One day, when I was a kid, I was at the shopping mall with my mom and we saw a ‘famous’ soap opera actor signing autographs. The role he played was a rockstar and he was there that day dressed the part with his leather jacket and feathered hair. The response to him was rockstar-esque; lots of screaming and security.
Photocopies of his picture were handed out to everyone and there were also copies scattered all over the floor. I noticed a lot of people were stepping on his handsome face in their eagerness to meet him. When I got up to the front of the line and it was my turn to get his autograph, it was nothing like I imagined. He asked me my name but then wrote a different name on the picture. I was too shy to correct him and also strangely fascinated that he was wearing such heavy make-up. In that brief exchange while he was signing someone else’s name to my page, I just blankly stared at him. I wasn’t star-struck or impressed. I just kept thinking I was sorry to be playing along. It didn’t seem fair to anyone.
Have you ever been right in the middle of something akin to this? Have you ever seemingly woken up amidst something that felt like a sham? Is it worth a continued investment of your energy to maintain the expectation? Ask yourself in your quiet moments, who really benefits?
Maybe this, in part, is what I love about Naomi Shihab Nye’s poem, Famous. The connection between ‘being-ness’ and fame has an eternal quality that my heart recognizes and affirms so readily, like, “the cat sleeping on the fence is famous to the birds…,” while the “pulley” and “buttonhole” remember their own worth.
Isn’t your true life’s work to let go of external validation and explore your inner guide to being? Is it ever too late to begin? To begin again?
