In My Corner

There is a lyric in Rogers and Hammerstein's musical adaptation of "Cinderella" that goes "in my own little corner in my own little chair I can be whatever I want to be...all alone in my own little chair." And while I am aware of the juxtaposition of such an idea, I am nevertheless fond of the concept that solitude can bring human imagination to its full potential.

Similarly, a passage in Elizabeth Gilbert's bestselling novel, Eat Pray Love, highlights the beautiful image of gathering people into one's own corner, as it were. She begins with the nagging idea--a distant desire--stemming from toxic relationships as well as too much time spent inside her own head. (Rather like Cinderella, if you ask me...) But then comes a moment, utterly insignificant in the grand scheme of things, that leads Liz to write a list of names. Names of people who she knows support her. Love her. Want her to succeed. She begins with her nearest and dearest, expanding out into the vast ocean of strangers and famous figures and foreign faces and dead poets and perpetual wonderers who she just knows are in her corner, even in death, distance be damned.

I would like to think that Elizabeth Gilbert would be in my corner. And that she would be in good company with anyone from my coworkers Cindy, Amanda, and Kathy; to Shakespeare; to Hank and John Green; to Libby and Smac and Sam and Jenny and Traice; to Vincent van Gogh; to the Buddhist Lama I met in a stranger's living room; to the Fam; to Abe Lincoln; to the Brothers Grimm; to that guy who comes into the restaurant  on Sunday mornings and gives me hugs and says he likes my smile; to the family dog; to Kimya Dawson; to strangers in admissions offices in various states who read about me and decide that words on the page speak volumes about a person; to Steven Spielberg and George Lucas and Jim Henson; to Mary Oliver; to my friend Sara for whom I need to find a better word because the dictionary version just doesn't cut it; to Jane Austen; to "Zumba Missy;" to Robin Williams and Billy Crystal and Steve Martin and Martin Short and an entire generation of people who chose to devote themselves to entertainment and ridicule and laughter and good old fashion mirth; to Neville Longbottom; to Paul Parsons; to Patrick Henry and William Pitt and Thomas Paine; to Indiana Jones; to the best teachers I ever had--and maybe even the bad ones too--cause after all, a lesson is still a lesson; to Calli and Devin and Angela and Alicia; to Ian McEwan and J.K. Rowling; to Jimmy Stewart; to Debbie and Brenda and Laurie and Sharie; to Walt Whitman and Mark Twain; to Elise and Aubrey and Robyn; to FDR; to my cousin Peter; to Howard Shore and Hans Zimmer and John Williams; and, indeed, I hope, to you, dear reader.