I DON'T WANT TO LIVE A SMALL LIFE

I don’t want to live a small life. Open your eyes,
open your hands. I have just come
from the berry fields, the sun

kissing me with its golden mouth all the way
(open your hands) and the wind-winged clouds
following along thinking perhaps I might

feed them, but no I carry these heart-shapes
only to you. Look how many small
but so sweet and maybe the last gift

I will bring to anyone in this
world of hope and risk, so do
Look at me. Open your life, open your hands.

Mary Oliver

The first line of the poem got me this morning. I have uttered something similar before. However, what I spoke before primarily centered around what I could do by pursuing what I thought was God-given and God-sized missions. To be more precise, not living a small life revolved around self-prescribed missions by bringing God into my life’s pursuit. I would dare admit and say it was about me, but at the same time, I thought I knew God and how God worked.

Here on the outskirts of Gapyeong, it is hard to be small, surrounded by nature with the sound and sight of water, fields, mountains, and the sky, not to mention the smell of cows nearby. I notice my heart expanding proportionately to what I can see and hear.

I am also reminded of T.S. Elliot’s more forceful sentence “We shall not cease from exploration . . . ”

“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.”[1]

Unceasing exploration and not wanting to live a small life are at least closely related if not congruous. Oliver’s imaginary remedy of how not to live a small life is laid out throughout the poem, beginning with the following sentence“Open your eyes, open your hands.” The “small” life is a closed life, the opposite of an open life. A closed life is living with answers, self-prescribed and self-protected answers. A closed life is unbendable, thus rigid, and tediously planned and managed without seeking input or receiving help. A closed life lacks exploration and dare. A closed life has not learned to let go and thus hold things tight. Could it be that we close our eyes and close our hands because we think we have figured things out?

Then, Oliver uses the same word, small, offering how not to live a small life—by opening our hands and offering “small,” sweet “berries,” and perhaps the last gift in this world of hope and risk. Oliver brilliantly uses the same word and issues the adamant declaration and offers a shy solution. One way to live an un-small life is to present our small gifts by opening our hands. And it doesn’t have to be the enormous and heroic feat of doing the impossible of feeding the wind-winged clouds.

A few days ago, I had an awkward opportunity, riddled with risk, to give a small gift to the “world.” We were driving to the nearby town of Yangpyeong to visit Kwakjiwon Bakery. We stopped to buy some gimbap at a restaurant we visited and liked last year. After we ordered the gimbap, we were told to wait a few minutes. While waiting, our eyes were aimlessly looking around the tastefully decorated but empty restaurant as it was early for lunch. Our eyes naturally followed the collection of books on the shelf right above the sitting tables. I was attracted to the titles of the books. This was no ordinary gimbap restaurant, so I thought. As we picked up the food, I asked, “Who owns all these books?” The woman who handed me the gimbap said, “It’s me” with a tint of shyness. I told her I liked the titles she collected. She responded even more shyly that she read most of the books in the store. The thought of gifting my book to the owner entered and hovered in the background and the hesitant second-guessing thought fought in my head.

As I was walking out, I knew I would regret not offering my book. After half overcoming my abashment, I riskily asked the owner if she would like to receive the book I wrote. She surprisingly replied so enthusiastically that my embarrassment was quickly replaced with hope and curiosity. I promptly got the book out of the car, autographed it, and handed it to her. As she waited for my autograph, she told a story that she had just lost her dear grandfather last night. While still grieving in the morning. she received my book as a surprise gift from heaven. She teared up as she shared. As we walked toward the car, my wife patted my shoulder approvingly and told me, “I’m glad you followed your inner prompt.”

Living a life of small generosity and a small desire to be of help is a way of open life and open hands, connecting myself to the world and vice versa. The un-small life is a simply generous, present, available life. The un-small life brings to the world what we can, even if they are small, from our open hands. The open life I seek lets me say boldly “I shall not cease from exploration. . . ”

[1] T.S. Eliot, from “Little Gidding,” Four Quartets (Gardners Books; Main edition, April 30, 2001) Originally published 1943.”