Suddenly Sunday

I open my eyes, peep over the covers, feel around for the remote, and click on the TV.  That's my normal wake up routine.  I exhale seeing no huge disasters have struck the world during the night.  Then, the headline flashes big and awful and not so surprising: Whitney dead at 48.  Now, I work to see celebrities as human beings who happen to have a talent or a gimmick at least that has launched into the public eye.  Yes, they make piles of money and enjoy adoring fans (and haters too) and often live in sprawling mansions and...well, you know the list.  As I remember Whitney and I hear her voice streaming in all its angelic beauty and watch the inescapable paradox of her misery, her very human struggles paraded across the screen, I do mourn.  Suddenly I realize that as much as we both envy and despise the very concept of celebrity, it serves (if we let it) to help us appreciate our humble little lives and what a blessing they are.  We enjoy the same loves and friendships and fight the same battles and win and lose and laugh and cry, all basically the same as the most celebrated person in the world.  The most striking difference?  For the most part, we control how much of all of it we MUST share with the world.  Yes, it's the price one pays for all the positives of celebrity, but oh the horror of having everything in your life splashed across all manner of headlines.  (I would argue that freedom of the press does not extend to hanging from trees and taking pictures over backyard fences, but that's a whole other blog entry).  So today, I'm just mindful of Whitney's family and closest friends and how they must be feeling as I did when my little sisters passed.  Just typing those words breaks my heart again.  So I embrace my humanity this morning and understand that people across the world have lost loved ones today, and Whitney just happens to be famous.