This morning on the way to work, I found a radio station playing a Whitney montage, which was just the catalyst I needed to grieve both her death and the daily absence of my love in my life.
I had driven to work because I was hustling to get to an 8am meeting. When I got there, someone asked how I was doing, and I explained how I'd just had a good Whitney-induced cry.
"Whatever" said one of the meeting participants. "I work with kids whose parents die of addiction all the time. One of the things I tell them is that if you're sick for a long time, eventually you die."
While it was clear that what was driving that comment was pain about the cruel world of poverty in whose trenches he works, I wasn't going to let him trivialize the end of the era where this voice is here to belt out and inspire us like she did in this moment and so many others:
Oh, say can you see by the dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars thru the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
I chose this song to illustrate this point not just because she nails it but because I've begun to see signs of this same disillusionment and detachment in my own life as a result of the work that I do. On Friday night, after a long week, I went out with some friends, and one of them was excitedly talking about work he hopes to do to change politics and Wisconsin for the better.
When I left he said "I'll let you know when I get too excited again and you can be the wet blanket you were tonight."
He was (half) kidding, but it really made me think. At my core, I'm a believer. I'm a dreamer. I'm an optimist. If that's getting lost, or getting buried, perhaps I'm in the wrong profession?
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