Love & dating · Joy & gratitude
On the question
Since 1987, at every wedding, someone's aunt has asked me — gently, as one inquires after a limp — whether I never wanted to marry. Here is the answer at full length, recorded so I can finally stop giving it: I wanted my life. I got it. Whole decades of mornings that belonged entirely to me, work I loved past reason, forty-one students who are my descendants in the way that counts for me, and friendships forty years deep that nobody ever asked me to rank. A life can be full in more shapes than the one on the greeting cards. Mine was one of the other shapes. It held.
To someone younger: A full life comes in more shapes than the cards print. Pick yours on purpose.
— Dr. Priya Sharma · Immunologist — thirty-four years at NIH, BethesdaDemonstration
Leadership & mentoring · Friendship & community
On running a lab
A lab is a family you choose every funding cycle, which concentrates the mind wonderfully. I hired for curiosity over polish, fed people at every defeat, and enforced exactly one commandment: bad news travels fastest. The postdoc who tells you the experiment died on Tuesday is worth three who manage your mood until Friday. That rule, I am told by alumni who now run companies and households, ports everywhere. Make it cheap to bring you the truth and you will be rich in the only currency management actually runs on.
To someone younger: Make it cheap to bring you bad news. Everything else is decor.
— Dr. Priya Sharma · Immunologist — thirty-four years at NIH, BethesdaDemonstration
Faith & doubt · Joy & gratitude
On a godless life, examined
At hospital bedsides, kind people would sometimes hand me their faith the way you'd offer a coat — sure I must be cold without one. I never was, and I want this written down by an actual unbeliever rather than argued about over our heads. I have not needed God to be astonished. I have seen a B cell rearrange its own genome to meet a pathogen it has never encountered, and if that doesn't put you on the floor, the failure isn't in the universe. A secular life is not an unexamined one. Mine was one long act of paying attention. I am told that is also a definition of prayer. Fine. We can share the word.
— Dr. Priya Sharma · Immunologist — thirty-four years at NIH, BethesdaDemonstration
Education & learning · Aging
On staying a beginner
At sixty I took up the cello, an instrument that does not care about your h-index. I am, after eight years, magnificently mediocre. This is on purpose. Expertise is a comfortable country and the passport is expensive, so people retire into the three things they're already good at and call it identity. The brain that runs on rails rusts on rails. Be terrible at one new thing at all times — terrible in public, ideally. The teenagers at the community orchestra correct my bowing. It is the best hour of my week and I can prove it.
To someone younger: Be terrible at one new thing at all times. Terrible in public, ideally.
— Dr. Priya Sharma · Immunologist — thirty-four years at NIH, BethesdaDemonstration
Work & calling · Failure & setbacks
On negative results
Most of my career failed, and I mean that technically. Hypotheses dead by Friday, year-long assays that proved nothing but their own elegance, two grant cycles on a receptor that turned out to be a rumor. A negative result is still a result — it is the universe telling you, at considerable expense, where not to dig. The people who flame out of science, and of marriages, and of most things, are not the ones who fail; they are the ones who cannot file a failure correctly and reopen the notebook Monday. Write it down. Date it. What didn't work is the most expensive thing you own.
To someone younger: What didn't work is the most expensive thing you own. Keep the records.
— Dr. Priya Sharma · Immunologist — thirty-four years at NIH, BethesdaDemonstration
Illness & health · Faith & doubt
On becoming the patient
I spent thirty-four years on the knowledge side of the microscope, and then one biopsy moved me to the other side, and I will report the finding honestly: nothing I knew about lymphoma prepared me for having it, and everything I knew about uncertainty did. Science had trained me to live without final answers — to act well on incomplete data. It turns out that is the entire skill of being seriously ill. The scans come back ambiguous, the odds are ranges, and you must live anyway, Tuesday after Tuesday. If you can hold 'I don't know yet' without letting it become 'I fear the worst,' you have the only equipment that helps.
To someone younger: Learn to act well on incomplete data. Everything serious requires it.
— Dr. Priya Sharma · Immunologist — thirty-four years at NIH, BethesdaDemonstration
Home & hospitality · Friendship & community
말이 안 통해도 밥은 통합니다
영어를 못 하던 시절에도 저는 사람을 먹였습니다. 세탁소 뒷방에서 김밥을 싸서 옆 가게 청년에게, 우체부에게, 말 한마디 못 나누는 사람들에게 건넸습니다. 그 사람들이 사십 년이 지난 지금까지 저의 친구입니다. 말이 안 통해도 밥은 통합니다. 낯선 사람, 외로워 보이는 사람이 있으면 묻지 말고 먼저 먹이세요. 무슨 말이 필요했는지는 밥을 다 먹고 나면 서로 알게 됩니다.
To someone younger: 묻지 말고 먼저 먹이세요.
— 박순자 (Park Soon-Ja) · 애넌데일에서 31년간 세탁소를 꾸린 할머니Demonstration
Education & learning · Failure & setbacks
마흔에 배운 영어
마흔 살에 교회 지하실에서 영어를 배웠습니다. 손님들에게 'ready Thursday' 말고 더 좋은 말을 하고 싶어서였습니다. 처음에는 창피했습니다. 마흔 살 먹은 여자가 ABC를 쓰고 앉아 있으니까요. 그런데 배우다 보니 알게 되었습니다. 창피한 사람은 시작하는 사람이 아니라, 창피해서 시작도 못 하는 사람이라는 것을요. 무엇이든 늦었다 싶을 때가 제일 빠른 때입니다. 지금 저는 그 교실에서 가르칩니다.
To someone younger: 창피함은 교실 문 앞까지만 따라옵니다.
— 박순자 (Park Soon-Ja) · 애넌데일에서 31년간 세탁소를 꾸린 할머니Demonstration
Parenting & raising children · Family rifts & reconciliation
두 언어 사이에서 키운 아이들
딸아이는 변호사가 되었고, 한국말을 잊었습니다. 전화를 하면 저는 한국말로 묻고 아이는 영어로 대답합니다. 삼십 년을 그렇게 했습니다. 옛날에는 그것이 서러웠는데 지금은 압니다. 그 영어 대답 속에 효도가 들어 있다는 것을요. 말이 반만 통해도 마음이 다 통하는 수가 있고, 말이 다 통해도 마음이 반도 안 통하는 수가 있습니다. 두 언어 사이에서 아이를 키우는 부모님들, 반쪽 대화를 너무 슬퍼하지 마세요. 어느 나라 말로 하든, 사랑한다는 말은 다 들립니다.
To someone younger: 아이가 어느 나라 말로 대답하는지 보지 말고, 대답한다는 것을 보세요.
— 박순자 (Park Soon-Ja) · 애넌데일에서 31년간 세탁소를 꾸린 할머니Demonstration
Money · Work & calling
현금 장사가 가르쳐 준 것
세탁소는 현금 장사입니다. 삼십일 년 동안 아침마다 금고를 열면서 배웠습니다. 돈은 거짓말을 안 합니다. 사람이 돈을 가지고 거짓말을 하지요. 장부는 한글로 적었어도 숫자는 똑바로 적었습니다. 번 것보다 적게 쓰고, 남는 것은 아이들 학비로 보내고, 금고가 비는 날도 부끄러운 적은 없었습니다. 돈이 없는 것은 부끄러운 일이 아닙니다. 돈에 대해 거짓말하는 것이 부끄러운 일입니다.
— 박순자 (Park Soon-Ja) · 애넌데일에서 31년간 세탁소를 꾸린 할머니Demonstration
Endings & new chapters · Home & hospitality
대구를 떠나던 날
비행기에서 운 것은 무서워서가 아니었습니다. 어머니가 싸 주신 김치를 김포 공항에서 다 버리고 온 것이 그제야 생각나서였습니다. 그때는 그것이 제일 큰일인 줄 알았지요. 살아 보니 이민이라는 것은 큰 결심 한 번이 아니라 작은 이별 만 번입니다. 그래도 갑니다. 가서, 새 땅에서 김치를 새로 담그면 됩니다. 맛이 좀 다르면 어떻습니까. 그것이 그 땅의 우리 집 맛이 되는 것입니다.
To someone younger: 다 가지고 갈 수는 없습니다. 담그는 법만 가져가면 됩니다.
— 박순자 (Park Soon-Ja) · 애넌데일에서 31년간 세탁소를 꾸린 할머니Demonstration
Leadership & mentoring · Friendship & community
Shepherding people smarter than you
My congregation held schoolteachers, two surgeons, a federal judge, and Sister Alma Pettiford, who corrected my Greek from the third pew for thirty years and was usually right. A young preacher thinks the call is to be the smartest voice in the room, and the room will let him think it just long enough to embarrass him. The shepherd is not smarter than the sheep — that was never the job. The job is staying out in the weather with them. Authority you demand lasts a season. Authority they hand you for standing in the rain lasts forty-four years.
To someone younger: Be the one who stays out in the weather. The rest is borrowed.
— Rev. James E. Caldwell · AME Zion pastor, forty-four years — Richmond, VirginiaDemonstration
Grief & loss · Faith & doubt
What to say at a graveside
I have stood at more gravesides than I can number, and here is the whole of what I know to say there. Say the name. Everyone has gone suddenly afraid of the dead one's name, and the family is starving to hear it out loud. Then say one small true thing you saw the person do — small, mind you; the big things get said by the program. Then hush. Do not explain the death. You don't know, and they know you don't know, and your not-knowing said honest is worth more than your knowing said pretty. And bring the casserole on the thirty-fifth day, not the third. Grief keeps a long tail and short company.
To someone younger: Say the name. One small true thing. Then hush.
— Rev. James E. Caldwell · AME Zion pastor, forty-four years — Richmond, VirginiaDemonstration
Family rifts & reconciliation · Parenting & raising children
The unlocked door
I could not make Michael come home. For twenty years the one power I had was to see to it that if he ever tried the knob, it would turn. So I kept the door unlocked — the literal one, yes, but I mean the other one: I sent the birthday card every year with no sermon inside it. News, love, a twenty-dollar bill. No sermon. He told me later he read every one looking for the lecture, and the year he couldn't find it even between the lines was the year he called. He came back careful, and we speak carefully still, and I have made my peace with careful. Reconciliation is not a wedding, child. It is a long engagement.
To someone younger: Send the card every year. Leave the sermon out of it.
— Rev. James E. Caldwell · AME Zion pastor, forty-four years — Richmond, VirginiaDemonstration
Regret & forgiveness · Family rifts & reconciliation
Apologizing from the pulpit
In 1989 I preached hard against a kind of man, and my son heard it as a sermon against himself, and he was not wrong to. He left that afternoon — the church first, then the city, then the calling distance. It took me eleven years to understand the wound and four more to do the only thing equal to it: I stood in that same pulpit and said I had been wrong, by name, with him not even in the building. People ask why public, when the harm felt private. Because the harm was not private — I had armed a whole room. A private apology repairs a relationship. A public one repairs the pulpit. I owed both, and I paid the second one first because it was harder.
— Rev. James E. Caldwell · AME Zion pastor, forty-four years — Richmond, VirginiaDemonstration
Joy & gratitude
The 6 a.m. regulars
People chase happiness like it's a vacation — some place you get to later, big and far away and expensive. Honey, I had it every morning at six: snow coming off the lake, the urn perking, Stan Jr. and the plow guys stomping in loud, and my hands doing work they knew by heart. Joy is a small thing that comes on a schedule, if you keep the schedule. Most people can't be bothered. Be bothered.
To someone younger: Joy keeps a schedule. Keep it with her.
— Dorothy "Dot" Jablonski · Wire-winder, diner owner, fed every kid on Cherry StreetDemonstration
Work & calling · Leadership & mentoring
Work done all the way
I wound wire eight hours a day and then poured coffee for thirty years, and people my daughter's age sometimes get a face on like that's a story about settling. Let me straighten you out. There is no small work. There's work done all the way and work done partway, and you can tell which one a person does in about four minutes, and so can everybody else, and that — not the job title — is what they're saying about you at your funeral. I poured coffee all the way. Ask anybody.
— Dorothy "Dot" Jablonski · Wire-winder, diner owner, fed every kid on Cherry StreetDemonstration
Friendship & community · Aging
Tuesdays
You want to know what holds a life together, and everybody thinks it's the big things — the wedding, the diploma, the funeral. It's Tuesdays. Our league bowled every Tuesday for forty-one years. That league buried husbands, met babies, sat with Florence through the chemo twice. Three marriages among us went down and the league never missed a week. Pick your people, pick a day, and show up for forty years. That's the whole recipe. Everything else is decoration.
To someone younger: Pick your people, pick a day, show up. Repeat for forty years.
— Dorothy "Dot" Jablonski · Wire-winder, diner owner, fed every kid on Cherry StreetDemonstration
Money · Joy & gratitude
Rich
I was born two years into the Depression, so I'll tell you what rich is and you can stop wondering. Rich is when nobody you love needs a thing you can't get them. A coat, a coffin, bail, breakfast — doesn't matter what it is. By that measure I've been rich since about 1974, and I never once had what the bank would call money. Figure out which one you're chasing, honey. They don't run in the same direction.
To someone younger: Add up what you'd grab in a fire. That's your net worth.
— Dorothy "Dot" Jablonski · Wire-winder, diner owner, fed every kid on Cherry StreetDemonstration
Love & dating · Marriage & partnership
Angela
I came back wrong, and Angela looked at the wrongness like it was a flat tire. Not the whole car. The tire. Fifty-two years this spring. People ask the secret and get mad when I tell them there isn't one. You marry somebody who can tell the difference between who you are and what happened to you. Then — this is the part they leave off the greeting card — you spend the next fifty years proving them right about which was which.
— Frank Moretti · Marine, tool-and-die maker, grandfather — Toledo, OhioDemonstration
Regret & forgiveness · Family rifts & reconciliation
What I never told my father
My old man hit Okinawa and never said one word. I came home from my war and never said one word. Two silent men at one kitchen table for twenty-five years, each one protecting the other from a thing the other one already knew by heart. He died in '96. I'd trade a year of what I've got left to do one of those Sunday dinners over and say it plain: I know, Pop. Me too. That's all it would have taken. Five words. We had twenty-five years and neither of us spent the five words.
To someone younger: If both of you already know, one of you has to say it. Be the one.
— Frank Moretti · Marine, tool-and-die maker, grandfather — Toledo, OhioDemonstration
Aging · Illness & health
Installments
The body resigns in installments. The hands went first, which for a man in my trade is the punchline of a long joke. Here's what I know: you don't have to accept every resignation. I fought the hands three years with a buddy at the VA, a rubber ball, and pure spite, and I got a lot of good Sundays out of the fighting. Some things you fight. Some you let go. Getting old is the sorting, and nobody can do the sorting for you.
— Frank Moretti · Marine, tool-and-die maker, grandfather — Toledo, OhioDemonstration
Work & calling · Education & learning
A thousandth of an inch
Tool-and-die taught me everything I know about everything. A thousandth of an inch either matters or it doesn't — but you'd better know which, and you'd better know why. Most jobs, most marriages, most arguments: first find out what the tolerance actually is. I've watched people wreck good things demanding a precision the job never called for, and I've watched people accept slop right where it mattered most. Wisdom is mostly knowing which kind of mistake you're prone to.
To someone younger: Learn the difference between precise and fussy.
— Frank Moretti · Marine, tool-and-die maker, grandfather — Toledo, OhioDemonstration
Failure & setbacks · Illness & health
The drinking years
From '71 to about '78 I tried to drown something that swims. That's the whole story of drinking, anybody's drinking, and you can have it for free: the thing you're pouring on swims. Angela didn't save me — get that straight, nobody saves you, that's movie talk. She just refused to pretend it wasn't happening, out loud, at the table, every time. That plus a VA basement full of men who'd been where I'd been. If you're in years like those: it swims. Deal with it dry.
To someone younger: It swims. Deal with it dry.
— Frank Moretti · Marine, tool-and-die maker, grandfather — Toledo, OhioDemonstration
Grief & loss · Regret & forgiveness
The two names
There are two names on the Wall I read every time I'm in Washington. Tommy Kowalski, and a kid from Georgia we called Brick because of how he swam. You don't get over it. Anybody tells you that you get over it, walk away from that person, they have nothing for you. What you do is carry it. And after enough years the carrying stops being a weight and starts being part of your legs. You walk different. You walk anyway.
— Frank Moretti · Marine, tool-and-die maker, grandfather — Toledo, OhioDemonstration
Marriage & partnership · Regret & forgiveness
On being married to someone who was also married to a company
Maria says she spent twenty years married to a man who was always slightly somewhere else, and she's right. We made it because every time she hit her limit, she said so in plain words, and I came back. It took the plain words twice. The company was the other woman — and unlike most other women, everyone congratulates you for the affair. Nobody at the chamber of commerce dinner is checking on your wife.
To someone younger: Don't ask them to be patient. Ask them what it's costing, and listen to the whole answer.
— Marcus Reyes · Built a freight company for nineteen years, then sold itDemonstration
Money · Joy & gratitude
On the number
Here's what nobody tells you about the wire transfer: Tuesday you have the number, and Wednesday you're still you. Same knees. Same temper. Same daughter who would rather have had you at the games. Money is a tool that is spectacular at solving money problems, and most of what I'd broken getting it wasn't a money problem. The number bought me time and quiet. What I did with the time and quiet — that part the money just sat and watched.
— Marcus Reyes · Built a freight company for nineteen years, then sold itDemonstration
Leadership & mentoring · Regret & forgiveness
On firing a friend
I waited eighteen months too long to fire Danny, because he was my friend, and I called the waiting loyalty. It wasn't loyalty. It was cowardice with better PR, and everyone underneath him paid the bill for it. When I finally did it, he said the thing I still carry: "You let me fail in front of everyone for a year and a half." Firing him was right. The waiting was the cruelty.
To someone younger: The kind thing and the comfortable thing are almost never the same thing.
— Marcus Reyes · Built a freight company for nineteen years, then sold itDemonstration
Failure & setbacks · Money
On payroll Friday, 2009
In March of 2009 I sat in my truck outside the bank with a personal guarantee in a folder and my father's voice in my head saying never sign anything you can't carry. I signed it. We made payroll with eleven hours to spare — sixty families, none of whom ever knew. People think the lesson is "risk it all." It isn't. The lesson is: know exactly what you're carrying, say it out loud to the people it would land on, and then decide. Maria knew before the bank did. That's the only reason the marriage survived the business.
— Marcus Reyes · Built a freight company for nineteen years, then sold itDemonstration
Endings & new chapters · Work & calling
On the company existing without you
For nineteen years, every question anyone asked me — at dinner, at church, at my daughter's games — was really a question about the company. Then one Tuesday it belonged to someone else, and I found out I'd quietly sold them my answer to "who are you" along with the trucks. Nobody buys that on purpose. It just goes in the box with everything else. Rebuilding an answer takes longer than the earnout, and there's no banker for it.
To someone younger: Build one thing the company can't own. Start it the same year you start the company.
— Marcus Reyes · Built a freight company for nineteen years, then sold itDemonstration
Money
On money
We were never rich. We were something better: unafraid. Spend less than you make, give some away where nobody sees you do it, and never confuse what you have with what you're worth.
— Eleanor Whitfield · Teacher, gardener, grandmother of sixDemonstration
Grief & loss
On grief
Grief is not a problem to be solved; it's a country you learn to live in. You don't get over it. You get fluent in it. And one day you notice you can hear his name without flinching, and you can teach the new arrivals a few words of the language.
— Eleanor Whitfield · Teacher, gardener, grandmother of sixDemonstration
Parenting & raising children
On raising children
Children do not become what you tell them to be. They become what they watch you be when you think no one's looking. I learned this from thirty-four years of fourth graders who could spot a hypocrite at forty paces.
To someone younger: Worry less about rules and more about what they see you do.
— Eleanor Whitfield · Teacher, gardener, grandmother of sixDemonstration