What we all have in common

I have thousands of pages and hours of recordings that I will never read, hear or see again, and many that I will never read, hear or see, period, but each of them is a connection to who I am.

I book I have never read, or a record or CD or DVD I have never played, still represents a moment when I reached out thinking, “This looks interesting. I wonder if I’ll find something in it worth sharing.”

That’s what creative expressions are — an attempt to share something the creator thought was worth sharing.

And the existence of each item in my collection is a clue to who I am — the fact that I sought it out provides a hint about me, for better or for worse. The same can be said about each of your possessions.

Perusing a friend’s bookshelf or other collections can tell you a lot about what’s important to them. It’s why we ask things like “What’s your favorite movie? What kind of music do you like? What’s your favorite color” — always seeking clues to who we are. It’s also a search for common ground; we delight in hearing, “Oh, I love that song, too! Oh, the part in the story where that happened, were you as deeply touched as I was??”

Huh. Common ground. We are always seeking common ground.

Here I go into the evil of contemporary politics again: We are assailed daily by people who want to separate us — the opposite of the search for common ground. “You there! Retire to your little box and don’t come around here no more!”

But in our creative works, we find things worth sharing, the things that unite us even in our distinct individuality and uniqueness. When a film or a song or a dance or a play connects with us, we see our common humanity and we share something worth sharing.

I saw a wonderful movie the other day and looked for more information about it, which led me to one review where the writer said, “It’s too bad that actress is a communist — that ruined it for me.” 

He didn’t see that a person with abhorrent opinions still made a human connection, because that’s what creators and their creations do — they show us reason after reason to love our neighbors and even to love our perceived enemies. There are concepts that rise above our creations and lead us inevitably to our Creator.

The conundrum of the bum knee

I was walking toward a restaurant for a dinner with old friends a year or so ago, when one of them approaching called out, “Whoa! How did you hurt your leg?”

That honestly was the first time I became conscious that I often walk with a pronounced limp. My left knee has not been my friend for more than a decade, and for several years I guess I have been in denial. Most of the time I don’t notice the pain, but apparently my gait does.

I’ve never been interested in a knee replacement, and the one time I started to consider the possibility, there was an outbreak of obituaries of people who “died from complications of knee surgery.”

The topic is on my agenda for my annual checkup, though, a few weeks from now. I hope to make a little progress on the weight-loss front before then, too. I have long thought that part of the problem is the extra strain I have placed on this 6-foot-1 skeleton that went the first 44 years supporting less than 200 pounds, and I’d love to see how improved my health would be if I got back down to that mark. The problem there is, I haven’t weighed less than 200 pounds for about 30 years.

That doesn’t mean my suspicions aren’t correct. Let’s see if I can muster the discipline to get there.

Can greatness happen intentionally?

Will this be the day I get the backyard garden in order? Or will I write a groundbreaking short story that redefines science fantasy for a new generation? Will I compose an anthem for the ages or something else that echoes through time? Will it be enough that I made the effort?

As I sit here scratching at my journal and sipping coffee, I’m not feeling ready to tackle great goals or attempt to bring grandiose visions into focus, but after all I am barely two hours into my allotted 16 hours of waking — and I slept through almost the first hour. Perhaps the caffeine will help.

On the other hand, I wonder if John Newton woke up one morning intending to write “Amazing Grace,” or if Shakespeare toiled over “Hamlet” believing it would still be performed in 400 years. The answer is probably more mundane. 

On the third hand, Bruce Springsteen was tasked with composing a hit single to complete his new album and came back the next morning with “Dancing in the Dark,” and John Sebastian was asked to deliver a TV theme song overnight and came back with “Welcome Back,” which was so catchy the producers renamed the show they had been calling “Kotter.”

So: Sometimes greatness can be produced on demand, and sometimes you set out to produce something, anything, and greatness somehow ensues. It’s an inexact art.

One thing all those creators had in common, though, is that they sat down to produce. They showed up.

And so, here I am, Lord. What will we do with this most amazing day?