This morning while carrying a load full of dirty laundry, my mind traipsed back to the past: 2003 sitting in a movie theater with my daughters, 16 and 13 years old. The movie had ended and, as was their tradition, we stayed put in our seats as the credits rolled.
Sitting forward in their seats they would gleefully announce as loudly as possible, “Oh my goodness! I had no idea that Suzy Smith worked on this film!” as a random name scrolled by on the screen. It might be the name of a manicurist, or the person who held the boom mic during production. It might be the name of an extra who had one line in the movie. It was a time of joyful acknowledgement of the lesser known entities, without whom the multi-million dollar movie could not have been made. In fact, I believe this was always my daughters’ favorite part of the movie, and I felt proud as smiling heads turned in their direction, acknowledging them acknowledging others.
As I dumped the laundry into the washer, another memory came in strong like a special effect in a movie, commanding attention with its stealth: my favorite Professor at UCLA. Professor Paul Sellin who taught potentially the most boring English class ever—Victorian Literature and Prose—with such flair and enthusiasm that I couldn’t help but get caught up in his rapture as he described the dry and boring rhetoric of Sir Francis Bacon. Students lined up at the classroom door far in advance of the Professor’s arrival. We couldn’t wait to watch the show!
I nervously approached Professor Sellin with my idea for a final paper. It had to be approved by him. I stammered as I spoke, “Um, uh, my idea is to write about The Seductive Quality of Sir Francis Bacon’s Rhetoric.” I gulped as I was certain he would laugh. Instead he raised his eyebrows and said, “Well, that’s certainly ambitious. I look forward to reading your paper.” To say that I was elated by his words would be an understatement.
And, when, on my last day of school before graduation, as I was taking my final exam in his class, he began handing out our graded final papers, I again gulped.
He then announced the following: “Of all of the papers I have ever read in my years of teaching, there is one that stands out above the rest. This is one of the most creative and ambitious works I have ever read from my students, and I sure wish there were more students like this.” Oh, how I wished it was me! I held my breath, awaiting bitter disappointment.
Instead, to my utter surprise, it was me! He handed me my paper and thanked me for writing it! I could hardly believe it when I saw the A+ on the cover. It is not an understatement to say that he saved my life with his comments. I had grown weary of writing dry, boring papers on other professors’ expected topics. I had grown weary of the average grades I received when I tried to present a new thought or perspective in my final papers. Most professors didn’t want creative thinking, they wanted compliance. On this last day of school before graduation, Professor Sellin—for whom I had the greatest respect and adulation—had given me the green light of aknowledgment that would allow me to be courageous enough to grow and play with writing again.
Where was my mind going with all of these seemingly random but interconnected memories? I sat down at my computer and checked for any orders that might have come in from my clients. There were a few, and as I scrolled through each one I read their names aloud—“Thank you, Suzy Smith”—as I had done every day for decades. In that moment, the dots were connected. My mind was shining a light on the importance of acknowledgement.
I thought about the acknowledgements pages in my autobiography in which I had been determined to acknowledge everyone and everything that had ever touched or shaped my life. Two pages of names and events written in 4-pt type were just the tip of the iceberg. As I discovered later, many names were unintentionally left out. And, the ones that I intentionally left out should have been acknowledged too, such as the darker and more excruciating people and experiences that have forever shaped my life by providing the contrasts and tough lessons that I desperately needed to truly understand life and self love.
It dawned on me that I wouldn’t be me without the support of the entire universe, of which you, dear reader, are an integral part.
Thank you, YOU-niverse. It’s so nice to be One with you.
