- Tue, October 17 2006
- Filed under: Personal
When I lived in Madagascar, people would open the tombs of their dead relatives each winter, pull out the cloth-wrapped corpses of their loved ones and dance with them held aloft. Truly. They would party all night with their withered dead, catching the spirits up on family gossip and then wrapping the remains in new cloth before placing them back in the tomb.
The death-dancing season, which was in August (winter in the Southern Hemisphere), meant sleepless nights. My house had many tombs nearby, and the raucous all-night parties featured the binge drinking and blaring music that you’d expect from any serious throw-down. One night, lying in bed and listening to the festivities, I contemplated my own mortality. (Actually, I tend to do this a lot, even when I’m not around tombs.) I thought of how life is so very short, especially when you don’t believe your spirit will be partying with the living at your tomb after you’re laid to rest.
I tell this story in my first post because even if you don’t live in Madagascar, I believe we should keep reminding ourselves of our own mortality and that we as do-gooders should become profoundly impatient. Impatient to accomplish something good. Impatient with petty things that get in the way of what is important. Impatient to move people and make a difference.
This blog will be about inspired impatience. It’s about making things happen quickly by stealing corporate savvy, swapping inspired ideas and sharing the kind of thinking that gets the attention of our audience and advances our mission today. Tomorrow we may be one more dancing corpse.