The other day Clinton unveiled his new presidential library amidst rain, wind, and three former presidents. (Gerald Ford was sick.) Speeches were made, photos were taken, false political smiles were plastered on one and all -- and a monument to one person's life was opened for all the world to see. Apparently, you can walk around and click buttons on various computer consoles arrayed around the whole library and you can pretty much see what Clinton was doing on every day of his freakin' life.
Which got me thinking (which I try to do as rarely as possible, by the way) that it would be cool if we could all of have our own, expansive library dedicated solely and squarely to the centre of our universe: ourselves.
Wouldn't it be cool? I know, I know, a lot of you are young, meaning under forty; now that I'm almost thirty, I'm redefining the boundaries of what is YOUNG and what is FREAKIN' ANCIENT. But still -- think about it.
Rooms and halls devoted to you. To what you did each and ever day, week, month, year. Clinton was the very definition of an overachiever. (I'm reminded by an old teammate describ-
ing Michael Jordan: "The difference with Michael was, he had more natural talent than anyone else on the planet, and yet he was also an overachiever. He worked harder than anyone else. You rarely get those two things together in the same person." I think the quote applies equally to Slick Willie.) Clinton was the kind of guy who was campaigning coming out of the womb, I'm sure, complimenting the doctor's slap-to-the-buttocks and reassuring him that it didn't hurt, no, not at all, in fact he kind of enjoyed it, truth be told.
Now, we're not all overachievers. We're not all replicas of The Man From Hope.
Still. It's interesting to think about.
As people wandered around the rooms dedicated to your life, what would they see? What pictures would be on the wall? What achievements of yours would be listed in thick, leather-bound books? What would make people stop, and read, and consider.
What will your legacy be, is what I'm getting at.
(Michael Jordan once said: "I don't have a legacy. I have a life." Meaning, I can't worry about what people will say about me after I'm dead, because I'm alive right now and I have some living to do. Words I agree with completely. But it helps, sometimes, to consider our actions today in the context of how they will be perceived tomorrow.
If it's all over now, God forbid, and you have shuffled off this mortal coil, and next week, at a windy, rainy ceremony (attended by no former presidents, no past prime ministers, only by your close friends and families), the doors to your new library are opened -- what's inside?
As the people you've loved weep and remember and examine all that you've left behind, all that you've accomplished, what do you think they will see? What will make them stop and dab their eyes and marvel in pride?
And what will make them pause and look around in wonder at the marble halls, not because it is so grandly extravagant, no, but because it is so small compared to the person you were and the person you might have become, given time...
