grateful for every step

It’s an excellent annual quest to find wisdom embedded in the collection of commencement speeches. This year — from Apple CEO Tim Cook encouraging George Washington U. grads to find “work that’s infused with moral purpose” — to Hank Azaria delivering advice in the varied voices of “The Simpsons” characters Chief Wiggum, Moe Szyslak, and Apu Nahasapeemapetilon at Tufts — there was yet one address I found myself returning to repeatedly. It was delivered by Sheryl Sandberg, the COO of Facebook, at the University of California-Berkeley two and a half weeks ago. I started by liking part of her intro…

“… Today is a day of thanks. A day to thank those who helped you get here — nurtured you, taught you, cheered you on, and dried your tears. Or at least the ones who didn’t draw on you with a Sharpie when you fell asleep at a party…”

She was also, wisely reflective…

“… A commencement address is meant to be a dance between youth and wisdom. You have the youth. Someone comes in to be the voice of wisdom — that’s supposed to be me. I stand up here and tell you all the things I have learned in life, you throw your cap in the air, you let your family take a million photos – don’t forget to post them on Instagram — and everyone goes home happy…”

She was bold…

“… Today will be a bit different. We will still do the caps and you still have to do the photos. But I am not here to tell you all the things I’ve learned in life. Today I will try to tell you what I learned in death…”

And then in a seemingly unprecedented message, Sandberg was transparent. She shared the story of losing her husband only a year ago. He was young; it was sudden and unexpected. She talked about being “swallowed up in the deep fog of grief — what I think of as the void — an emptiness that fills your heart, your lungs, constricts your ability to think or even to breathe.” And instead of pouring into these brand new adults by imploring them to “be all they can be” in all “the places they’ll go,” she shared with them an empowering reality. She shared with us… a deep truth — a lesson in death…

“Last month, eleven days before the anniversary of Dave’s death, I broke down crying to a friend of mine. We were sitting — of all places — on a bathroom floor. I said: ‘Eleven days. One year ago, he had eleven days left. And we had no idea.’ We looked at each other through tears, and asked how we would live if we knew we had eleven days left.

… Can you ask yourselves to live as if you had eleven days left? I don’t mean blow everything off and party all the time… I mean live with the understanding of how precious every single day would be. How precious every day actually is.

A few years ago, my mom had to have her hip replaced. When she was younger, she always walked without pain. But as her hip disintegrated, each step became painful. Now, even years after her operation, she is grateful for every step she takes without pain — something that never would have occurred to her before.

As I stand here today, a year after the worst day of my life, two things are true. I have a huge reservoir of sadness that is with me always — right here where I can touch it. I never knew I could cry so often — or so much.

But I am also aware that I am walking without pain. For the first time, I am grateful for each breath in and out — grateful for the gift of life itself. I used to celebrate my birthday every five years and friends’ birthdays sometimes. Now I celebrate always. I used to go to sleep worrying about all the things I messed up that day — and trust me that list was often quite long. Now I try really hard to focus on each day’s moments of joy.

It is the greatest irony of my life that losing my husband helped me find deeper gratitude — gratitude for the kindness of my friends, the love of my family, the laughter of my children. My hope for you is that you can find that gratitude — not just on the good days, like today, but on the hard ones, when you will really need it.”

Sandberg makes me think. About being grateful. For every step.

Respectfully…
AR