Final Words

 

When I was a kid, I said that Jane Goodall had my job — to go to Africa and study animals.

But I was wrong. It was her job.

Field study all day, every day in the jungle? I wouldn't have the patience, skill, or fortitude to do what she did.

I would be screaming from the hilltops that it took me 6 months to get close enough to a wild troop to really study their behavior. Yet, all day, Goodall would sit or travel with her binoculars, trying to make contact with a wild troop of Chimpanzees. She spent her evenings writing up her notes.  Her hiring company knew that sending a young woman out into the jungle was unheard of, so, her mother, her number one supporter, went along. The mother would cook, and she and Jane would, ceremoniously, have a small glass of whiskey before they went to bed.

"As I traveled more, we'd each raise a glass at our respective 7 p.ms. It was a way to feel connected. Now I toast her up in the clouds every evening."—Jane Goodall.

Goodall said she knew she was safe in the jungle.

Her benefactor, Louis Leaky, curator of the Natural History Museums in Nairobi, saw in Jane, the Secretary they sent to him, the patience and love of animals he knew was necessary for the job as a field researcher. She said she was never bored. Nature provided endless entertainment.

She did what she set out to do. She made contact with the chimpanzees and changed the definition of a human being. You watch. You'll see it.

I devoured her book, In the Shadow of Man, when it came out. It was her first account of the field study and told of the time a chimpanzee, Mr. Gray Beard, came close enough to her to allow his shadow to fall upon hers. 

She declared as a child that she wanted to go to Africa and study animals. And her mother never discouraged her.

She believes that we are all put here on the earth with a purpose. We may not know what it is, but our presence matters.

Last night, my husband and I watched/listened to her last interview on Netflix. "Famous Last Words: Dr. Jane Goodall," with Brad Falchuk. They recorded the interview in March on the condition that it would only be aired after Goodall's death.

What a woman!

How can we not love the animals, and want to preserve our planet?! It seems that it isn't a priority for us anymore, but this little lady, having seen many things in her 91 years, admonished us not to lose HOPE. If we lose hope, we are lost.

We have come out of hard times before—we will come out of it again.

Notice how grand the Earth is and how thin the breathable atmosphere surrounding it is.

 

  

Our atmosphere is so thin that our mountains protrude through it to such a height that you need to carry Oxygen with you to climb Mt. Everest. ("Earth's breathable atmosphere H is about 8500 meters. Mount Everest is 8850 meters high, so it does poke out of the atmosphere, but barely.") 

A friend, who climbed to the base camp of Mt. Everest, really, she did, I was blown away, she was slight of build, one you would never guess had that fortitude, said we climbed high, slept low. In other words, they climb higher than their intended camping place, then they descended to camp so they slept at a lower altitude than the day's climb. That gave their body a chance to adapt.)

A trip up to around 10,000 feet has us breathing heavily. And Altitude sickness is a real threat.

 

Save our air. Do not pollute it. It is our life.

 

And do not die with the song within you unsung.

Wham! Life Hits Us.

 

“La de da da,” we come into this lifetime joyful, smiling, squirming bundles of possibilities. Oh, what fun. We will run and play and bask in the love of adoring parents. This is a vacation, playtime on earth—this beautiful planet with its colors and trees to climb and animals to play with, and…

 

Wham! Something hits us. What was that? I can’t go into the water because I can’t swim?

 

“Oh, okay, I’ll learn to swim.”

 

“La de da da. I’m a dolphin. Mom look at me. See how I glide through the water.”

 

“Mom, why are you crying?”

 

“What’s happening?”

 

“Daddy’s leaving? That can’t be. He’s supposed to stay here, live with us. You’re getting a what? A divorce? That can’t be, parents are supposed to live with each other. They are supposed to be here for me, for us, together.”

 

There are many others in the naked City, country, or hovel.

 

The point is we have created beliefs about how life is, but we go on building a life for ourselves. We go to school—well, that’s another story—the point is, though, that with those hits, we develop a view of how life is, and thus we develop a view of ourselves.

 

We see how people leave us, how we feel unloved, or how hard it was to maneuver the school playground, the lunchroom, the taunts or teasing. We might excel at interpersonal relationships, but there is usually something. We might think we are better than most—that’s an injury, too.

 

We have taken hits, and since they are emotionally charged, they impact us more than the gentle, happy ones. We were raised by parents who sustained hits of their own and, chances are, had no clue about raising kids. They had their own problems. However, together we muddled through. Maybe we had a best friend that filled in some of the holes in our psyche. Perhaps we had many friends, which further influenced our view of life.

 

The bottom line is that through all this, we developed beliefs.

 

I thought I had nothing to discuss today until I remembered yesterday’s email. A friend sent me a quote from Vincent Genna. It was, “Thoughts do not create, beliefs do.”

 

“Yes!” I yelled. “That’s the missing piece of the Law of Attraction puzzle.” We create through our beliefs, not from our thoughts. And most of those beliefs are held and exercised unconsciously.

 

Wow, this business of life is tricky.

 

But we’re adults now, and we can look back and throw those beliefs onto the wall to see if they stick. Are they true? Are they important to keep? Can we replace that belief with a more healthy, pertinent one? Perhaps they are absolutely not true. You did nothing to affect your parent’s personal problems. They were theirs, not yours. Maybe you can forgive them now.

 

I mentioned in a blog earlier that I was writing a memoir. Whenever I say it seems ostentatious to write one, think of it this way: I believe everybody should write one. Thus, my title Come On, I Dare You. Like, hey, don’t leave me alone in this. Every writer knows that a piece of writing affects the one writing it more than the one reading it.

 

From going over my life, I wonder now what my mother thought and felt when she discovered, at 16, that she was pregnant with me. I know she took her best friend with her when she went to tell my father. (I found out that later from her best friend.) She and my father got married and about four years later divorced, but that’s really all I know. She obviously felt she “Had to get married. It was shameful in those days to be an unwed mother. (Although it regularly occurred.) And she tried to hide it from me her entire life.

 

Once in the night, I heard her tell my stepdad, “I hope Joyce never finds out.” However, I knew. Kids know many things their parents try to keep from them. They also know that they shouldn’t know, so they stay quiet. I didn’t know, though, how much she suffered over finding that she was pregnant. And I don‘t know how much I shared her emotions since at the time, we were both sharing the same body.

 

That “trauma” could have contributed to some of my beliefs.