The Dash

There is a beautiful poem by Linda Ellis called, ‘The Dash.’ It refers to the years from birth to death as written on our tombstones with a dash in the middle. Displayed as 1950 – 2020 for example.  Our time of life.

I love where it says,

“For it matters not how much we own;

The cars, the house, the cash,

What matters is how we live and love,

And how we spend our dash.”

My dad said to me when I was very young, “Don’t be self-involved and other directed, be self-directed and other involved.” At the time I nodded and smiled, appreciative of the wisdom he was trying to impart, even though I didn’t understand it at the time.

For the longest time I believed that only large acts were important. Big spectacles, like jumping into an icy river to save a drowning person, or pulling a child out of a fire would qualify. These were the real heroes in this world. Larger than life people making sweeping changes to the masses were the ones who counted.

The fact of the matter is, those are wonderful things, indeed, but impactful events can come in very small offerings. As they say, ‘it’s the little things.’ It’s the hug we give to someone who’s hurting. It’s the meal we cook for a friend who is exhausted from work and life. It’s the time we take to give a compliment or lend an ear to people we may not know. The effects of these simple gestures are long lasting and can impact another’s life in ways we cannot not see or gauge. This is where my dad’s words finally sunk in. Be self-directed and other involved. When I step away from my myriad of daily challenges and allow myself to give a moment of my time to help another, my own life becomes enriched.

When I was about 13-years-old, I asked for a pass from class to go to the restroom. The teacher handed me the large ruler-like looking thing that I had to carry so staff would know I had permission to be in the halls. After I’d taken a few steps out of the room, a group of older boys started teasing me. They grabbed the pass and started throwing it back and forth over my head. I was frightened as I tried to grab it back. I started to cry. They just laughed. At that moment an older kid walked around the corner and yelled at the boys to stop it. “Can’t you see she’s scared?” He said, taking the pass back and handing it to me. He walked me to the bathroom, stood outside the door, then walked me all the way safely back to class. I’ve never forgotten that boy. It was a simple gesture, but made a direct impact on me.

It’s a mystery how simple words and gestures can have such an impact, but isn’t it a beautiful thing that they do? In that way, we are all heroes to one another on any given day.

Ciao for now.