October 18,2014 SHARING . Conference Theme: Ideas Hidden From Sight. Speech Title - Finding Self: My Bereavement Compass. Speaker: Bryce Edem. Why do some people live fulfilled lives while others get stuck in survival modes? Is effective living exclusive to a tiny minority while baseline living is the lot of a huge majority? Is it possible to ‘Live Full and Die Empty,’ and have you ever thought about what that could mean?’ Switch on your imagination. Let’s travel to the future. You have waited for this event for years. Everything you have accomplished in life pales into insignificance compared to it: It can’t be compared to your certificates from the best institutions; it can’t be compared to your properties in choice cities; and it can’t be compared to even your charming spouse and adorable grandchildren. The auditorium is decked in opulence, and is packed full with people across the world - people who hold you dear in their hearts, and whom you also hold dear in your heart. It’s a bright morning, but the dimmed lights in the auditorium cast a sort of blurred luminance on the faces of your guests who are all dressed to fit the event, your event. Music that creates the mood for the event breathes from speakers hid in the acoustic ceiling. The atmosphere is solemn. Everywhere is quiet. The procession begins. Your guests all rise to celebrate your life. The procession then winds down to the podium at the front of the auditorium. A select people come up to the podium to speak about you. On the podium is a table beautifully dressed in purple satin and white lace. At the centre of the table is a box - the only focus of everyone in the auditorium. And in the box is you – dead! How would you feel if the people on that podium said things that didn’t describe who you were? How would you feel if the epitaph on your tombstone were a false portrayal of the life that you lived? What if you had just one more opportunity to write your epitaph and funeral eulogy? I took us to that imaginary auditorium because I wanted us to see us how living with the end in mind can cause us to think about the way we live. It happened to me. I was born to meet three siblings. Being the fourth child and the second boy, I completed the 50:50 ratio of boys to girls. My parents were teachers; and with their low income, they didn’t want any more children. So when my younger brother, Patrick, forced his way into the world against all odds, my parents sensed something unusual about him. Raise your hand if you have a troublesome younger brother. Put all these hands together and you have my younger brother. Growing up in Uyo, Akwa Ibom, was fun. I and some kids in my village came together to form a ‘tribe.’ It wasn’t the ‘Tribe of Judah,’ yet each kid wanted to be the lion of the ‘tribe.’ So we had wrestling competitions, swimming competitions, and even truancy competitions to elect the lion of the ‘tribe.’ I missed a bit of that fun when I started secondary school, a lot of it when I started University, and all of it when I started work in a non-for-profit organisation. My younger brother, Patrick, was an active member of that ‘tribe.’ Even as troublesome as he was, Patrick and I had a very close relationship. He wore my clothes, and I wore his. My getting married and moving into a new apartment didn’t break that bond. We slept on the same bed whenever I visited him. Then tragedy struck. Patrick took ill in early August, 2007. After unsuccessful attempts to recover, he died later that month. I remember kneeling beside his body, a person in grief, in a family in mourning, in a village in shock. When Patrick’s body lay-in-state, I felt the sting of death, but I braved the pain. When his body was lowered into the grave, I felt the sting of death, but I braved the pain. But when it was my turn to do the dust-to-dust farewell, I couldn’t brave the pain anymore. I cried. I cried. I walked back into the house through a sea of tears. One month after Patrick’s death, I had an epiphany. My mind travelled back in time to that dust-to-dust farewell. Moments stretched into minutes, minutes into hours, and hours into eternity. I realized that someday the curtain would fall, the play would end, and I would exit the stage – this stage - called Life. Well, sometimes bottom is not bottom, but a good place to push from. Sometimes bad life’s experiences can engender defining moments. On the surface, or for any person, bereavement could be just a loss. But on a deeper level, and for me, bereavement was a great learning opportunity. I learnt three lessons I believe we all can apply to our lives. Lesson Number 1: We Must Live Intentionally. One way to live intentionally is to live by Design. Bereavement was the Satellite Navigator that re-calibrated me into my design. Let me tell you how that happened. As a Physics undergraduate, I had begun to be increasingly enraptured by literature, and I nursed a growing passion for wordplay. I discovered that my strength was in my flair for, and modest facility with words despite my being basically a science person. So after my first degree, I got on a postgraduate course in Communication Arts, with a tilt towards Print Journalism. But it was death-induced solitude that set me on a journey into myself. I asked myself some questions: Who am I? How am I wired? What’s my DNA? What gives me fulfilment? What fuels my passion? What things do I do with ease? What would I want to do even if I would not be paid for doing them? What’s my natural habitat outside of which I would cease to live? That journey – that introspective journey - led me to start a company called WizardsWithWords. We are still developing, still trying to find our feet. There’s joy – like the kiss of the wind on our cheek; and peace – like the caress of the grass under our feet; and satisfaction – like the smile of the skies over our heads, when we live intentionally, when we express the Manufacturer’s built-in design bespoke to us. We are a product of intelligent design. The Designer’s intention occasioned our configuration. We are how we are because of why we are. Here’s the kernel of my first lesson: Find your design. And it need not be through bereavement. It’s your responsibility to seek it out. If you seek it, you’ll find it. And when you find it, live by it. This brings me to my second lesson: Lesson Number 2: We Must Do Our Best Work. Life is like a candle. For some, the candle burns till old age. For others – unfortunately – the candle is painfully extinguished in their youth. The latter was Patrick’s case. Bereavement taught me a second lesson, and that lesson is: Life is short; do what matters most. That epiphany I had has progressively opened me to ‘‘new knowledge.’’ It has progressively awakened ‘‘new passions.’’ This ‘‘new knowledge’’ and these ‘‘new passions’’ are progressively morphing into ‘‘new and emerging body of work’’ in Leadership, Communication, Creativity, Social Media, Social Good, and Human Capital Development. If tomorrow were our last day on earth, would we want to do the work we did today? If our answer is ‘No,’ then maybe we should try to change our work. We need to do what’s important to us. That’s our best work. We need to do what resonates with our core. That’s our best work. We need to do what fuels our creativity. That’s our best work. Because when we’re gone, our best work will point to what really mattered to us, what we deeply cared about. By our best work I don’t mean our jobs, our career, or our occupation. Our best work could be any of these, but any of these may not necessarily be our best work. I define our best work as ‘‘anything we do which maximizes our creativity, adds value to humanity, and makes us fulfilled.’’ Did you know that the highest cases of depression happen on Sunday evenings…and that male suicides are highest on Sunday nights? Did you know that the highest rates of car accidents happen on Monday mornings…and that more people die at 9am on Monday than at any other time? What is the reason for these startling statistics? It’s simple: Most people don’t like the work they do. They are in holy matrimony with meaningless monotony. One proven way to do our best work is to work on ideas that resonate with us. I know this is not Parliament, but if you have ideas that resonate with you, say ‘‘Aye.’’ If you don’t, say ‘‘Nay.’’ The ‘‘Aye’s’’ have it! So, many of you here have brilliant ideas. You are eager to take a leap, to turn your ideas into reality, but you are pulled back by what people would say. So you waver between conviction and permission. Stop waiting for permission. Permission is external, but conviction is internal. Move quick if it clicks. It’s time to work those ideas hidden from sight and bring them into the light. It’s time to do what you love, and love what you do. Now, you may be a Writer, or a Speaker; a Sculptor, or a Doctor. Whatever is your best work, get immersed in it. And be courageous enough to disappoint people who want to tell you what your best work should be. Here’s the kernel of my second lesson: Life is short; do what matters most. And never be ashamed of your best work. I repeat: Never be ashamed of your best work. This brings me to my third and last lesson: Lesson Number 3: We Must Make Significant Contribution. Through photosynthesis, plants receive carbon dioxide and give out oxygen. Through respiration, animals receive oxygen and give out carbon dioxide. One day my Biology teacher in secondary school asked one of my classmates, Big Joe, to define respiration. Big Joe stepped out to the front of the class, breathed in air, breathed out air, then turned and said to the teacher, ‘‘That’s respiration.’’ We laughed in the class as we’re laughing now. But that day Big Joe taught us a profound and timeless truth, and that truth is: Receiving and giving are indispensable cycles that living things perform. Isn’t that what the Designer did? Building photosynthesis and respiration - these receiving-giving processes - into nature? Sadly, many people only receive, but never give. Life is not just about consumption; it is much more about contribution. That’s why Maya Angelou, the late renowned American poet, said: ‘‘I’ve learned that you shouldn’t go through life with a catcher’s mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw something back.’’ Throwing something back is the way to keep on living even after we die. Throwing something back is the way to keep being relevant even from our grave. People will not remember us for the cars we rode, or the mansions we lived in, or the jewellery we wore, or the vacations we enjoyed. People will remember us for throwing something back, for making significant contributions. Ladies and gentlemen, at this point I would like to take us back to that imaginary auditorium I described at the beginning of this speech. Imagine that the music that breathed from speakers hid in the acoustic ceiling was: Fading away like stars of the morning // Losing their light in the glorious Sun; Thus would we pass from the earth and its toiling // Only remembered by what we have done. Only remembered // Only remembered // Only remembered by what we have done; Thus would we pass from the earth and its toiling // Only remembered by what we have done. How would we want people to remember us? Perhaps we would want people to remember us for setting up an educational foundation that gives scholarships to indigent students. Perhaps we would want people to remember us for developing the human capacity of young people who live in slums and ghettos. Perhaps we would want people to remember us for creating food banks in poverty-stricken communities. Perhaps we would want people to remember us for founding a social venture that caters for disaster victims. Or perhaps – like me – we would want people to remember us for planting healthy and thriving churches around the world. Society depends on us to use our resources and relationships to create social value. Now is the time, now is the opportunity, to write our epitaph and funeral eulogy exactly the way we want. If we had any regrets in that imaginary auditorium, let’s begin to correct them as soon as we leave here today. Let’s leave here, determined more than ever before, to henceforth live in such a way that when we die, even those who would carry our corpse for burial would feel very guilty for doing so. Life is like a candle. So while our candle is still burning, before our candle goes out, here are three things we must do: (1) We must live intentionally; (2) We must do our best work; (3) We must make significant contribution. Thank you. Thank you, TEDx .
Posted on: Thu, 06 Nov 2014 20:26:02 +0000
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