The morning after a joyous evening I sat quietly by myself and took some time to reflect. (Radical, I know. It was delicious to sit with a cup of hot tea and think. Note to self: do that more often!)
It was a big night for my family. My parents received the “Living Legends” award from Planned Parenthood of the Southeast, an organization they’ve supported since my birth (I try not to take that personally). Atlanta’s current and former Mayors were there, many legislators, generous philanthropists and those with very little means –- more than 450 friends and supporters. It was a magical evening.
As I basked in the afterglow, feeling immense pride, I took a few moments to think about what lessons I learned that night. Snippets of conversations swirled around in my head, and they weaved an interesting web of awareness around my relationship with my adult parents.
First, I recalled conversations that all were reminders of gratitude. I am grateful that my parents are alive and well, that they are wonderful role models for me, that I was able to speak publicly about my respect for them (while they are still alive to hear it), that I really like them. Yes, gratitude—a celebration of the basics of life.
But the biggest lesson from that evening, it turns out, had to do with my parents’ willingness to ‘be seen.’
“Being seen” is a powerful affirmation of life. It shows up differently for everyone. For some, it is signing a petition or calling a legislator. For others, it is becoming a “fan” of a cause on Facebook or forward a moving email. We are seen when we share our stories, both the challenges and the successes. And we are seen when others witness a passage in our lives.
All of my life, my parents have been willing to be seen as taking a stand for their beliefs. They have been steadfast, unsung heroes of the issues and causes they have supported, from the United Way to the Urban League, from Planned Parenthood to the Anti-Defamation League. They taught me, by example, to take action, to be an active participant in life.
It was hard for my parents to take the leap to ‘be seen’ so publicly at that dinner. Despite decades of commitment, they had to be convinced to accept the award. They were concerned that they would not be able to ‘fill the room,’ that their involvement would not engender enough support for the organization.
It was difficult for them to publicly own the true contributions they have made over their lifetime of civic engagement together.
One of my favorite poems by Marianne Williamson (no, not Nelson Mandela, though I’m sure he would agree) speaks to this human experience:
“Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate,
but that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us.
We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant,
gorgeous, handsome, talented and fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
Your playing small does not serve the world.
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking
so that other people won't feel insecure around you.”
We humans have the tendency to get caught up in ‘playing small,’ to shy away from all that we are capable of doing and being. We concern ourselves with how we are ‘seen’ by others and allow ourselves to feel judged, even when no one else is doing the judging. The challenge, indeed, is to see ourselves as leaders, to acknowledge our own strengths and accept the responsibility that comes with leadership.
Williamson continues:
“And, as we let our own light shine, we consciously
give other people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our fear, our
presence automatically liberates others.”
Each of us has the capacity to “liberate others” by allowing ourselves to be magnificent.
Think about it. Where are leadership opportunities showing up in your life? Who is looking to you as a role model, for guidance, to clear a path?
Are you keeping yourself small, or allowing your brilliance to shine?
“You must be so proud” was a common refrain on that special evening, as you can imagine. And I am. Not because my parents got a fabulous award, but because it was so well-deserved. Because they accepted it so gracefully. Because, in their genuine humility, they were able to stand up proudly and acknowledge their success.
It turns out that not only could my parents fill the room, but it was filled to record numbers. People came out in droves to honor years of service to the community. And they were given that opportunity, in part, because my parents were willing to rise and be seen for who they really are: leaders in their community who stand up on the stage so that others may follow in their footsteps.
This blog also appears as part of my regular column on ShareWiK.com.