Even the Stars Look Lonesome by Maya Angelou

Author:Maya Angelou [Angelou, Maya]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-8041-5241-9
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2014-01-07T16:00:00+00:00

After creating the universe, all the stars, each grain of sand, the humpback whale and the soft-shell crab, even God tired and took a day off.

There’s no argument that we humans, who at our best can only create opportunities and at our worst create havoc, need time to rest.

I am not suggesting that vacations are a sacred right on a par with the right to vote, hold political office or to subscribe to one hundred magazines in order to compete for a $10 million lottery prize. No, I am merely observing that paltry creatures such as ourselves, who labor two-thirds of our lives to oppose gravity and remain erect, require some time to laze on sofas, relax before fireplaces, to recline on white beaches under a benevolent sun.

One would think those are not inordinate desires. We labor day and night to fill two small sacks in our chests with that which is everywhere available. We hold a torrent of blood inside our bodies, which are covered with tissue so thin that if we snag on a nail and do not close the aperture, the precious fluid would run out, leaving husks dry and lifeless.

All that is to say we work even when we are unaware of our efforts. So, we do need rest periods. However, there is that about us so perverse that even on a much-needed and hard-won holiday, we feel the irresistible need to spin and to toil.

On a beach in Mexico I sat near an artisan who had made some objects for sale. There were ash-colored birds, vases and other knickknacks, along with brushes in jars and bottles of paint.

I settled down comfortably, expecting to watch him turn the clay-colored objects into gay souvenirs. However, the man did not take up the brushes, nor did he touch the paint.

In moments a line formed before his table and buyers began to bargain. At each sale, the buyer was given a seat, which was taken eagerly. One woman noticed that I was watching. She smiled at me, a cat-with-bird-in-mouth smile.

“Here we get to paint them ourselves.” Then I noticed the seller’s sign, THINGS, HAND PAINTED.

I almost laughed aloud. These were tourists who had paid good money to come to Mexico to relax and here they were, working at something that if they had been asked to do, they would have declined without even thinking about it.

I was amazed at how they were squandering their free time, so what did I do? I rushed to my room, unpacked my yellow pads, got out my pen, dictionary and thesaurus, and sat down and took three days of my vacation to write this essay.

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