“You peer into my life to find a lingering past, but I tell you it was sunken thousand fathoms deep and weighted down with my dead self. You look into my breast to find that old, old open wound, but I tell you I seared it with my hot tears and only the cicatrix is there. You look into my eyes to read that oft-told story of defeat, but I tell you that the plot was changed and you will see the flag of conquest waving from the turrets of my soul.” ~ Muriel Strode
I have several friends who are flag-waving warriors. They’re each facing what seems like, to an outside observer, insurmountable challenges and each of them are doing so with steadfast courage.
Have you ever been tested beyond your limits? Where your best efforts weren’t enough? Where failure followed you at every turn?
And yet you knew in your heart of hearts failure was not an option. For life to move on you just had to find your way through.
These are rare experiences, where pain morphs into joy. I had such a moment when I was 13.
A time when I was finally able to plant my flag.
As a child I was intensely afraid to speak in front of a group of people. I was terrified when called to recite a lesson in front of my classmates, for what followed was a humiliating stammer. I died a thousand deaths a thousand times.
For years, my refuge from this embarrassment was reading or playing sports.
I was filled with self-loathing, and by the time I was 12, feeling I could no longer endure the torment, I was thinking the unthinkable.
Then my dad stepped in and saved my life.
He tossed me a life preserver in the form of a book of poetry. He handed me the volume and asked me to select a poem that moved me.
I paged through and came upon one I really loved. O Captain! My Captain was written by Walt Whitman for Abraham Lincoln’s funeral, and Lincoln was my favorite president. [See the text of the poem at the bottom of this post.]
Dad said, “Good choice, son. Now commit it to memory. Say it out loud, in front of a mirror, until you can recite it — flawlessly.
Tall order.
The practice went on for months — endless repetitions, day after day, week after week. Sometimes I got close to a flawless recitation but then invariably was tripped up by an errant vowel.
Finally, the magic moment came.
On one glorious Sunday morning at Grandma and Grandpa’s house I found perfection. I recited the poem from beginning to end with no stutter or stammer, just a smooth flow of beautiful words. I’d finally broken through!
It was among the most exhilarating experiences of my young life.
After years of terror I had finally banished my stutter and planted my flag of conquest in the deepest part of my soul. I felt like Edison must have after he invented the light bulb.
When a reporter asked him, “How did it feel to fail 1,000 times?” Edison replied, “I didn’t fail 1,000 times. The light bulb was an invention with 1,000 steps.”
My life was changed forever. Reciting the poem became the touchstone that helped me push through the next challenge, and the next, and the next.
If you are working to plant your own personal flag, take some strength from my 13-year-old self, and Thomas Edison.
Just a thought…
Pat
And here’s the full text of the poem:
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