wasn't as important as her warmth, generosity, personality, and passion. And despite an unexpected and painful illness, she remained happy and giving and optimistic to the end. This was someone who, when I visited her in the hospital as the cancer had reached stage four, got teary and gave ME a hug when she found out I had been "rolled off" the project I'd been on for three years. I'd trade anything and everything I've accomplished or would hope to, to be remembered like that.
Priorities are a tricky thing. I have been blessed to be surrounded by some of the most amazing friends and family my imagination could envision. But it's one thing to say that these individuals are more important than success and fame. Everyone can say it. Sometimes it takes a kick in the ass to believe it.
I was taking pictures of the Michigan Capitol area today with a friend of mine, when after doing a circle of the complex (which includes the new comic-book-sounding "Hall of Justice") and preparing to leave, we eyed a gentleman in a bright orange t-shirt shouting "Hello, America!" to the capitol building itself. Funny, I thought, that sounded familiar... but before my mind could remind me of its relevance, the gentleman approached us and asked us for -- I kid you not -- thirty cents.
"Yard Dog!" I said, enthusiastically. He smiled and stepped backward with surprise and recognition, than ran forward and gave me a hug. "How in the hell are you," he asked, and then turned toward my companion, saying "I bet you're pretty shocked that your boyfriend here knows me, eh?"
(At this time, for those of you who don't know the significance of this individual, I strongly encourage you to read this article I wrote last December.)
Yard Dog was his usual happy self, and detailed how he smartly threw his liquor away only moments before police approached him, before he approached us. We chatted briefly, and both waved goodbye as he went to convince a nearby police officer to "drop" a cigarette on the ground which he might then pick up (rather than break protocol and actually hand him one.)
More than ever, I was struck with how content he was. (And I still don't believe it was an act in order to better obtain wealth through individual accumulated thirty cent donations.)
The old saying "money doesn't buy happiness" was given some academic backing earlier this year when several studies confirmed that wealth and happiness have no statistical correlation. Indeed, my own experiences going to school in both very poor and then very wealthy neighborhoods convinced me of that years earlier.
Truthfully, I've been a touch down lately, uncertain as to whether my accomplishments thus far meet the level of success I've envisioned for myself at this point. Turning 27 last month was the first time I'd actually felt a bit "old", for two main reasons: first, that the vast majority of my friends this age are now married while I am not, and second, that, for example, too many great musicians (Morrison, Joplin, Hendrix, Cobain, etc.) died at age 27, already leaving behind a lifetime's worth of work. And after all, from a purely ego/vanity perspective, when I was only 23 with a successful career and owning a home, I felt special -- at age 27, those things are expected.
So, I began wondering what my "legacy" would be if I were to be struck by lightning tomorrow. And I felt like I wouldn't be "leaving behind" a fraction of what I had hoped to.
A good friend and coworker of mine passed away last week, and I attended the funeral on Friday. During her eulogy and subsequent sharings of memories, I was struck with how little was discussed regarding things she did. Instead, everyone shared stories concerning who she was. This was someone who had accomplished a great deal, certainly more than I have -- and yet that's not what people remembered. It wasn't as important as her warmth, generosity, personality, and passion. And despite an unexpected and painful illness, she remained happy and giving and optimistic to the end. This was someone who, when I visited her in the hospital as the cancer had reached stage four, got teary and gave ME a hug when she found out I had been "rolled off" the project I'd been on for three years. I'd trade anything and everything I've accomplished or would hope to, to be remembered like that.
Priorities are a tricky thing. I have been blessed to be surrounded by some of the most amazing friends and family my imagination could envision. But it's one thing to say that these individuals are more important than success and fame. Everyone can say it. Sometimes it takes a kick in the ass to believe it.
