I just finished reading The Help (by Kathryn Stockett), which I know many of you are also in the midst of reading. Don’t worry; I won’t give away the ending.
It’s a captivating book overall, but my favorite line is the same one the author cited as her favorite:
Wasn’t that the point of the book? For women to realize, we are just two people. Not that much separates us. Not nearly as much as I’d thought. – The Help
I’ve found this to be true. Very true. Almost too beautifully true, like an exquisite reflection of a summer skyscape in a calm-as-glass lake. Greens and blues and yellows so vibrant and pure that you can’t look at them for more than a few seconds before you have to look away.
No matter what we have lived, we are just two people.
This is what we affirm through Le Donne events, baring our selves and our experiences in authenticity and acceptance. Listening and being heard, thinking “aha!” when someone else speaks, seeing ourselves in her success and in her sadness.
This is how The Michelle Project transforms women. Within moments of conversation, we uncover the commonalities between us. Women who are black and white, wealthy and homeless, educated and illiterate. Women who, on the surface, would not typically even be in the same room together, much less have the opportunity to find so much common ground.
I witness this miracle all the time: When we set aside our preconceptions and fears to look with compassion deep into each others’ eyes, we perceive the infinite possibilities contained in our unlikely pairings.
Because you don’t need to be afraid of me. And you don’t need to hide yourself from her. We’re just two people.
Did you think that you were finished?
That you could settle in right where you are?
Nothing you have been or have believed (about yourself or about anyone else) necessarily dictates your future.
You are not finished with everything new, and we are just two people.
And that’s the point.
The sun is bright but my eyes is wide open. I stand at the bus stop like I been doing for forty-odd years.
In thirty minutes, my whole life’s…done. Maybe I ought to keep writing, not just for the paper, but something else, about all the people I know and the things I seen and done. Maybe I ain’t too old to start over, I think and I laugh and cry at the same time at this. Cause just last night I thought I was finished with everything new. – The Help