The Pieces That Ripple

My son and I completed a fun craft project earlier this week. We painted destination signs that we'll mount on a post. Each sign has the name a city and the miles from our house to that city. When we completed the project, I thought to myself that most of my knowledge of art techniques comes from my high school art teacher, Mrs. Strickland. I took art classes all 4 years of high school. I learned how to sculpt clay, paint with acrylics, draw with colored pencils and pastels and charcoal, and air brush cubist creations. When doubting my next move while creating a piece, Mrs. Strickland would stand by my shoulder, look at my artwork and say, "Go big or go home." The message she sent was, be bold and don't be afraid to make mistakes. It is in the leap that the magic happens, and I am in charge. I can stand frozen with fear, or I can make the next step and see what happens.

Thinking about my art teacher, and the indelible mark she left on me, I remembered other stand-out mentors and teachers I experienced through the years, including Mrs. Reinis, my high school chemistry teacher. She had all these unforgettable mnemonics for remembering some of the fundamentals of chemistry. Some of my favorites, which I can only remember and say in Mrs. Reinis' Long Island accent:

• "You want eight horses in your stable. That's what makes a stable octet in an atom."
• For titrations: "You want blushing bride, and not hot tamale." (I *always* got hot tamale -- even  years later in college-level organic chemistry lab.)
• For homework rules in her classroom: "You don't want to play Reinis Roulette. I don't always collect homework, but when I do, you want to be sure that it's done."

I absolutely loved chemistry class because of Mrs. Reinis.

Throughout my life, I had some memorable teachers, professors, and mentors. So when I heard the news that Mrs. Strickland passed away this week from ALS, it drove home to me how much each of us matters -- in big and small ways -- to each other. For 25+ years I have been carrying around pieces of Mrs. Strickland's philosophy on art and life. Her instruction is the foundation of my creative ability. I was just one student of the hundreds (thousands?) of students she taught over the decades of her career. So multiply my experience by 2 or 3, or more, depending on whether just 1 more person or even a handful of people had the same takeaways from her classes as I did. The same goes for Mrs. Reinis and the other teachers and mentors out there.

Our lives matter. How we show up in the world matters. Each of us creates ripples. And the most lasting ripples start when we "go big or go home". When we show up authentically and unapologetically as our truest, most honest selves, that's where the magic happens. That's when the sparks fly and the world becomes lighter, brighter, if only for a moment. But it is those moments that matter most and give meaning to our lives -- the only lives we will ever know. 

And it's a full circle moment thinking about the destination signs my son and I made together. Each sign we made was for a city where pieces of our hearts still reside -- either places we lived ourselves or places where special loved ones live. They are places where moments of great magic happened. I really wish it did not take so much darkness to see the light, or pain to realize the gifts of this life, here in the moment, but I really do not think we could savor the good, relish the peace, or breathe in the joy as deeply without knowing their absence. I do my best to let others know how much their presence matters to me, and I always wish I could do a better job of that, especially for my children and my husband. And I really, really wish I was better at recognizing my own gifts and talents and appreciating the ripples I can create with them. I think that is something we could all do a better job of doing for ourselves, and that might be the most important lesson for keeping hope alive. For what we cultivate in ourselves, we ripple out into our world.