Shining my light

 You never know when the Universe will bitch-slap you with some truth.

I sat down for lunch recently, pulling out the latest Oprah magazine. “Mmmm,” I thought, “Elizabeth Gilbert is a new monthly columnist!”

I love Liz Gilbert. She’s like the cool older sister who’s away at college while you’re still a sophomore in high school, and one day she invites you to ride around in a convertible with her and her friends, top down, music blaring, everyone singing along to Bon Jovi and it’s the best day of your life. That’s what her writing feels like to me.

Her first column “This Little Light of Yours” starts off on a crosstown bus slogging through NYC rush hour traffic on a cold, rainy day. The mood of the passengers was ugly and tense. Gilbert writes:

But as the bus approached Seventh Avenue, the driver got on the intercom. “Folks,” he said, “I know you’ve had a rough day and you’re frustrated. I can’t do anything about the weather or traffic, but here’s what I can do. As each one of you gets off the bus, I will reach out my hand to you. As you walk by, drop your troubles into the palm of my hand, okay? Don’t take your problems home to your families tonight – just leave ‘em with me. My route goes right by the Hudson River, and when I drive by there later, I’ll open the window and throw your troubles in the water. Sound good?”

As I read this, and with no warning whatsoever, I burst into tears. For the next few minutes, I sobbed, wiping my eyes with my napkin. Sobbed! Why I was crying so hard was a complete mystery. After a few minutes of waterworks, I pulled it together, put my glasses back on and resumed reading.

Gilbert writes that the passengers’ mood changed dramatically and for the better with the driver’s offer to gather up their problems and drop them in the river. At each stop, the bus driver held out his hand while every last passenger mimed putting something into it. With one simple gesture, this man helped everyone shrug off the collective bad mood and he lifted their spirits.

“We live in a hard world, my friends,” says Gilbert, and she’s right. Bad news reports, especially people being cruel to one another, send me into a downward spiral and often I want to cover my ears while singing “La la la! I can’t hear you!” It can be very hard just to be.

It’s dark times like this, says Gilbert, when we long for the light but don’t know where to find it. Her next line pierced me like an arrow: “What if you are the light?”

Damned if the crying didn’t come right back with the same intensity as before. This time it felt like crying because I recognized truth. And as I type this, my eyes are tearing up again. I’ve hit the nail on the head.

I cried in recognition of the fact that I want to be the light for other people. That’s what I want to be when I grow up: the light that makes tough times a little more bearable. Because I’ve benefited far more than I deserve from the light-shiners in my life.

When I was diagnosed with cancer, I remember crying from frustration or fear only twice. The first time was when my oncologist told me I’d lose my hair during chemotherapy. That felt like one injustice too many: Cancer AND baldness? Are you freakin’ kidding me?

The second time was the morning of my first chemotherapy session – I was too scared to leave my bedroom and had to be pulled out the door into the car. I was like a toddler in full meltdown, sobbing and saying “But I don’t want to go!” I was terrified of not knowing what chemotherapy would feel like or do to me.

I did far more crying in response to the kindness people showed me. Didn’t matter how big or small the gesture was, I recognized pure goodness in every effort: a sweet note, dinner dropped off, sparkly earrings when I lost my hair, a voicemail telling me that a small group of monks in Wyoming were praying for me. I felt overwhelmingly blessed, as if the Universe itself wrapped me in a hug, kissed the top of my head and said “Seems like you’re having a bad day. How about some ice cream?”

All of those people who reached out to me were the light I needed at the time. They’re part of why I maintain that having cancer was one of the best things that’s ever happened to me; it reminded me that people can be just so good.

Goodness and light can feel in short supply these days. Happily there are humans, like the bus driver, who shine bright kindness onto others’ dark times. I’m convinced that light-shiners are the main reason I made it through cancer; their goodness lifted me, just like the bus driver lifted his passengers.

We all need a little light from time to time. I’m paying close attention to when the people around me need it, so I can give it. And I’ll let you in on a little secret: you can’t ever run out of light. The more you give, the brighter it burns. Shine away!