All week I’ve been thinking about the starfish story. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, the story goes like this: One day a man was walking along the beach littered with starfish, also called sea stars. He noticed a girl picking them up gently throwing them back into the ocean. Approaching the girl, he asked, “What are you doing?” She replied, “Throwing starfish back into the ocean. The surf is up and the tide is going out. If I don’t throw them back, they’ll die.”
The man said, “Don’t you realize there are miles and miles of beach and hundreds of starfish? You can’t make a difference!” After listening politely, the girl bent down, picked up another sea star and threw it back into the ocean. Smiling at the man she said, “I made a difference for that one.”
I love this story because it’s the reminder you don’t have to save all the sea stars, or all the people, or all the animals, or all the whatever. Even one life matters. It’s hard for me to remember that because instead I think of quantity. Quantity is what’s encouraged in our capitalistic culture. “How many views did that blogpost get?” “How many followers do you have?” “How big is your email list?” We think in terms of quantity because quality is hard to, well, quantify. How do you measure if listening to a song brought a person to tears? Or reading a book changed someone’s life? You can’t really. We try by saying, “Well, it was popular. It went viral,” but lots of things go viral.
Photo by Pedro Lastra on Unsplash
A compilation video of cats freaking out when they see cucumbers has gone viral – 24 million views and counting – but has anyone’s life changed as a result? I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with cat videos, I’m merely pointing out whether something is viral is not a good measure of its quality. I have to keep reminding myself of this because otherwise I get too fixated on the end result. I start thinking about all the sea stars littered across the beach instead of the one in front of me, so to speak. And the one in front of me matters. It matters because every life is precious and also because every person cares about what happens in their life. We are all a little self-centered, in a good way.
What I have to keep coming back to is why am I even writing in the first place? Sometimes I write just for me. But the writing I make available for public consumption is for me and for others. My spiritual teacher said:
“In every expression, in every stratum of this universe, however crude or subtle, only one refrain prevails, and that refrain is the attainment of bliss. In that artistic movement toward welfare both the attainment and the bestowal of happiness find simultaneous expression. When litterateurs dedicate themselves to the service or practice of literature, they have to let their creative genius flow in this very current: They have to cleanse all that is turbid, all that is inauspicious in individual life in the holy waters of their universal mentality, and then convey it sweetly and gracefully into the heart of humanity.”
When I write the things that matter to me, I’m trying to touch the heart of humanity. I’m trying to share my experience, strength, hope, and perspective in an effort to let people know they’re not alone. Or to get them to entertain a new perspective. Or open their hearts a little more. When I lose sight of my intention, that’s when I start thinking it only matters if I hit a certain threshold of popularity. But it doesn’t. Because like the girl throwing sea stars back into the ocean, I may not be making a difference for a million people, but I’m making a difference for at least one. And that’s something.
I dream of a world where we remember quantity isn’t everything. A world where we remember quality counts. A world where we keep in mind our intentions. A world where we stay close to the “why” of our actions and use that as motivation to propel us forward.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
A little more than nine years ago I wrote one of my favorite posts: “Hitching Wagons to Stars.” It wasn’t particularly well read. It didn’t garner numerous comments or shares, but it’s one of my favorites because it speaks to a recurring dynamic in my life: shining.
The phrase “Hitch your wagon to a star” comes from Ralph Waldo Emerson’s essay Civilization. In it he talks about partnering with the natural world to create something new. His quote though has since morphed to mean “Always aspire to do great things,” and then “Try to succeed by forming a relationship with someone who is already successful.”
I’ve frequently taken the latter approach myself, trying to sidle up to someone else who is famous or successful. If we’re using the wagon and star analogy, I usually envision myself as the wagon and never the star. A part of me believes I can’t shine without the presence of someone else. I want someone else’s light to rub off on me. That means I cross my fingers Chris Evans will like an Instagram post where I thank him for playing Captain America, or that Elizabeth Gilbert will thumbs up a blogpost where I mention her. And when they don’t, I feel first sad and then angry because my master plan was thwarted. My master plan being if someone famous notices me, then I’ll finally achieve what I’ve wanted all along: to be a star.
We can all be one of these. Photo by Jess Bailey on Unsplash
I don’t want to be a star in the traditional sense – I can’t act and while I have a nice voice, it’s not Grammy-award winning. I don’t even necessarily want to be an influencer because it sounds exhausting to post something fun and interesting and beautiful on Instagram every day. But I still want to be a star, which for me means writing a bestselling book and having a large swathe of people care about what I have to say. I know numerous people already care about what I have to say, for which I’m grateful, but I want there to be more of them.
These days what I’m coming to understand is I don’t have to rely on someone else to give me what I want. I don’t need to be retweeted or reshared to propel me to stardom, which is perhaps why it hasn’t happened. I’m not doing myself any favors by viewing myself as a wagon instead of a star. I can shine brightly on my own. We all can. We are each of us stars in our own right – some smaller, some larger, but still a star.
I dream of a world where we realize we don’t need someone else in order to shine. A world where we don’t limit ourselves and what we’re capable of. A world where we understand we don’t need to hitch our wagon to a star because we can be our own star.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I think it’s pretty clear I want to be famous. Not “get my picture taken while eating a hamburger in a car” famous, but “win awards and have people share my content” famous. I know fame doesn’t make anyone happy, I know the goal of my life is not fame, I know aiming for fame goes against all of my spiritual beliefs, and yet it’s still here.
I’ve wrestled with this aspect of myself for decades trying to reason with it, spin it, battle it, push it away. But it’s still here. On Wednesday, I listened to a radio show loosely about surrender and I burst into tears because I finally accepted this part of me. To surrender means to stop fighting and I stopped fighting this aspect of myself. I also started journaling about it, asking why I care so much.
This picture is perfect. Photo by Jakob Owens on Unsplash.
I seek fame because I want to prove myself, I want to showcase my “enough-ness.” I spoke with a friend about this and he suggested I make a list of all the ways I’ll finally be enough. I’ll be enough when _____. I made my list: “I’ll be enough when I’m a bestselling author. I’ll be enough when I go on Oprah. I’ll be enough when a celebrity retweets me.” I kept going until I reached the point when I wrote, “I’ll be enough when I feel worthy.”
As if to hammer the point home, I listened to another radio show by Nancy Levin, who used to be the events coordinator at Hay House before she transitioned into writing and coaching. To paraphrase, she said nothing on the outside will make you feel worthy if you don’t feel worthy on the inside. I know this. In fact, I’ve written this. But when I look back at my post on self-worth from nearly nine years, I hear a lot of judgment. A lot of dismissing. I didn’t honor my desire then or now.
When I look at the basic philosophy of my spiritual tradition, I have more perspective. The philosophy states we take everything and channel it toward the divine. It sounds like a lovely sentiment, but what does that actually mean? I’m not sure I know, but what I’m starting to understand is I can’t run from anything, including my desire for fame. I can’t escape anything. Maybe to use everything as a vehicle toward my unification with a power greater than myself means first that I have to accept what is here in a loving, compassionate way.
This blogpost deals with my desire for fame, but the concept is applicable to anything. It could be the part of ourselves that’s scared of others, or is greedy, or ashamed, or whatever. We can’t pretend that side doesn’t exist as much as we’d like that to be the case. We have to work with what’s here in order to have any power over it. I’ve likely used this quote before, but Carl Jung said, “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you’ll call it fate.” I’d rather be an active participant in my fate and the only way to do that it seems is to stop running from the things I don’t like.
I dream of a world where we accept all parts of ourselves with compassion. A world where we realize just because we don’t like something doesn’t mean it goes away. A world where we embrace our inherent tendencies and still work to transform them into something else. A world where we channelize them toward something greater than ourselves.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I want to make an impact in the world. I want to use my gifts in the service of others. In my mind, if I’m not famous, if I don’t have 10 million Youtube followers, then I’m not making a difference. I’m conflating fame with significance. How could I not? When a simple tweet from a celebrity can launch someone’s career or shine the spotlight on an important issue, of course I’m under the impression fame and significance are linked.
I realize a person doesn’t have to be famous in order to make a difference – there are many teachers, activists, doctors, etc. who do great work in the world and no one knows their name, but the thing is, I’m not a teacher, activist, or doctor. I’m a writer. And in my world, if people aren’t reading what I’m writing, then I might as well launch my posts into a black hole for all the good they’re doing.
The epicenter of fame.
I talked about this with my dear writer friend Amal, who doesn’t have this issue. He reminded me about Herman Melville, who was never a financially successful writer, by the way, even though we have all heard of his book Moby Dick. Did you know Moby Dick was a commercial failure and published to mixed reviews? And also that it wasn’t until the late 1910s, early 1920s, which is almost 20 years after his death, that people started to talk about him? Moby Dick was written more than 150 years ago and we’re still studying it in school! Talk about significant.
I’m not saying I’m Herman Melville because I’m not, but what I’m coming to understand more deeply is the notion of artists as pioneers, something my spiritual teacher propounds. What does that mean, to be a pioneer? It means often a person won’t be appreciated in their time, that they’re on the forefront of society, staking out new territory to pave the way for future generations. What this means is just because a person isn’t recognized, isn’t popular or famous, doesn’t mean they’re not doing good work.
That sounds obvious I know, but right now our society places so much emphasis on social capital. “How many Twitter followers do you have? Who regramed you on Instagram? Did anyone share your Facebook post?” Right now it seems easy to become famous from your living room and when 1.4 million people like a Facebook post, they turn into an important person, at least in my mind. But will any of them be remembered in 150 years? Will I?
The ultimate point I’m making in a roundabout way is it’s not my job to worry about fame. Fame doesn’t necessarily mean a person is making a difference, it just means people are paying attention to them. It’s my job as an artist and writer to keep being a pioneer, to keep transmitting messages and inspiration that I receive, and to surrender the fruits of my labor. It’s not my job to attract Facebook followers or to cultivate a name for myself. It’s my job to use my gifts regardless of how much attention I receive. And not just my job, everyone’s job. We are all special and unique human beings who may never get the recognition we crave, but that doesn’t mean what we’re doing isn’t worthwhile or that it’s insignificant.
I dream of a world where we understand fame doesn’t necessarily translate into significance. A world where we realize we have no idea what the future holds or what the fruits of our actions will be. A world where we keep doing the work required of us, letting go of the outcomes.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
So often I’ve heard “celebrities: they’re just like us,” but never quite believed it. In my mind there was always something “special” about a celebrity because they were famous and fame seems to be a very capricious thing – it’s not as if you go to school and can become a celebrity. This week I had the good fortune of spending time with two celebrities and have come to the conclusion I don’t know why some people become doctors either, but that doesn’t mean they’re more “special” than I am.
Years ago I would have regaled you with stories of hanging out with someone famous because I wanted to impress you. I wanted to show I was “important” because I knew a celebrity. Today, instead I find myself relating to those around me, understanding no one is that different, whether they’re famous or not. That I can do what they do, and in fact, I am.
Do you know how hard it is to find a stock photo of a fake celebrity signing autographs? Answer: very difficult. At least in this one the star is not so obvious.
So to back up a bit, I had the opportunity to be a part of an interview with Marianne Williamson. As in the woman who wrote, A Return to Love. As in the woman who I’ve quoted a jillion times in this blog. Yes. I have no idea how it happened but I am so glad it did. I have put this woman and others like her on a pedestal believing they were gifted with something I was not. Believing they must have been graced with something in order to do what they do. Meeting Marianne and seeing her speak showed me how false that is.
Don’t get me wrong, she is an amazing speaker and she obviously taps into divine consciousness in her talks but you know what? So does anyone who’s creative and has something to say. There’s nothing so very different about us. She’s a person just like I am. She gets spider bites and a dry throat and unruly hair. We are absolutely cut from the same cloth and that cloth is “human.”
What I also find interesting is “celebrity” is really about the beholder. On Tuesday I had dinner with Raymond Bagatsing, a Filipino actor I love. He said we wouldn’t be able to have the same experience in the Philippines because everybody would be looking at him and people would be mobbing the table. He didn’t say it to brag, nor to lament his life and his fans, he said it very matter-of-factly. Yet here in the States, nobody knows him from Adam. Obviously celebrity isn’t really about the person who’s famous, it’s about the people who are viewing them. It’s us that put people on pedestals. It’s us who think somebody is special and amazing. It’s us who turn that person into someone they’re most likely not. Because honestly, Raymond and Marianne are just doing their thing.
I dream of a world where we understand celebrities are just like us. A world where we realize no one is more special or less special than someone else. A world where understand people are people no matter what they’re doing, no matter what they’re wearing, no matter who they are. A world where each of us feel like the divine children we are because each of us is special and each of us has our own role to play.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
Normally I blog on Sundays but things have been so crazy I’ve been unable to do so until now. I moved into a new place about a week ago and then I had guests stay with me so it’s been quite a whirlwind!
All this week though I’ve noticed how things pop when they’re ready. As mentioned, I moved into a new place that’s a studio plus an office. In order to separate my bedroom from my living room, I bought a Japanese screen from Craigslist.
Pretty, right?
The night before I picked up the screen I checked my wallet and all I had was $44. (The screen cost $45.) My new location is not as commercial as my other one, so I’m not near an ATM, nor is an ATM on my way to public transportation, so I wanted to avoid a special trip if at all possible. I dumped all the coins in my wallet on the floor and came up $0.26 short. I searched my whole apartment looking for the extra change. I scoured the bottom of every bag and backpack I own trying to come up with the money, running through scenarios in my head. Perhaps she would be fine with $44.74.
It struck me I should check my foreign money because, hey, you never know, right? I just got back from Italy, so maybe my American money would be mixed in. I searched my euros, nope, nothing. Then I pulled out my money from Costa Rica, a country I visited 11 year ago. Mixed in with all the coins was a $1 American coin. I kid you not. That coin was sitting in a bag at the bottom of my dresser for ELEVEN YEARS waiting for this very purpose it seemed.
The coin looked similar to this one. I hope it wasn't a collectible.
I laughed out loud when I saw it and I think I said, “You have to be kidding me.” Things pop when they’re ready.
What’s also interesting to me is I’ve known someone for 10 years – we run in the same circles, have similar friends – and yet up until recently we’ve been acquaintances. Familiar acquaintances, yes, but I didn’t really consider him a friend. More like in between a friend and an acquaintance. Then in August he started dating his partner and things changed. We started hanging out more and became real friends. So much so that I visited him in the hospital yesterday after he fractured his jaw while breaking up a fight. I didn’t know I felt that way until his partner sent out a mass message on facebook detailing what happened. Somehow I didn’t even question whether I would visit him, it was a given.
While at the hospital he was a pathetic sight – bandages strapped to his head, immobilizing his jaw, not able to talk. All communication was through paper. He wrote down on a piece of paper, “Thanks for visiting me,” and I said, “Of course! That’s what you do for friends and family!” And I meant it. Because somehow we crossed the line of acquaintance and into friendship even though I’ve known him for a long time. Things pop when they’re ready.
I’m going to circle this post back to the last one I wrote “Starburst,” because I think the same principle applies. Matt Damon and Julia Roberts “popped,” they became famous when they were ready, or the universe was ready, or whatever “it” is that had to be ready. The exciting thing is we never know when the pop will happen.
I dream of a world where we understand all things in due time. A world where we know there’s no need to feel impatient because things pop when they’re ready. A world where we live each day in joy, feeling present, and alive because there is nothing more exciting than being on planet Earth when at any moment things can pop.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
This weekend I re-watched Mystic Pizza and noticed Matt Damon makes an appearance in the movie:
Matt Damon at 18 as seen in "Mystic Pizza."
What struck me about this is the “you-never-know” factor. Here Damon only had a line or two in a movie with Julia Roberts before she was famous. When they did their scene do you think either could anticipate Julia Roberts would become one of the highest-paid actresses in Hollywood, or that Matt Damon would become a heartthrob? No. They were just doing a scene, following their passion and then BOOM, their fame exploded like a starburst. For Roberts it took another two years with the release of “Pretty Woman.” For Damon it took another nine with the release of “Good Will Hunting.”
What I love about this, what I find so inspiring, is that moment before they were famous. Why did it take two years for Roberts and nine years for Damon? What made each of those films “the one” that made them a star? Sometimes I take it for granted that people weren’t always famous. That Matt Damon hasn’t forever been glossing magazine covers, that there was a point where he was a normal guy, playing bit parts, trying to make ends meet, and then the stars aligned, he had the right connections, and all of a sudden he became a household name.
I find this incredibly fascinating because we could all be on the brink of something and we just don’t know. I could film my niece singing a rap song and she could become a youtube star. Joe Schmo could have an asteroid land in his yard that’s covered with a key ingredient to eradicate AIDS. Little Susie Ray could go to the mall and be spotted by a model scout and start walking runways. In life we have no idea what’s around the corner and how big it can become, and that’s what’s so interesting to me.
I dream of a world where we live each day with a sense of wonder and mystery because we remember we have no idea what’s next. A world where we keep pursuing our dreams even when it seems like they’ll lead to nowhere. A world where we are open and honest with ourselves and allow whatever will be to be.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.