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I have not ripped his books from my shelf. I have not turned his posters to face the wall. I have not disengaged from my relationship with Lance Armstrong. No, I don't know him in person, but with so many others I have followed his remarkable story with fascination. I have been inspired by his victory over cancer, his power on the Alpe d'Huez, and (yes) his persistent efforts to prove himself clean. I am sad that those efforts rested on deception, and that he was not quite the hero I had thought. On the other hand, I am not walking away. Lance has not yet stopped being an inspiration in my life.
I am not referring to the quality of his confession. I am not evaluating the sincerity of his remorse. I am talking about the inspiration of his failing catastrophically on life's journey, and doing so on a worldwide stage. I am inspired by Lance's humiliation--in the judging view of millions--to take a look within myself. Where in the recesses of my heart do I, too, harbor the lies I have told and lived? Lies to others, yes...but most of all, the lies I believe about me.
When I judge him to be a cheat and a jerk, is it about Lance? Or about me? I pride myself on sensitive compassion. How often have I missed your point, refocused the conversation on myself, and walked away without meeting your needs? I consider myself humble. How often have I dropped the name, referenced the success, pointed to the acclaim? I am, surely, honest...genuine...a woman of integrity. But how often do I soften the truth in order to fit in, remain silent when speaking up is called for, and allow half-truths to stand unchallenged while my reputation reaps the benefits?
Lance and I are different in scale but not in substance. When I imagine myself stripped naked on the public stage, I tremble. I, too, might well cover up, rationalize, apply my talents to the illusion of candor. If I had the skill, I might even carry it off: only to end up with Lance, cornered by an illusory self, admitting to my young son that he should no longer defend me at school.
In my spiritual tradition, those who live in glass houses should not throw stones. We aim to focus on the log in our own eye, not the speck in our brother's eye. Lance is living now with the log in his own eye. I am inspired. It does not matter whether he does it well or fumbles in the attempt. I am not inspired by his response. I am inspired by his experience to face my own human condition. I am inspired to recognize the self-deception and lies to others that characterize my everyday life. Lance and I are in it together. His story is my story, and he is not after all larger-than-life.
What lessons have you learned by watching your superheroes fall from their pedestals?
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