Let Your Light Shine Bright

won’t you celebrate with me
what i have shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylon
both nonwhite and woman
what did i see to be except myself?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
starshine and clay,
my one hand holding tight
my other hand; come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed.

–Lucille Clifton (1936-2010; “won’t you celebrate with me”; acclaimed poet and writer who overcame significant obstacles related to race, gender, and economic adversity; a Chancellor of the Academy of American Poets; Poet Laureate for the State of Maryland; and Distinguished Professor of Humanities at St. Mary’s College of Maryland)

Sometimes late at night when my words grow tired of dancing and I grow tired of waiting for the dance to begin anew, I let music waltz me off to sleep. Recently, I drowsed off to Susan Boyle singing “I Dreamed a Dream” from Les Miserable. Instantly, I remembered her appearance on Britain’s Got Talent (2009, Episode 1, April 11). I was mesmerized across time’s timeless expanse. I knew then, and I know now, exactly why. In part, it’s because of the poignant lyrics that evoke raw and vulnerable emotions:

I dreamed a dream in time gone by
When hope was high and life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving

In part, it’s because of Boyle’s powerful, soulful, resonant, evocative, and captivating voice.

However, more than the voice and more than the lyrics is this. Susan Boyle overcame great odds and landed a triumphant second-place finish. Her performance left everyone reeling, including the judges:

Piers Morgan: Without a doubt, that was the biggest surprise that I have had in three years on this show. When you stood there with that cheeky grin and said, ‘I want to be like Elaine Paige,’ everyone was laughing at you. No one is laughing now. That was a stunning, an incredible performance. Amazing. I’m reeling from shock. I don’t know about you two.

Amanda Holden: I am so thrilled because I honestly think that everybody was against you. I honestly think that we were all being very cynical, and I think that’s the biggest wake-up call ever, and I just want to say that it was a complete privilege listening to that.

Simon Cowell: Susan, I knew the minute that you walked out onto that stage that we were going to hear something extraordinary, and I was right. […] Susan, you’re a little tiger, aren’t you?

Then, the moment of truth: the voting and the final word:

Cowell: Susan Boyle, you can go back to the village with your head held high. It’s three yesses.

Cowell’s comment–“Go back to the village with your head held high”--resonates with all of us. Something in us makes us root for the underdog–“everybody was laughing at you”–because we’re hoping that someone out there is rooting for us when others are laughing.

Susan Boyle’s performance that night catapulted her into fame and stardom and set me to thinking about other underdogs whom I admire because they overcame seemingly herculean obstacles to achieve success, sometimes breaking barriers, always reminding us that the human spirit can prevail against all odds.

Immediately, I started thinking about underdogs from my home state of West Virginia. In an instant, Pearl S. Buck, author of The Good Earth and the first American woman to win the Nobel Prize in Literature, came to mind. With equal speed, I was ready to exclude her because I wasn’t certain that she had really faced obstacles on her path to fame. Then I remembered. Born in Hillsboro, the daughter of missionaries, she spent much of her early life in China. Without a doubt, she faced monumental challenges growing up as a minority in a different culture, and her early years were marked by poverty and social isolation.

Closer to where I grew up is Bill Withers, known for his acclaimed hits like “Lean on Me” and “Ain’t No Sunshine” and heralded as the Bruce Springsteen of the African-American community. Born in Slab Fork, a coal mining town, Withers grew up in a poor, working-class family and rose above those obstacles. His soulful and heartfelt songs have left a lasting impact on the music industry.

Still within spitting distance of where I grew up is Katherine Johnson from White Sulphur Springs. She was a pioneering mathematician and physicist known for her contributions to NASA’s early space programs. Her story gained widespread recognition with the release of the movie Hidden Figures, which highlighted the overlooked contributions of African-American women mathematicians to the space race.

And what about Homer Hickman, who grew up in the coal mining community of Coalwood? Inspired by the launch of the Soviet satellite Sputnik in 1957, he pursued a career in rocketry. Hickman’s story is depicted in the memoir Rocket Boys, later adapted into the film October Sky. He overcame the challenges of his mining town upbringing and became a NASA engineer.

Obviously, I can’t leave out Jeannette Walls who spent part of her life in Welch–just a stone’s throw from Coalwood–and went on to write The Glass Castle. Her memoir details her unconventional and challenging childhood, growing up in poverty with her eccentric and nomadic family. It has received widespread acclaim for its honest portrayal of resilience and determination in the face of adversity.

I thought, too, of Don Knotts, actor and comedian best known for his role as Barney Fife on The Andy Griffith Show. Born in Morgantown, he grew up in a family that struggled financially during the Great Depression. As a child, he was known for his lanky frame and high-strung personality, but he used humor as a way to cope with social awkwardness and to connect with others.

All of those West Virginians–and I could talk about others who resonate with me, including Chuck Yeager, Mary Lou Retton, Brad D. Smith, and John Nash–showcase the resilience and determination to be found time and time again as underdogs overcome obstacles–whatever they may be–and achieve success that inspires each of us and helps us believe:

“If they can do it, I can, too.”

By and large, my West Virginia anchors of hope overcame economic and cultural barriers. But here’s the beauty of it all. Anchors of hope can be found everywhere in the world, in every field of endeavor that we attempt, and in every obstacle that we face.

Among writers, I would note James Baldwin, an African American and openly gay writer, who faced the dual challenges of racial and sexual discrimination during a time of significant social upheaval. His eloquent and unapologetic writing style made him a prominent figure in the Civil Rights Movement and an influential voice for the LGBTQ+ community.

Another writer who transformed obstacles into insightful and controversial Broadway plays is Edward Albee, whose life was far from easy. Adopted into a wealthy family when he was just 18 days old, he never felt a sense of connection with his parents and instead felt alienated from them because of their high morality. Growing up gay in the 1930s and 1940s posed immense challenges for Albee–at home and beyond–yet he stood strong, celebrated his sexual orientation, celebrated the larger LBGT+ community of Greenwich Village and the world. At the time of his death in 2016, he was hailed as America’s greatest playwright.

I’m thinking about others who defied gender norms and achieved success, people like Christina Tosi founder and co-owner of Milk Bar, serving as its chef and chief executive officer. Food & Wine magazine included her in their 2014 list of “Most Innovative Women in Food and Drink.”

I’m thinking as well of Dr. Carla Hayden who made history by becoming the first woman and the first African American to serve as the Librarian of Congress. She overcame gender and racial barriers to become a trailblazer in the field of librarianship. Her leadership exemplifies resilience and the ability to break down barriers in traditionally male-dominated professions.

In the political realm, what about Shirley Chisholm (first African-American woman in Congress) or the late Sandra Day O’Connor (first female justice of the United States Supreme Court) or Barack Obama (first African American to be elected President of the United States)?

What about overcoming mental health challenges and financial hardship as Vincent Van Gogh did? He produced some of the most iconic and influential works in the history of art, demonstrating the transformative potential of creativity in the face of personal adversity.

Or can you imagine being born with no limbs? I’m thinking now of Nick Vujicic who overcame that immense physical challenge to become one of the most important motivational speakers today, delivering a message of resilience, gratitude, and the limitless potential of the human spirit.

These are just a few of my anchors of hope. I could go on and on with others, each representing a unique testament to the human spirit. Chuck Close (who triumphed over physical disabilities in art), and Misty Copeland (who shattered barriers in ballet) embody the resilience and determination that inspire me. Denzel Washington (rising from a challenging childhood to acclaim in acting) and Beverly Cleary (whose pioneering work defied gender norms in children’s literature) exemplify the power of perseverance. Dr. Ben Carson’s journey from poverty and academic struggles to a renowned neurosurgeon and Jay-Z’s success in overcoming the challenging environment of Brooklyn’s Marcy Projects showcase the transformative potential within adversity. Mark Zuckerberg (who faced skepticism and legal challenges in Facebook’s origins) and Elon Musk (who overcame personal and financial struggles in Tesla and SpaceX’s early days) reflect the tenacity of visionary entrepreneurs. Morgan Freeman (defying age norms with a career renaissance in his fifties) and Laura Ingalls Wilder (achieving fame at 65 with her Little House series) symbolize that hope and success know no age limits. Each is an additional anchor, proving that obstacles can be stepping stone’s to greatness.

I celebrate my anchors of hope all year long, but I do so even more during December. It’s a month chockfull of celebrations, starting with Hanukkah, moving on to St. Nicholas Day, Bodhi Day, Las Posadas, The Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe, Yule, Christmas, and ending with Kwanzaa. Each carries a unique message of hope, transcends boundaries, and unifies us in the spirit of optimism and shared celebration. What better time than now to celebrate the triumph of the human spirit against all odds and to gift ourselves with an extra measure of hope.

And you? Who are your anchors of hope? Reflect on them. Celebrate them. Hold them close to your heart. As you do, don’t forget the unsung heroes who can also be anchors of hope. A mother’s resilience, a father’s unwavering support, a brother’s camaraderie, a sister’s understanding, a teacher’s guidance, and a neighbor’s kindness—anchors, each and every one. With their unspoken sacrifices and steadfast presence, they embody extraordinary strength within ordinary moments, reminding us that greatness resides not only in fame but also in the uncharted territories of love, connection, and the indomitable spirit of the human heart.

As you reflect, remember this as well. Someone, somewhere, might be looking to you as their everyday hero who has achieved success against all odds. Someone, somewhere, might be looking to you as their anchor of hope.

Be the light that someone else needs to see. Shine bright. Shine bright.

As Light As a Feather

On a long journey, even a straw weighs heavy.

Spanish Proverb

Recently, I traveled from the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia to the Green Mountains of Vermont. What prompted the trip was the launch of my edition of Mary E. Wilkins Freeman’s Green Mountain Stories, first in Burlington and then in Brattleboro. Don’t worry. I won’t recap the book or its launches. Neither is the point of this post.

Something unusual happened while I was packing for my journey. I’ve been wondering about it ever since.

Even though I was going to be away for ten days, I managed to pack everything that I needed into one small suitcase (laundered and folded shirts; boxers; socks; handkerchiefs; bathrobe; and toiletries); one thin garment bag (a lightweight blazer; a pair of dress trousers; several pairs of chinois; flip flops; and a pair of loafers); and my book bag (laptop; books; portfolio with notepad; pens; and index cards).

I was pleased with my efficiency. I could grab my suitcase and book bag in one hand and my garment bag in the other and be on my way. I had room to spare in the backseat of my Jeep Gladiator, especially since my dog Ruby was staying in her own room at our local pet spa.

This was my first solo research/scholarly trip in two decades.

Until this time, my late partner Allen had always gone with me on all of my scholarly speaking engagements, research journeys, and conferences. The details started bubbling up from the depth of memory to the surface of now.

All of those “aways” were professional, but Allen and I always did our best to make them memorable vay-kays.

Packing was totally different then, and we each did our own thing.

I was never quite certain what I might be called upon to do professionally on these trips, and, like most Scorpions, I have a moody side. So I had to pack at least one suit–sometimes two–plus several sports jackets with matching trousers; two dress belts (black and brown); at least a half dozen dress shirts and as many or more silk ties; boxers; socks; two pair of dress shoes (black and brown); and handkerchiefs.

That would cover professional events. But hey! We’re on vay-kay. What about play clothes?

I’m just as fashionably moody in that clothing category, too. Khakis. Blue jeans. Long- and short-sleeved shirts. Lightweight sweaters. Penny loafers.  Sneakers. Athletic socks. OMG.  What if we go hiking? Hiking boots. Hiking poles. Backpack. Well, you see where this is going. Right?

Yeah. You probably do. But keep in mind that I haven’t even gotten to my cosmetics. Hairspray. Facial cleanser. Astringent. Skin cream. Shaving lather. Razors. Deodorant. Nail clippers. Files. Emory boards. And what’s a vay-kay without a facial? Peel-off masks. Clay masks. Charcoal masks. Body scrub. Sun screen. Toothpaste. Dental floss. Mouthrinse. OMG. I nearly forgot my hairbrush and comb. Thank God I remembered those. After all, even strangers remember me for the hair that I don’t have enough of, really, to brush or to spray. But I have lots of memories, so I keep brushing and spraying. Those were the days, my friends.

But let me get back to Allen and his packing. He never worried too much about the professional attire. Since he and I wore the same size clothes, he figured that if I wasn’t wearing it, he could, especially since he liked my dress clothes.

But when it came to play clothes, if my Scorpionic moodiness made me pack a lot, his Piscean moodiness made him pack a lot more, usually a lot more new threads that he always loved to buy for our vay-kays.

Luckily, he could pack his cosmetics in a small leather toiletry bag while telling all of our friends–and even rank strangers–that we always pulled one U-Haul for my cosmetics and another U-Haul just for my hairspray.

Sure. Of course. Allen had his own quirky things that he had to pack up and bring, too. So that I can have my own touché moment, I’ll tell you all about them right now, My Dear Readers. But please don’t share these secrets with strangers, rank or otherwise. First and foremost, he had to bring an electric fan–not to cool us off but to create white noise while we slept. Second, and almost as important as the first, were our pillows. No other pillows in the world would satisfy him like our own. Shrink packaging helped, but those four king-sized pillows added to the total weight of everything that we were packing. Third, e[x][r]otic massage oil. (Well, maybe we’ll need the electric fan after all. Just saying.)

If we happened to be packing for a trip somewhere where we had rented a VRBO home–as we preferred doing whenever we could–we knew that we would be cooking dinner upon arrival. Whatever we were having for that first evening’s meal would fit into the cooler, along with whatever “special” cut of meat we would have for a special vay-kay dinner while away. Toss in the spices, condiments, wine, limes, tonic water, and Bombay Sapphire Gin. Now, we’re all packed and ready to go. (Not to worry. I didn’t forget our favorite cast iron skillet.)

OMG! I forgot the dogs! Never two at once. First Hazel during most of the years that Allen and I were together. Then, Ruby, during Allen’s final three years. Each dog had the same requirements. Food. Treats. Food dish. Water dish. Blanket. Brush. Toys. Leash. Poop bags. Space to curl up and lie down.

By the time we got everything packed into my Jeep–usually a two-door Wrangler–we inevitably started our journey with no small degree of surprise that we had managed to get everything packed into the Jeep while still leaving space for our furry, four-legged best friend.

When we arrived, wherever it happened to be that we were going, we were always ecstatic to get unpacked and settled in. (Thank God for Gin & Tonics, e[r][x]otic massage oil, and the electric fan.)

Regardless of how often we traveled–usually two or three journeys a year–as we unpacked, our eyes would lock on one another, and we would break into riotous laughter as we discovered that each of us–unbeknownst to the other–had packed candle sticks, candles, cocktail glasses, Venetian glass cocktail stirs, wine glasses, linen napkins,  pewter flatware, and China service for two.

Now, I can’t help but wonder and wonder and wonder about all of those journeys. What magic made those heavy suitcases feel as light as a feather?