Legacy II: I Dare You

I am thrilled that my friend Angela Negro is contributing the first guest Legacy post.  Her blog, Signed by Ange, is one of my favorite places to visit for wisdom, a really good, deep laugh, and a great story. Ange lives in France with her husband and her "messmonsters," where she creates gorgeous art, engages in some serious renovation projects, homeschools said messmonsters, and oh so much more.  She is a an athlete, a traveler, an artist, a mother, a teacher, and, as she says on her website, a wordsmith, whose commitment to the literacy of women and girls, to beauty, and to the encouragement of those around her inspires me more than I can say.  Read on and you'll see just what I mean. 

Hello there everyone,

I must say I feel very honored to participate in Gigi's 'Legacy' series. While I feel a little daunted about writing a guest post for the blog of someone as immensely talented as Gigi, I admit that it's come at an ideal time.  The arrival of the cooler temperatures has coincided with the recent celebration of my 40th birthday and my latest adventure at homeshooling my messmonsters, both of which have conveniently given me extra cause to pause and consider the people and ideals that have shaped my life till now. Merci mille fois Gigi, for giving me the opportunity to put my fingers to the keyboard once again, after such a long absence over the summer months, and set my story down. 

"You can be bigger than you are." were the very first words I read, in the very first book I ever actually remember my father giving me. We had just moved from New Zealand to the sunny Sunshine Coast of Australia where Dad chose to shed his skin and go from tradesman to salesman. This was the 'positive mental attitude' era of the 1980s and consequently brimming with promise, at least as far as my parents were concerned.

"I dare you," he said, as I cried for my old friends and lamented my plight in a new school where the prospect of making new friends seemed overtly daunting to my 11 year old mind, "to be the very best you can be." Dad was ever the tower of strength, a shining example of will power, positive attitude and determination. Life, to Dad, was entirely what one made of it, no Ifs, Buts or Maybes. Certainly no excuses. No feeling sorry for oneself. No feeling sorry for myself. Success in life, and however I chose to measure success, was all up to me. "I Dare You," and many of the other books Dad subsequently passed on to me to read as he pursued his sales career from iced drink machines into real estate, told me that it all boiled down to a question of personal choice, motivation and giving myself the means to reach my own goals... Word after word, as I read that wee book through my pre-teen tears, I slowly became inspired.


Over the years, during one or another of my multiple moves to exciting new horizons, that tiny hard cover book disappeared. The tricks and tips, and various lessons on life I avidly learnt from within its pages, thankfully, didn't. They have helped me navigate my way through all of the hairy situations, major challenges and embarrassing disasters that life, in its ultimate wisdom, has a tendency to throw to all of us. While the book has dropped out of existence, 29 years later the title remains firmly stuck in my mind. It's the first thing that pops up when times get tough, even now. 

So strong was its effect on me that I've recently started making a career out of wanting to inspire the rest of the world the same way. Often a well chosen phrase is all it takes to shine a new light on a tricky situation and guide the way forward.

More than anything, it's the most precious legacy I could ever leave my 3 messmonsters.  At the risk of sounding evangelical, being ultimately responsible for my own inner happiness has come to represent the epitome of freedom to me, and this in turn has engendered as much an infallible faith in life as an inherent, indestructable, unquenchable joy. I want that for the whole world. But if I can't give that to the world at large then I can at least offer it to my kids. 

"I dare you, to think creatively,"  I heard myself whispering tonight as I softly kissed my 11 year old Chickpea, who was all sullen and digging her heels in about having to read a real book (ie: not about horses) for her homeschool French programme. "It's all right for you," she said, "You like reading and I DON'T! So you were good at school and it was easy for you." 

"You decide what your attitude is to reading and learning Chickpea. I can't do that for you. I can only say that the day you decide to accept each challenge with an open attitude, is the day that learning will happen naturally and without effort for you too. Go on! I dare you to adventure!" 

Thinking of my dad and another sulky 11 year old, all those years ago, I smiled as I turned out her light and left her room... 


Words and image copyright Angela Negro 2010