Last night I rambled on about how I wrote "Everybody Knows About Me" after reading about the life of Joseph D. Greene. I told that story because it's a good story, but also because I wanted to thank him. He never knew that his book had influenced me in any way. I figured I'd drop him a line and give him the link.
I'd thought about doing something like this for years. I didn't before because I wanted to have something impressive to show him. Writing the song didn't seem like enough. Recording the song and releasing it during ME/CFS Awareness Week didn't seem like enough. Once the ME/CFS video featuring the song went live, though, I decided it was time.
You know where this is going, right? Yeah. In the search for his contact info, I found out that he'd died over two years ago.
Here's the obit.
I was stupid. All my reasons for waiting were stupid. I know as well as anybody that when you create something, anything, what you want to hear most is that it connected with somebody. He wouldn't have shrugged off the acknowledgment because I hadn't accomplished enough yet.
Next time I need to thank someone for nudging my life in a better direction, remind me not to wait.
Showing posts with label Joseph D. Greene. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Joseph D. Greene. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Ripple effect
When people ask why I wrote Everybody Knows About Me, our song about living with undiagnosed ME/CFS, I usually give the short version: I know somebody who has it.
The short story ought to be the whole story. I witnessed the suffering of a person who is very close to me. I saw how the prejudice around his disease compounded his suffering. Of course I would want to get his message out to the world in the best way I knew how.
And I did. It just happened a little more circuitously than that.
Back in 2005, I copyedited a book called From Cotton Fields to Board Rooms. It's a memoir by an African-American, Joseph D. Greene, who grew up in Georgia when blatant and brutal discrimination was taken for granted. Starting out with only $35 and a high school diploma in his pocket, he worked his way up the corporate ladder, earning a bachelor's degree and a master's degree along the way.
With what miniscule free time he had, he gave back to the community. He became the first black person to serve on dozens of governing boards. When stricken with cancer later in life, he became active in fundraising for a cure.
This man's life blew me away. With so little money, so little opportunity, and all of society conspiring to keep him a second-class citizen, he thrived. He made other people's lives better.
And what about me? Here was a cause staring me right in the face: thousands upon thousands of people crushed under the heels of a disease that few believed existed. What had I, the middle-class white girl from the suburbs, contributed to that cause? Nothing at all.
With all the resources and opportunities I had at my disposal, I should be Doing Something. I should found an organization! Form a committee! Raise money to find a cure for chronic fatigue syndrome!
(Back in 2005, I didn't know that there were other, better names for "chronic fatigue syndrome.")
When I tried to think of how I might found my organization or form my committee, I stalled out. I had no clue as to how one accomplished such things. I also couldn't quite see myself as the leader of this little movement. I'm not the kind of person that other people follow.
This rattled around in my head for a few days, and then something else occurred to me. Other CFS organizations already existed. Other fundraising efforts were already underway. It wasn't like I had some brilliant idea for raising money or awareness than they hadn't already thought of.
Finally, the part of me that's smarter than the rest of me spoke up.
You're not the type who does committees, it said. You write songs. Why don't you write a song?
Huh. Yeah.
It's funny to think about this now. Today it baffles me that I didn't write "Everybody Knows About Me" years earlier. The inspiration was right there. But the truth is, I wrote it when I did because someone with a greater sense of duty to his fellow humans jolted me out of my complacency.
The short story ought to be the whole story. I witnessed the suffering of a person who is very close to me. I saw how the prejudice around his disease compounded his suffering. Of course I would want to get his message out to the world in the best way I knew how.
And I did. It just happened a little more circuitously than that.
Back in 2005, I copyedited a book called From Cotton Fields to Board Rooms. It's a memoir by an African-American, Joseph D. Greene, who grew up in Georgia when blatant and brutal discrimination was taken for granted. Starting out with only $35 and a high school diploma in his pocket, he worked his way up the corporate ladder, earning a bachelor's degree and a master's degree along the way.
With what miniscule free time he had, he gave back to the community. He became the first black person to serve on dozens of governing boards. When stricken with cancer later in life, he became active in fundraising for a cure.
This man's life blew me away. With so little money, so little opportunity, and all of society conspiring to keep him a second-class citizen, he thrived. He made other people's lives better.
And what about me? Here was a cause staring me right in the face: thousands upon thousands of people crushed under the heels of a disease that few believed existed. What had I, the middle-class white girl from the suburbs, contributed to that cause? Nothing at all.
With all the resources and opportunities I had at my disposal, I should be Doing Something. I should found an organization! Form a committee! Raise money to find a cure for chronic fatigue syndrome!
(Back in 2005, I didn't know that there were other, better names for "chronic fatigue syndrome.")
When I tried to think of how I might found my organization or form my committee, I stalled out. I had no clue as to how one accomplished such things. I also couldn't quite see myself as the leader of this little movement. I'm not the kind of person that other people follow.
This rattled around in my head for a few days, and then something else occurred to me. Other CFS organizations already existed. Other fundraising efforts were already underway. It wasn't like I had some brilliant idea for raising money or awareness than they hadn't already thought of.
Finally, the part of me that's smarter than the rest of me spoke up.
You're not the type who does committees, it said. You write songs. Why don't you write a song?
Huh. Yeah.
It's funny to think about this now. Today it baffles me that I didn't write "Everybody Knows About Me" years earlier. The inspiration was right there. But the truth is, I wrote it when I did because someone with a greater sense of duty to his fellow humans jolted me out of my complacency.
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