I don’t know how many times I’ve read that poem. It hangs in the English department at my university, a door away from an artistic cover of The Wizard of Oz by Frank L. Baum and right across from my thesis adviser’s office. So I’ve stared at it, taken it in, read it and reread it and thought about it, recited it for no reason other than the musicality of it stays in my head long after I’ve left the hallway.
Phenomenal woman, it says over and over again. Phenomenal woman, that’s me.
Maya Angelou was a great woman. She suffered, and she overcame, and she rose to every occasion that life offered to her, and she triumphed. Her story, now being told and retold in wake of her recent passing, is one of triumph, of overcoming adversity and living life in spite of and because of hardships. She was amazing. Her story is amazing. She touched so many and lived a life worthy of… of what, I don’t know. I can’t describe it. Unlike the people that are able to tell her story, I don’t have the power of being succinct, concise, and well-spoken. I can’t sum up her great accomplishments and her legacies in a few sentences surrounded by quotes of her mourners. She is still too much of a giant in my mind to reduce everything she’s done to a simple blog post written by a kid. So I won’t. I can only speak of myself, and how she captivated me and moved me.
I have heard Maya Angelou speak twice in my life. The first time, she spoke to my incoming class of freshmen to welcome us to Wake Forest University. I was so scared in my first few days of college. Scared and immensely regretting my decision to come to the university, because the people were so different than me and I didn’t know anyone and I didn’t quite fit in and, I thought then, I never would. She talked about accomplishment, and pride, about how we should all be proud to be here. She talked about taking advantage of the great opportunities we had before us, ones that so many people never get, and told us to experience as much as we could. I started thinking about my own life, my own future. It felt like she spoke directly to me, telling me that somehow, I had made the right decision. She had that power. To own a room, and then to speak to every inhabitant like they were the only ones there. She cared about people deeply. She always made that clear.
The second time was in November of last year. She spoke to a crowd in the music department of Wake. Unlike the first speech, I wasn’t able to hear her in person. I watched the stream from the office of my internship, also on campus. Again, her words inspired me. Again, I thought about my life and my future. Maya Angelou has done so much with her life, from Calypso singing to driving a streetcar, from writing and acting and dancing to fighting for Civil Rights and for justice. Whether by circumstance or desire she never stopped living her life or waited for things to happen. She made things happen. She found opportunities. And I read that poem, so many times, finding myself in the place of all of those “pretty women” who “wonder where my secret lies”. How did she take all of her hardship and still manage to survive? How did she make a name for herself when it seemed like everything was against her? I have so many opportunities and yet it seems like I can’t do a thing.
After she died I asked myself the same questions. I looked at her life over and over again in news articles and wondered about her and about myself. About my place in the world, and about my aspirations in life. Do I want to write? Do I want to be in my hometown forever? What was I even doing? I thought back to the poem that I read so many times. About the mystery of her power, the strength of her character. About the beauty of black women, and the draw of a woman in general. I love that poem so much, for everything it says and means and everything it doesn’t.
Yesterday, her memorial service was not more than a two minute walk from this poem. Hundreds of people touched by her words and her actions and her life, much like me, were so close to the hallway where I found myself studying a poem by one of the world’s greatest poets.
“Life loves the liver of it,” is a quote by Ms. Angelou. And I want to live up to it. Not everyone is meant to be eulogized by Oprah and the First Lady. But every person has a chance to make something of themselves. To enjoy their life to the fullest, and to inspire others, even on a small scale. That is what she showed me, what she inspired in me. The desire to live, to survive, to tell my story, and maybe even, one day, inspire someone in turn. I am one of a million legacies left behind by Maya Angelou.
And I cannot be more proud.
My Life in Stasis 