This post
starts with one of those extraordinary ordinary stories. You've had
a similar experience, if you're fortunate. You've heard this story
before and you're destined to hear it again. Why do these stories
return in our lives again and again? I had to contemplate that
question for a few days. The answer came to me a few mornings ago,
while I was out pretending to be a runner.
They return time and again because they are the truth and because we forget the
truth. They return to remind us to live the truth. As
you know, I believe living the truth is particularly important for
creative people. We are the truth seekers and the truth tellers.
The world needs us, especially now, as we are surrounded by boatloads
of hype (like Lose 10 Pounds in 2 Days) and fabrications of epic
proportions (like How Safe Are You, Really?).
Here's
the story.
On the
morning of Wednesday, September 11, I attended the wake of my
neighbor, Ed McBride. I didn't really know Ed all that well because
we only met on morning walks. Until recently, I saw him almost every
single morning. I knew that Ed was Irish. That was obvious the
second he said hello, as his melodious Irish brogue oozed through
every word. I also knew that Ed was a complete, 100%
optimist. He was unfailingly positive, which shone through the one
phrase he always said to me. That phrase, which usually came in the form of a question, had only one answer, at least from Ed's viewpoint.
The phrase?
“It's a
beautiful day, isn't it?”
The day
could be completely gray, 37 degrees with the chance of sleet, traffic could be zooming by, road rage emitting from every vehicle and
Ed's first response would still be -
“It's a
beautiful day, isn't it?”
As you
can imagine, there were days when I would see Ed coming towards me
and I would think “Oh man, here comes Ed and he's going to tell me
what a beautiful day today is. I've got 7 hours of teaching ahead of
me, 23 emails that need answering and I really want to practice for
next week's performance. The Teen is ornery again and 3 of my
students have cancelled at the last minute – this does NOT feel
like a beautiful day to me.”
But, I
have to admit, hearing Ed ask that simple question would remind me
that the possibility existed that today was a beautiful day. I'd walk away feeling lighter and positive, even if only for a few
minutes. The seed planted, Ed would go on his way, looking for another potential victim of his positive outlook.
Ed and I
live on the iconic Main Line, outside of Philadelphia. Life here is
full and fast. Overachievers abound. You cannot be successful
enough or rich enough here. There are captains of industry in the
produce section at the grocery store and high-powered attorneys in
front of you at the coffee shop. Retired professional athletes show
up at the local car wash. The fast and furious lifestyle is
advocated, and if you join in, you can stay. If you don't ascribe to
that lifestyle, you can stay, but make sure you stay out of the way,
because we are going places - NOW.
Ed
McBride, on a regular basis, took his Irish heritage pin and popped
the Main Line fast and furious lifestyle balloon. What mattered to
Ed is what should matter to all of us. You, him and the fact that
today was a beautiful day. Didn't matter the weather, didn't matter
the traffic, didn't matter the to-do list, didn't matter the
existential yearnings of your soul, didn't matter nothing, every day
was a beautiful day to Ed McBride and he would make sure that you
understood how important that was.
I
hadn't seen Ed for a few months. He was a part of that unique subset
of people in my life. You probably have a similar subset. These are
the people you see on a regular basis as you go about your life. You see them on your way to work, on the
train, in the parking lot, in the Dunkin' Donuts. They're very much
a part of your life, but you know very little about them. So I
wasn't completely surprised when I saw Ed's obituary in the
newspaper.
Serendipitously,
I had the morning of Ed's wake open. And I knew exactly how to
attend. In honor of my relationship to Ed, I strolled up to the
local Catholic church in my walking clothes. Don't worry, I put on
some makeup. Walking to Ed's wake in my walking clothes was, as I
told my neighbor, my tribute to Ed. Besides, Ed didn't know me any
other way!
I
didn't know who would be there, if anyone. A 73-year-old single man,
with strong roots to Ireland? Ed was super-friendly, but what if
everyone was like me and only knew him peripherally? Would others
take the time to say goodbye to Ed, if their relationship consisted
of a friendly, brief conversation during morning walks?
Yes,
they would and yes, they did. There were plenty of people there and
in the surprise of the day, there were quite a few people that I knew
from other areas of my life. I immediately gravitated to the group
of 5 or 6 women, all attractive
middle-age women. Care to guess how we all met Ed? You got it. On
our daily walks. And what did we all remember hearing Ed say? Yup -
“It's
a beautiful day, isn't it?”
We were
all touched by this simple commonality. One guy and one simple
thought that had touched each one of us deeply. We basked in the
beauty of that moment. We did. All of our concerns about our kids,
our careers, our sagging bodies, they were gone for that moment
because Ed had reminded us that today was a beautiful day.
What
does the passing of Ed McBride have to do with Creatavita?
It's
the connection, you guys, it's the connection. At the core of
everything we do is the desire to connect with other humans. Ed did
it on a person-to-person basis. Whether you do it for one person
with your painting, or 17 people with your Tuesday evening
performance or 10,000 at your Madison Square Garden concert, that
doesn't matter. It's the connection.
So, as
you go about your connecting today and every day, whether practicing, performing,
designing, sketching, dreaming, remember....
It's A
Beautiful Day