Pebbles, ripples and impact: Don't hide your light under a bushel

We don't need to be a giant wave
crashing onto the beach to have an impact.
A small pebble tossed out into the water
can create a meaningful ripple.

My mother believed in telling someone what their work meant to her. She would often send me in to school with a note she had written to my drama, gym or music teacher about how much she had enjoyed X, Y or Z production in which I had participated. As a grade school kid, I was a bit embarrassed about what I perceived as odd behaviour on Mum’s part — why would my teachers care about her opinion? But as an adult, I, of course, recognize what a vote of confidence it was in those teachers, paying them not only respect for their work but offering the kindness of genuine appreciation for it. 

Now, I do it, too, often taking it one step further.

I communicate with the person to tell them that I appreciate their work, and sometimes I also offer up my own story as it relates to that work. Occasionally my message leads to nothing — literally; no response, no acknowledgement, nothing. That’s fine. Everyone is busy and some people won't care about me or my comments. But sometimes my message is like a pebble that lands in a pond and sends out ripples that lead to more.

Years ago, back in the pre-social media days, I sent author Sara Paretsky an email telling her how much I had enjoyed her book of nonfiction essays; I wasn’t sure she would actually read the email and I didn’t expect she would reply to it. So when a message from “Sara Paretsky” landed in my email inbox, I was astounded that the best-selling author of the V.I. Warshawski mystery novels was doing precisely that! And it was a real and personal message — from her, not an assistant or a bot. Fan-girl thrilled would describe my state when I received that message, though I was too stupid to save it or print it for my scrapbook. But the impact of receiving her response has stayed with me.

Last year, as my mother was in the final weeks of her life, I sent Sara another message, this one sharing the link to a piece I had written on my blog that was, in part, inspired by words she had shared on Facebook about how, when her husband died, the grief she felt was “like a piano crashing down from the sky”. I sent her my writing because of the impact her writing has had on me and because I wanted her to know that her words even just on Facebook land hard and good on those of us paying attention. And, again, she responded — not only to my email but to my blogpost: “Dear Amanda — You do me great honor if my words are a help to you in this most intense time. Thank you for sending the link to your post. Those last lines are deeply moving. And I hope, in your phrase, that your mother’s end will come softly and gently. Yours most truly, Sara.” That message is definitely in my scrapbook.

More recently, I sent an email to my local CBC Radio weekend morning show in response to a segment on remembering those who have died, and I included the link to my piece “Where is the end?” that I had written in remembrance of my mother and her legacy to me. In response, the show’s host invited me to be their “early bird” guest (the 6:15 a.m. time slot) and to read that piece on air, which I did. We ended up having a wide-ranging conversation about writing and its role in helping us process challenging things in our life. You can listen to it here. As a result of this guest appearance and reading, I have been invited to read my piece at a local poetry group, which I’ll do this week. It will be a first for me.

Another example: When my essay was published on Intima, a journal of narrative medicine in April, I sent the link to Dying with Dignity Canada; they shared the piece on their sites and then invited me to write a new piece for their blog. I ended up writing two; you can read them here and here.

We each of us carry pebbles in our hearts and minds, in our pockets and, sometimes, in our shoes. Sending those pebbles out into the world can create ripples that help us and that might help others, too. So, send them out there. Don’t horde them; share them. You just never know where the ripples created will land or how far-reaching they might be.

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Writing note: I have written a companion piece to the essay about my mother's medically assisted death published on Intima; you can read it here on their blog. 

Speaking note: If you'd like to hear me stumble through the French radio interview I mentioned a few weeks back, you can listen to it here.

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Land acknowledgement: I respectfully recognize that I live on the original lands of Anishinaabe, Cree, Oji-Cree, Dakota and Dene peoples, and on the homeland of the Métis Nation.

Photo by Sean on Unsplash