The Finisher
January 2003
By: Molly Holly
Make the Effort… Always
In one of my high school classes, the teacher would give each student a newspaper to study current events. As I was flipping through the pages, the personal ads caught my eye. Right before the usual “SWM” or “SWF would be bold letters reading something like “master’s degree” or “lottery winner” hoping to catch someone’s attention. These people were educated and rich, yet unfilled. It got me thinking: What should our goals in life really be?
In one of my favorite movies, Say Anything…, John Cusack tries to explain to his girlfriend’s father that he wants more out of life than buying, selling and processing things. The father just didn’t understand.
I, too, wanted life to mean something more, to make a difference in this world. When teachers and guidance counselors would ask me what I wanted to do for a career once I finished school, I would reply, “I’m leaning towards laundromat attendant.” They’d assume I was being a smart-ass, but I had a vision behind the statement. I was determined not to fall into society’s idea that education, fame, wealth and power were what make a person important. I wanted my life to mean something more. I wanted to make a difference in this world, I just wasn’t sure how.
Five years later…
I was very ill that winter afternoon at the Waffle House in Louisville, Kentucky, and my waitress could sense it. She was a middle-aged African-American woman with green eyes. Her name was Glenora. I remember that because it was similar to my grandmother’s name. “You not feelin’ well, sugar?” she asked. I shook my head while wiping my nose with a thin, stiff napkin. With her sweet-as-pie Southern accent, she offered me some soup and some softer tissue from her purse. Although I lived hundreds of miles away, for a moment I felt at home.
Three months later…
Just as I slid the counter seat of that same Louisville Waffle House, Ms. Glenora appeared like a sunbeam through the swinging door. “Good mornin’, sugar. You look like you’re feeling much better since the last time you were here. You in town for the Derby?”
Ms. Glenora taught me a valuable lesson that day, the kind of lesson they don’t teach you in school. You see, Ms. Glenora didn’t know that I play a character named Molly Holly on a television show. She didn’t know that I am a wealthier than some and more famous than most. She just cared enough to remember a girl smelling of Vicks and needing to be loved.
Memories of this wonderful experience at the Waffle House leave my heart heavy at times. In the song “Say Won’t You Say,” by one of my favorite musical artists, Jennifer Knapp, the lyrics read “Every morning I have a chance to rise and give my all. Every afternoon I find I have only wasted time…”
Am I doing everything I can to make a difference in the lives of others? How many opportunities have I missed by wearing my headphones at the gym or by sleeping on an airplane? I am embarrassed to admit there have been times I have signed an autograph without eye contact. I want to learn from my mistakes. Cliche, but oh so true, is the phrase, “Fame is fleeting.” Someday when my body ages and refuses to risk top rope, I want to look back on my career and have the peace of mind that my blessings were not wasted on self-centered aspirations.
Wheter you are a doctor, lawyer, laundromat attendant or Waffle House waitress, make the effort to smile at a stranger instead of looking away. Let there be sincerity in the question, “How are you?” and expect an answer more real than, “Fine.” Take a moment to wonder what you would want to headline your personal ad.