We Don’t Have Room for Small

I was gifted a bit of the Beautiful & True a couple of weeks ago, when my girlfriend loaned me her copy of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.

In your life, is there a book, or a movie, or a piece of music, or a work of art—something where every moment seems to be speaking directly to you? As if the artist had created it specifically for you, just to help you see yourself strongly and clearly for a moment.

That was Jane Eyre for me, when I was a teenager. And it’s A Tree Grows in Brooklyn for my friend.

Which, of course, means I had to read it. And I’m so glad I did. It’s stunningly written, with sharply-drawn characters, a real generosity in its morality, and imagery that is both unpretentious and breath-catching. It was unflinching in its Truth and unhesitating in its Beauty and…oof. I could go on and on, honestly.

But beyond it being a truly great read, when someone hands me something as simple as a book and says, “Look, this is me!” I can’t refuse it. And why would I?

When a person offers you a piece of their Beautiful & True, it’s…well, it’s sacred. Literally. You have been gifted a peek at their soul, their most precious self, the tiny, infinite piece of them that is unique and holy and eternal. To reject that is unfathomable. To me, at least.

Of course, I have seen people offer up their Beautiful & True with tender hopefulness and joy, only to have someone dismiss it outright. Or mock it. Or smile and nod. Or be too wrapped up in themselves to recognize it (or care).

It’s happened to me. I’ll bet it’s happened to you, too.

I watched a friend extricate herself from a twenty- year marriage, because she could no longer stand her husband’s daily refusal of her Beautiful & True. She was growing into it, growing more centered and stronger and more joyful every day, and for some incomprehensible reason he wanted nothing to do with it. She was dying to share it with him, and all he had to do was not refuse the gift. But he did.

When we reject the Beautiful & True, or when someone rejects it in us, unless we are very fierce and strong like my married friend—it shrivels us. It makes us small.

We often associate “small” with size, but there is another meaning to “small”: insignificant, unimportant.

That version is most often used as a condescending insult. Do you remember that scene in Toy Story, when Woody—at the height of his frustration and jealousy with Buzz Lightyear—screams: “YOU. ARE. A. TOY!!!!!” And Buzz responds with: “You are a sad, strange little man.” Buzz wasn’t talking about Woody’s height, but—ultimately—about his lack of vision, the smallness of his spirit. The quote ends with, “You have my pity. Farewell.”

Buzz may have been wrong on the facts, but he wasn’t wrong on the Truth.

I’m a bit afield here, as per usual, but this is important.

Beautiful & True is about not allowing ourselves to be small. We don’t need small. The world doesn’t need small. Small is what gets us into trouble.

Small gets us police shootings and poisoned water and children in cages. Small gets us broken relationships and broken hearts, on scales both global and personal.

Ironically, small ends up taking up all the space.

That’s why I’m doing this blog and this podcast. Because simply by acknowledging the Beautiful & True, by allowing ourselves to be witnesses to it, we become more creative, more expansive, more whole.

I want that for myself. I want that for you. I want that for our world.

Because we don’t have room for small, anymore.