Driftwood

So I drove over the mountains and through the snow to gra... no, actually... I went to the beach through the white and drifting snow-- OH! Did you know that the man who wrote that song thought of himself as a failure? Writing that song happened between about his fifth attempt at a career, and his last attempt. It was long after he gave up being a professional writer (his second career, I believe). He died poor, and with little to show for all his many efforts... except this song. He wrote Jingle Bells-- the extended version with the horse and the sleigh and the way to Grandmother's house-- for the children of a friend of his. And it is still one of the most-translated, and best-known works on earth to this day. Amazing.

I have begun to suspect that "failure" is really about the goals we think are worth reaching. Did you want to die rich and famous? Or did you want to die with a lot of good friends to celebrate your life? Did you want to live like Elvis or Michael Jackson... or did you want to be loved and accepted just the way you are... without new shoes or fancy gifts or people who say only what you want to hear? Did you want to change someone's life for the better... or did you just want to change the world somehow? Bonnie and Clyde will always be remembered, you know. They lived flashy lives, and definitely changed the world in some ways... but I wouldn't want to BE them. I think the people in my life-- and most people in the world-- would be pleasantly surprised to learn about all the little things they did that actually changed someone's life for the better somehow. When people do something wonderful in my life, I try to let them know. People need to know they are appreciated-- that what they do matters. Even if the only person who'll ever know about it is a struggling library student with big glasses and small plans.

I went to my five-year college reunion a while back. Everyone was thrilled to tell you how well they were doing, and all their success and plans... The ratio was 50% future lawyers, 20% happy parents, 30% future doctors. But one woman surprised me, very much. You see-- I created my own major as an undergraduate. I didn't like my options, so I picked "other." I was a Gender Studies Major, and thought that really, only my professors and advisers knew or cared. But this woman that I ran into at the reunion... she's someone I'd see around campus (I still don't know her name), and assume she didn't really know I existed. She was such a free spirit, and had a very different group of friends than I did... I'm sort of boring on the outside... (I don't make waves until I know the people around me can swim through them.) Anyway, it turns out that here, five years later, she was working on her PhD. She was discovering and writing about the folk songs and oral histories of women from South American countries-- their grassroots undefined systems of being feminist, being strong, and helping each other out as women fighting oppression. WOW!!

The amazing part? Turns out she knows my name. Turns out... my creating that Gender Studies major played an important role in her decision to pursue this type of a PhD topic. Wow. I had no idea that I'd made an impact like that, just by doing what was most important to me at the time-- and doing it to the best of my abilities. But I can name several other people I know who have had that kind of impact for similar reasons. I'm thrilled to think I might be like them.

Something else-- another more specific memory I have of making an impact in college-- was much smaller. Just a quarter of an hour, one day. I ended up being late to a class because of it... and I wouldn't change my decision for the world. Because just maybe... I made someone's life a little easier, just by being there... (This memory may also have played a part in my later decision to join the Red Cross so that I could visit soldiers in the army hospitals-- young soldiers returning from Iraq with no family near enough to visit them. Retired soldiers going senile, alone but for the Army's medical care. Care they bought long ago with their lives. I visited them so they would know that what they lost meant something to someone. It did. It meant something to me. Even though war is stupid. Those boys and girls, and older men and women, too. They matter. I will never forget them.)

There I was at school, running late. Speed-jogging my way to class. Across the street, past the duck pond, toward the field (my college only had one official "field"). Checked behind me-- and there was a girl sitting by the duck pond. She didn't look like her world was okay at the moment-- something about her drooped posture and her head not pointed toward anything-- pointed inward. I went back. Turns out, she was crying. Total stranger. I didn't even think about it, and I'm glad not. I might have decided to mind my own business. At that point in my life, I was shy around strangers.

Went right up to her, sat down, asked if she wanted company, or needed to talk about anything. Asked if I could give her a hug. She needed a hug. Took it with relief not to be alone just then. She'd just got word that her grandfather had died. Special man in her life-- and she couldn't go to the funeral. Just found out, and felt suddenly alone in the world. We spent a quiet five or ten minutes together, just sitting and talking about grandparents and death... watching the ducks until she sat up a little straighter. Then I gathered my books, and walk-jogged my way to class... 15 minutes late. Never saw that girl again. Totally worth it. Taking fifteen minutes out of my day to see if I can make just one person's life better-- every day... I think I may be changing the world after all. Want to join me?

Another thing I do... now that I don't have access to the Army hospitals... I keep a few of those $1 cans of beef-and-veggie soup in my car. The ones with the pop-top that doesn't need a can opener. The ones that often go on sale, but last forever. I don't feel right giving someone money. I don't have a lot to spare just now anyway. But I can always give someone a can of soup. It has protein, veggies, and liquids, and doesn't need to be cooked to be eaten. And I feel good about giving something like that to someone that might benefit from it. I feel good not pretending not to see someone eating their pride on a street corner, asking for help with a cardboard sign.

I feel good giving what I can. Just a little bit, here and there... but just maybe, that makes all the difference in the world. I've asked Santa to bring me a job I'll love with good pay and benefits for Christmas next year-- preferably near my friends, family, and the Pacific Ocean. I need all the brownie points I can get! But that's not really why. And it's not about god, either. That god doesn't need my help-- He's all-powerful, remember? ...but the Earth, and her inhabitants do. We need all the help we can get from each other. We are all in this together.

So even though I may currently call myself a looser, I'm definitely not going to see my life, or my contributions to the world, as a failure. I'm not judging success by the total in my bank account, nor by how well-known my contributions to the world really are. Nobody but Molly knows what I did for her. I've probably never even mentioned her name to you before. There's a reason. It's not my story to tell. That story is about Molly, and because of that, my success is personal. Who knows-- I may even do something loving for someone else that will make good memories for generations to come.... even if my name is not part of the memory. Just like the guy who wrote Jingle Bells.

(I originally had other plans for this post, but it sort of wrote itself. I guess there are some interesting esoteric connotations to the title, "Driftwood," that you could use to tie in the title to the posting, but I'll leave those up to you. By the way, doing something that directly contributes the quality of someone's life gives you a really different kind of a "high" than just writing a check to an organization or spending your free cash on a trip down the side of a snowy mountain in July-- though those are great things to do, too. I go around the whole day smiling-- even in rush hour traffic! Try it. Making a difference is contagious. It's called "Paying It Forward.")