I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
–Emily Dickinson
If you were to go to my parents shed, you might find a lot of old junk of mine, and somewhere, in one of the boxes you will find a copy of this very poem, hand-copied by my 16-year-old-self onto a piece of notepaper, and taped to the inside of my binder for the 1991-1992 school year. There are several other poems taped there, and I had forgotten all about them, and all about that binder until last year when I rediscovered it on a visit to my parents’ house.
I did not think much about this poem at the time, but last week, after a classroom incident, and some archival processing work, it began to pop into my head here and there. An incident that reminded me of what my priorities are, why I am here, and what drives me as a person. Without going into unnecessary detail, I’ll simply say, that I saw one person tear down some one who was an easy target. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this moment, and about how it seemed “normal” to me at the time after spending the past decade in academia. Yet, on reflection, such behavior is extremely foreign to my core values, and the fact that I had normalized such behavior reminded me of how far I had drifted from my 16-year-old-self.
The academic career path is primarily about producing high-quality research and creating knowledge. In order to do this we need high standards, expectations of exactness, and a body of scholars who critique and police the boundaries of scholarly communication. In many ways, this pursuit of knowledge is, indeed, a noble one, and yet it is, for lack of a better phrase, “so not me.” This realization came to me through obituaries, yes, obituaries.
In my job at the archives, I have been spending a lot of time sorting through obituaries lately, and, when I am working on a collection of personal papers, I generally write a biography of the collection’s creator to introduce the collection to users. This got me thinking about what might be a morbid subject, my own obituary. I started to think: When I die, what do I want my obituary to say? What would I want the biography to my personal papers to say? I started to think about this seriously, and that is when “If I can stop one heart from breaking,” popped back into my head.
I had wandered so far into the academic forest that I had forgotten that it was not only okay, but also admirable to focus on helping others. Some accomplishments cannot be reduced to a line on a CV. There are many ways to contribute productively to society, and one of them is by guiding, helping, and uplifting. That’s where my passion is, that’s where I found the most joy in my previous career, and that’s why I am most interested in being a person who helps others by connecting them to the information they need.
So, in getting back to that obituary, I don’t care if it lists publications or conference papers or fancy titles. I do care that it talks about me as a caring, compassionate person, a good daughter, sister, friend, mentor, and maybe someday mother. I think of all those moments when I was teaching where I sat and listened to my students, the moments when I helped them find research material that excited them, and the times when, hopefully, I helped a student feel a little better about him/herself, a little more competent, a little more self-assured, a little more inspired, a little more dignified, a little less confused, a little less hurt, and a little less scared. Those are the things I want people to remember me for when I am gone; that’s my purpose in this life. For all the times when I didn’t do that, when I lost sight of who I am and what is important to me, I’m sorry.
If I have done any of those things already, then I have succeeded, but I hope that I get to do more. I do want to contribute to the advancement of knowledge in our world through helping. I want to lift people up instead of tear them down. I want to help others to see that we all have unique gifts to contribute to the world. I want to be remembered for these things, and I never want to stop being that 16-year-old girl who taped “If I can stop one heart from breaking,” on the inside of her school binder.