Jeg voksede op i en hvid middelklasse i 1950'ernes Amerika. Det betød fyrværkeri d. 4. Juli, slik og ballade til halloween og at putte gaver under træet til jul. Men da traditionerne kom til mig, var de hule, kommercielle virksomheder, som efterlod mig med en tom følelse. Så fra en relativ ung alder, søgte jeg at udfylde et eksistentielt hul, for at finde noget større end mig selv.
I grew up white, secular and middle class in 1950s America. That meant watching fireworks on the Fourth of July, trick-or-treating on Halloween and putting presents under a tree at Christmas. But by the time those traditions got to me, they were hollow, commercial enterprises, which just left me feeling empty. So from a relatively young age, I found myself looking to fill an existential hole, to connect with something bigger than myself.
Der var ingen bar mitzvah i min familie i over et århundrede, så jeg sprang ud i det --
There hadn't been a bar mitzvah in my family in over a century, so I thought I'd take a shot at that --
(Grin)
(Laughter)
kun for at blive skuffet, efter et møde med rabbineren, en høj, guddommelig figur med bølgende hvidt hår, som spurgte om mit mellemnavn, så vi kunne udfylde en formular. Det var det.
only to be devastated when my one encounter with the rabbi, a really tall, godlike figure with flowing white hair, consisted of him asking me for my middle name so we could fill out a form. Yep, that was it.
(Grin)
(Laughter)
Så jeg fik fyldepennen, Men fik ingen fornemmelse af det forhold og selvtillid, som jeg søgte efter.
So I got the fountain pen, but I didn't get the sense of belonging and confidence I was searching for.
Mange år senere, kunne jeg ikke bære tanken om at min søn fyldte 13, uden nogen form for overgangsceremoni. Jeg fik idéen til en 13 års fødselsdagsrejse, og tilbød Murphy en tur ud i verden, som gav mening for ham. En spirrende ung naturalist, som elskede skildpadder, slog hurtigt ned på Galapagos. Da min datter, Katie, fyldte 13, brugte vi to uger i bunden af Grand Canyon, hvor hun for første gang lærte, at hun var stærk og modig. Siden da har min partner, Ashton, og mange af vores venner taget deres børn med på en 13 års fødselsdagstur, hvor alle har fundet det forandrende for både barnet og forælderen.
Many years later, I couldn't bear the thought of my son turning 13 without some kind of rite of passage. So I came up with the idea of a 13th birthday trip, and I offered to take Murphy anywhere in the world that had meaning for him. A budding young naturalist who loved turtles, he immediately settled on the Galapagos. And when my daughter, Katie, turned 13, she and I spent two weeks at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, where Katie learned for the first time that she was powerful and brave. Since then, my partner, Ashton, and lots of our friends and relatives have taken their kids on 13th birthday trips, with everyone finding it transformative for both the child and the parent.
Jeg blev ikke opdraget med bordbøn. Men i de sidste 20 år, har vi holdt hænder før hvert måltid. Det er en smuk stilhed, som bringer os alle sammen i øjeblikket. Ashton siger de skal klemme hinandens hænder mens hun sikrer dem det ikke er religiøst.
I wasn't brought up saying grace. But for the last 20 years, we've been holding hands before every meal. It's a beautiful bit of shared silence that brings us all together in the moment. Ashton tells everyone to "pass the squeeze," while she assures them it's not religious.
(Grin)
(Laughter)
Så fornyligt, da min familie spurgte mig, om jeg kunne gøre noget ved de mere end 250 kasser med ting, som jeg har samlet gennem mit liv, slog min ritualsøgende impuls ind. Jeg undrede mig over, om jeg kunne gå dybere end bare "dødsoprydning". "Dødsoprydning" er et svensk ord for, at rydde op i dine skabe, din kælder og dit loft, før du dør, så dine børn ikke skal gøre det senere.
So recently, when my family asked me if I could please do something with the more than 250 boxes of stuff that I've collected over a lifetime, my ritual-making impulse kicked in. I started wondering if I could go further than simple death cleaning. "Death cleaning" is the Swedish term for clearing out your closets, your basement and your attic before you die, so your kids don't have to do it later.
(Grin)
(Laughter)
Jeg tog billeder af mine børn, Som åbnede boks efter boks og det undrede mig at jeg havde gemt alle disse ting.
I pictured my children opening up box after box and wondering why I'd kept any of that stuff.
(Grin)
(Laughter)
Jeg forestillede mig dem kigge på et specifikt billede, af mig og en smuk ung kvinde, og spørge, "Hvem er det, sammen med far?"
And then I imagined them looking at a specific picture of me with a beautiful young woman, and asking, "Who on earth is that with Dad?"
(Grin)
(Laughter)
Og det var a-ha oplevelsen Tingene i sig selv var ikke vigtige. Det var historien bag, der gav dem mening. Kunne man gennem tingenes historie finde nye ritualer, en overgang -- Ikke for en 13 årig, men for nogle som har levet længere?
And that was the aha moment. It wasn't the things I'd saved that were important; it was the stories that went with them that gave them meaning. Could using the objects to tell the stories be the seed of a new ritual, a rite of passage -- not for a 13-year-old, but for someone much further down the road?
Så jeg begyndte, at eksperimentere. Jeg udvalgte ting fra kasserne, og placerede dem i et værelse, inviterede mennesker til at komme og spørge mig om alt, hvad de fandt interessant. Resultatet var fantastisk. En god historie blev startskuddet, til en langt dybere diskussion, hvor mine besøgende fandt meningsfulde forbindelser, til deres eget liv. Derriud [Quarles] spurgte mig om en Leonard Peltier T-shirt, som jeg havde brugt en del i 80'erne, og som desværre stadig er relevant idag. Vores samtale udviklede sig hurtigt fra et stort antal politiske fanger i amerikanske fængsler, til Derrius' undren over eftermælet af den "sorte friheds" bevægelse i 60'erne, og hvordan hans liv havde formet sig hvis han havde været voksen dengang, istedet for 30 år senere. I slutningen af vores samtale spurgte Derrius mig, om han måtte få T-shirten. At give ham den, føltes helt perfekt.
So I started experimenting. I got a few dozen things out of the boxes, I put them about in a room, and I invited people to come in and ask me about anything that they found interesting. The results were terrific. A good story became a launching pad for a much deeper discussion, in which my visitors made meaningful connections to their own lives. Derrius [Quarles] asked me about a Leonard Peltier T-shirt that I'd worn a lot in the '80s, that, sadly, is still relevant today. Our conversation moved quickly, from a large number of political prisoners in American jails, to Derrius wondering about the legacy of the Black Liberation Movement of the '60s, and how his life might be different if he'd come of age then, instead of 30-odd years later. At the end of our conversation, Derrius asked me if he could have the T-shirt. And giving it to him felt just about perfect.
Som samtalerne skabte fælles grundlag, specielt på tværs af generationer, opdagede jeg, at jeg åbnede et rum for folk til at tale om ting, som betød noget for dem. Jeg så nu mig selv med en fornyet formål -- ikke som den gamle mand på vejen ud, men som en med en rolle at udfylde, fremadrettet.
As these conversations established common ground, especially across generations, I realized I was opening a space for people to talk about things that really mattered to them. And I started seeing myself with a renewed sense of purpose -- not as the old guy on the way out, but as someone with a role to play going forward.
Da jeg voksede op, endte livet for de fleste i 70-års alderen. Nu lever vi meget længere, og for første gang i historien kan fire generationer være i live på en gang Jeg er 71, og med lidt held, har jeg 20 eller 30 år foran mig. At give mine ting væk nu, og dele det med venner, familie og fremmede også, virker som den perfekte måde, at møde det næste stadie af mit liv. Det viser sig at være lige det jeg søgte: et ritual, som handler mindre om at dø, og mere om at åbne døren til hvad end der kommer.
When I was growing up, life ended for most people in their 70s. People are living far longer now, and for the first time in human history, it's common for four generations to be living side by side. I'm 71, and with a bit of luck, I've got 20 or 30 more years ahead of me. Giving away my stuff now and sharing it with friends, family, and I hope strangers, too, seems like the perfect way to enter this next stage of my life. Turns out to be just what I was looking for: a ritual that's less about dying and more about opening the door to whatever comes next.
Tak.
Thank you.
(Klappesalve)
(Applause)
Videre!
Onward!
(Klappesalve)
(Applause)