Be they acronyms, terms or expressions, communities share words. In my community, many of us end comments with "right?" Students do it. Even professors do it. Like "um" or "ahhh," when I start counting, I get edgy. Right does not make might. The leap here, I believe, is to express my thoughts without a need for affirmation. Can I say something and then have the courage to bathe in the silence? Right? Right?
The other day I met with a student I admire. As we both got our coffee, I filled my mug with half decaf and half regular. "My mom does the same thing," she said innocently. It was a sudden leap into a "ma'am moment," a moment when I realized I looked like a mom all day long, not only to my own flesh and blood but to society at large. I don't know what to think about this coming of age really. I am not certain I am ready to lead with my maternity. While I cannot control the external experience of me, I will always enjoy great latitude on the inside.
Frances will receive her First Communion on Sunday. She has the white dress. One of her godmothers is bringing a veil. She has her white shoes. She knows what to do. What Frances is worried about is the wine. Her teacher told her to try it at home. She did and it parched her throat, she said. I told her she could fake it. That did not sit well with her. I am beginning to think preparation is not always the best strategy. Sometimes it is better just to leap first without knowing what it will taste like.
At UNC-Chapel Hill, the bell tower chimes the hours. Today, I wondered if you actually have more time to get to class at noon than one. Doesn't it take longer for the bells to chime twelve than one? Those eleven extra bongs always make a difference. Let's just say it's my pedestrian theory of relativity.
My godchildren leapt into full-fledged Episcopalianness tonight and I was there as a witness. Bishop Curry laid hands on their heads and many other people too. His sermon was inspired. He talked about a friend who was 90 years old but not old. He reminded us that evil is live spelled backwards. He closed by relaying a recent experience of watching Elie Weisel, Desmond Tutu and the Dalai Lama on CNN participate in a "group hug." Equal to the bishop's message was the power in the ritual. I remember when the bishop laid his hands on me. Seeing the giddiness of my godchildren after the experience took me back.
Except for my sister, my family likes to relate movie plots and book outlines. Sometimes, the synopses carry on for ten minutes or longer. It's like living with the bard Homer and his clones. I have a hard time following plot summaries. I suppose the leap here is to try and listen or could it possibly be to insist on another topic?
A few years ago, I spent two hours looking on-line for the best swim goggles. I did not make a purchase. The memory of spending 120 minutes on this to-do list item has been a frequent reminder of how not to leap in life. The good thing is that whenever I do anything close to what I did then, I try to remind myself of my afternoon with swim goggle spread sheets. While I don't believe you can actually waste time, I think I came close.
A student in my class wants to work somewhere in Africa helping children with HIV/AIDS after she graduates. She wants to go next summer because who knows if there will ever be another chance. From my vantage point, this view of life no longer makes sense. You can do anything at any point, right? Or can you? Being intentional about that first leap out of college matters and it doesn't. What I do know matters is pursuing the dream. If you help her, let me know.
A friend told me you only remember five minutes from your entire college career, ten minutes if you are lucky. He remembered a history of jazz class he took with a trumpet playing professor here at UNC-Chapel Hill. If you only remember five minutes, that means you leapt over at least seven hundred days of parties, studies, uncomfortable moments and romantic encounters. We did not finish our conversation so I have no idea if there was more in his five or ten minutes.
I was standing at the bottom of a steep hill waiting for a bus. After a few minutes, I got restless and began to leap up the hill. My backpack was stuffed. I was hunched over. Cars whizzed past my effort. Five minutes later, the bus passed me. Five minutes later, another bus passed me. Twenty minutes later, I reached my destination. Am I better off for the effort?
