I originally wrote a version of a special essay for this blog back in 2011. My friend, the Profesora in Pittsburgh--and many of you--gave me the courage to revise and send it in for journal publication. Even Deanna once told me that she thought I should share this story in particular with a larger audience. That made the piece just that much more sentimental to me.
And so. Finally, I did. I bit the bullet and sent it in.
Well. In the July 9, 2014 issue of The Journal of The American Medical Association (JAMA), you can find an essay by your old friend. A piece that I know I never could have or would have written were it not for this space.
You know what else? I was even asked to do an author reading for their website. Yes. The JAMA website. Which blows my mind, actually.
Man. I was so afraid to submit this. And even when it got accepted for publication, I felt nervous about it and started second guessing myself.
When I heard my own voice reading my own truth on that recording? Out loud and for the whole world to hear? And when thought of it all--this truth so many of you have graciously given me permission to share so freely? Man. I broke down crying once I got to the end. Hard. I did. Because I felt really proud of myself. And super grateful. For you. For this. For words. For truth. For all of it.
Wow, man. Yet do I marvel.
(Click on the picture to hear the audio version.)
|Yet Do I Marvel. . . .|
If you click this photo, it will link you to the author reading on the JAMA website. It can be found next to a thumbnail of this same image. Also, just as an FYI, you'll need to be on a computer and not a mobile device for the link to work. And to read it full text you have to have either an individual or institutional subscription to JAMA. (But not to hear the audio.)
Yet Do I Marvel
I doubt not God is good, well-meaning, kind,
And did He stoop to quibble could tell why
The little buried mole continues blind,
Why flesh that mirrors Him must some day die,
Make plain the reason tortured Tantalus
Is baited by the fickle fruit, declare
If merely brute caprice dooms Sisyphus
To struggle up a never-ending stair.
Inscrutable His ways are, and immune
To catechism by a mind too strewn
With petty cares to slightly understand
What awful brain compels His awful hand.
Yet do I marvel at this curious thing:
To make a poet black, and bid him sing!
~ Countee Cullen
Share it, okay? The more we think together, the better we are together.
Happy Wednesday. And thank you so, so much for seeing me. I mean that with all of my heart.