Remembering Chadwick

I'm not much into movies but I get why Chadwick Boseman's untimely passing is so devastating, and I have found myself feeling very emotional about it.  Hearkening back to a point I made in a post 12 years ago, we are particularly overcome because of how much Chadwick gave to us his fans, at great cost to himself.  While in cancer treatment, he inhabited some of Hollywood's most iconic roles, most notably T'Challa in "Black Panther," which is rightly hailed as one of the medium's great characters.  His portrayal of the king of Wakanda engendered an outpouring of admiration, particularly from parents of Black children thankful for the representation of a strong and noble leader that their kids can look up to.

 

I can't help but connect Chadwick's passing to another tragic loss, that of Kobe Bryant earlier this year.  Like Chadwick, Kobe belonged to us.  He worked hard and endured significant hardship to entertain us, to uplift us, to inspire us.  And, like Chadwick, Kobe was taken from us far too soon.

I can't say where everyone else's tears are coming from but for me I feel a deep sense of gratitude and debt to great men like Chadwick and Kobe, for all they sacrificed of themselves to bless others.  And I feel a deep sense of loss at what could've been for many years to come, more good works and more inspiring example - both men were well known for being charitable with their time and resources, and thoughtful in their social commentary and in what influence they had to do good.

 

 I want to be careful here because when we are hurting, we are absolutely given permission to be on the sidelines and take care of ourselves.  There is nothing to be ashamed of when life deals you a heavy burden and you have to ask for help instead of being help.  Nevertheless, we all should be inspired by the life of Chadwick and Kobe, inspired to consider what little or big we can do to be a benefit to others, even and especially at great cost to ourselves.  That, and not a totally selfish and self-absorbed life, is what life is for.  

We Know So Little and Should Not Act Otherwise

Look at the chart above. (H/t: MR.) COVID has been unacceptably awful in terms of body count, and the 1918 influenza was even worse.  But notice how much greater mortality was in urban New York in the 1800s.   

The notion of germs started to take root in the 1850s, but it took decades for it to become mainstream.  What took so long?  Doctors were a leading cause of death because, absent understanding how germs went, they transmitted disease to their next patients through their lab coats and their unwashed hands.  And even as the science definitively proved that unseen germs existed and were the cause of infection, doctors struggled with the possibility that they, the good guys against disease and death, were actually the carriers of it.

From 150 years later, it is easy to be incredulous at both the lack of understanding of germs and the lack of humility from the doctors.  Ah, but the future will look back at us with similar incredulity.  We have learned and progressed so much, it is true.  But we know so little.  Here's to a little more humility as a result, and while I'm at it, here's to infecting our kids with the sort of love of science that will help them grow into the innovators who help us figure out what we should've known all along.

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Here are a few excerpts from a book I recently read, "Boys & Sex: Young Men on Hookups, Love, Porn, Consent, and Navigating the New Masculinity," by Peggy Orenstein.

From the earliest ages, children are subject to messages that present women primarily as objects for male use, as rewards for victory, wealth, and fame; messages that disregard women’s perspective and inaccurately represent their gratification. Parents of little girls may surround their daughters with books and movies and images of complex female characters in an effort to offset all that, but rarely do parents of boys do the same: the distorted depiction of women in media is seen as a problem for girls alone.

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Here are a few excerpts from a book I recently read, "The Price for Their Pound of Flesh: The Value of the Enslaved, from Womb to Grave, in the Building of a Nation," by Daina Ramey Berry.

While I, and other scholars, contend that enslaved captives aboard slave ships in the Middle Passage had their personhood devalued, it is also true that their bodies, as commodities, increased in value over the course of their lives, reaching a peak in early adulthood. The tension between person and property merged in human chattel, and their awareness of their market value evolved as they matured. 

Dave Harper and many other formerly enslaved people taught me about the valuation and devaluation that comes with blackness. “I was sold for $715,” he shared in a postslavery interview in the late 1930s. “When freedom come,” he said, “give me $715 and I’ll go back.”1 Harper and others knew that they were more valued in slavery than in freedom. Henry Banner noted, “I was sold for $2,300—more than I’m worth now.” Some scholars deliberately interpreted such reflections to mean that enslaved people preferred captivity to freedom. This bothered me. I couldn’t fathom why anyone would prefer captivity unless they did not value themselves. The many voices I encountered in the archives, as I wrote articles, books, and encyclopedias about gender and slavery, spoke to me loudly and clearly. Enslaved people, of course, preferred freedom.

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Here are a few excerpts from a book I recently read, "With All Due Respect: Defending America with Grit and Grace," by Nikki Haley.

I consider Jesse Jackson a friend to this day because he took time to know me as a person. He didn’t come into South Carolina and take shots at me just because I was a Republican. He didn’t come into my state to stir up trouble. He came in to understand. And once he understood my intentions, he saw that I was just trying to do the best I could in a difficult situation. I came to understand the same about him. Most of all, I came to respect that in a situation in which he could have scored cheap political points, he chose to listen rather than scream. There’s a lesson in that for all of us.

Learning My Leadership Style

I’ve been blessed in my current job of having great bosses who’ve given me lots of room to learn and practice leadership within the firm.  Of course, as of last month, I’m now the boss, co-president with one other person to be specific.  And while my day-to-day hasn’t shifted radically due to this promotion, there is something psychologically substantial about carrying that top position.  So while I’m not new to leading within the company, here’s what I’ve learned about my own leadership style now that I more fully inhabit the boss role.

Love Your Body

My dad made my sister and me jog when we were little, so I wasn't a stranger to running.  In fact, I recall being a freshman in high school and mentioning in passing a 5k I'd run that weekend in under 24 minutes.  An upperclassman overheard and said, "hey, that's pretty good...you should try out for cross country!"  I knew him to be a fast runner so was honored he'd say that.  I found out later the slowest runner on the team ran 21 minutes for a 3.8-miler, and a 5k is 3.1 miles so I was pretty far away from being good enough for the team.  But this upperclassman was being charitable and inclusive. 

Anyway, I remember him saying something else to me, half-jokingly but half-seriously, which was "you kind of have to hate your body a little to love cross-country."  I say half-jokingly because he meant it as a positive thing even though you could take it as a horrifying statement.  But, so many years later, I remember and can appreciate the sentiment, especially as I am now at the age where any run of any length and pace engenders the sort of pain that you learn to love only to the extent that you're willing to punish your body at least a little bit.

But, walk back that original statement for a sec.  Do you have to hate your body to love distance running?  I do think there is something about leaning into what I'll call "the good pain," which is that sweet achiness you feel when you're pounding out the miles.  It would take a monk to just tolerate the pain of running just to get the benefits of running.  Runner's high and being in shape can only take you so far, especially when you get to my age, so maybe that upperclassman was right that you have to hate your body at least a little in order to subject it to "the good pain."

But obviously that can be a pretty awful way of approaching whether and how hard to run.  It is a good thing to be able to gut through something uncomfortable for the benefits on the other side; why, much of life is about this very discipline.  And of course there is a difference between "sweet achiness" and "good pain" on the one hand, and running yourself into and through an injury on the other. 

Still, the fact remains that in order to love your body, you do have to endure some pain, and more so you have to love the pain at least a little.  There's a metaphor here for life and suffering.  Pain is often a necessary portal to progress.  And you can learn to love the pain itself, and your body in the midst of it, rather than loving the pain because you hate your body.

Body image is a fraught issue for many people, and I hope nothing I've written above is unhelpful or triggering for anyone.  The fact of the matter is, no matter what your relationship to your body, you ought to love it.  And while there is bad pain, there can also be good pain.  But it starts with the foundation of loving your body. 

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Here are a few excerpts from a book I recently read, "River of Fire: My Spiritual Journey," by Sister Helen Prejean:

Once when I was inside the Louisiana death house awaiting an execution, Captain John Rabelais, a guard, asked: “What’s a nun doing in a place like this?” 

Here is an account of my journey to the killing chamber that night and the spiritual currents that pulled me there. 

It’s a river I’m riding.

I invite you to pitch your boat into its current and come with me.

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Here is an excerpt from an article I recently read, "This Cyclist Rides to Empower Others—and for Her Own Self-Care," in Bicycling Magazine.

I get a lot of messages from other plus-sized women who say things like, “Oh, I want to cycle, but I’ve been afraid it might be uncomfortable.” And I hope that by showing myself out there cycling, I can inspire someone to remove limitations they have in their minds. I’m hoping through representation, I can inspire someone who has been thinking about biking to get started and achieve their goals.

I’ve gotten so many positive reactions from people online who are trying to start their own wellness journeys, which is so inspiring. I didn’t realize how many people don’t see black women cycling, especially not plus-sized women. I didn’t realize that people like me didn’t see themselves reflected widely in the cycling community until I started cycling and sharing about it.

But now it’s all positivity. People hit me up and say, “I rode a bike today,” or “I signed up for a bikeshare because you inspired me to.”

Bodies come in all shapes and sizes, and that shouldn’t keep you from going out. For me, cycling has been a great addition to my self-care routine. And, I loved being able to be around groups of women and share the experience with friends or community

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