|Photo by Susan Wehrle at the Rosie Memorial in Richmond, California|
My voice will be stilled in the not too distant future, I know, and just who will be my replacement hasn't yet been determined. Or, maybe I'm just not aware of how that process will play out over time, and that's how it should be. After all, we're each one-of-a-kind human beings, not to be cloned except maybe in the case of identical twins, but even that may be improbable.
Perhaps those things we see in ourselves as flaws are really what makes us unique and un-clonable, maybe?
It becomes more puzzling with each day -- just why this relatively frail and inconsequential woman in her final decade has come to the attention of "The World", a world she has stood in awe of throughout a long and rather ordinary existence.
Only, in looking back, that life may have been far less ordinary -- in the living of it -- than I ever realized. The ups may have been higher and the lows far deeper -- all leading to an extraordinarily rich life experience, for all the pain or pleasure it brought. It's only in retrospect that I can see that, and realize that all of it was providing the enhanced energy and a keen perceptiveness that I'm able to access today as all of that aliveness appears to be on tap when I'm before audiences in my little theater presentations. I seem to be able to draw upon what turns out to be common and universal themes that connect with others.
This may be the only way for me to make sense of the magic ... .
Tomorrow I'll be facing the man I've watched so often as the Charlie Rose PBS show morphs into the Tavis Smiley show just before I fall off to sleep most nights. I'm so often struck by the sharp differences the two hosts represent -- Rose urbane and so clearly "New York", and Smiley "urban" and "earthy" (for whatever that means), but the nature of those differences has never been clear; except for that of race -- but that's no longer enough nor are those differences clear or of any particular importance.
There will be those first few moments of awkwardness as the fleeting and jarring thoughts of "who on earth do they think I am, and what are these folks expecting of me?" cross my mind. As always, once the conversation begins and I become an active listener (the secret) I will forget completely that this is out-of-the-ordinary, and my host's natural warmth will take over and he will become that young male interviewer of his older and more experienced guest (moi), and the time will flash by and it will have been just one more memorable experience to savor against an unknown future that has -- until this day -- always held promise ... .
... and then Monday will have passed, and another Tuesday will come, as always.