congratulations.
At my college graduation in 2005, I was showered with cards and wishes of "Congratulations!" I smiled, thanked everyone, and scratched my head. Why was I being congratulated? I went to college, did my work, and finished in four years. To me, it didn't seem that remarkable. My aunt tried to explain that it was a big deal, that I should see it as an accomplishment. But I wasn't convinced. To me it felt like being congratulated for going to work every day. I signed up to do it, I did it, and now it was done. What was the big deal?
The same thing happened when we got married. Everyone was happy, and came with more wishes of congratulations. Again, I didn't get it. I knew it was a happy occasion, but where was the achievement in saying "I do" and marrying someone I loved? I didn't feel like we'd necessarily accomplished anything--we'd just committed to share a life together, something we really wanted to do. It didn't seem like a great feat or a huge success after lots of hard work. In fact, we felt like we'd gotten away with something way too easily.
Then I self-published my book. My fellow writers understand the love/hate relationship with self-publishing: I love the idea that my book is finally out there, and hate the idea that I couldn't convince an agent to pick it up. So when I finally self-published and started promoting the ebook, I was shocked at the response I got from friends and family: congratulations. Really? Maybe you didn't hear me right, I thought. Maybe you thought I said, "I got published," instead of, "I self-published." No? You understood just fine? And you're saying congratulations? But it was second-best, plan B. It was something to do in lieu of the accomplishment I originally wanted. And yet, the well wishes came pouring in.
While I am pleased that I graduated from college, married a person I love and self-published a book, I've been struggling with the concept of congratulations. So like most things I'm struggling with, I took it to Google. "Congratulations etymology" went into the search box, and I found this:
congratulation
I clicked on the grace link and found this:
grace
late 12c., "God's favor or help," from O.Fr. grace "pleasing quality, favor, good will, thanks," from L. gratia "pleasing quality, good will, gratitude," from gratus "pleasing, agreeable," from PIE base *gwer- "to praise, welcome" (cf. Skt. grnati "sings, praises, announces," Lith. giriu "to praise, celebrate," Avestan gar- "to praise").
Suddenly, my mind made sense of it all. It wasn't that I'd accomplished something deserving of praise. It wasn't that people were proud at these unique and challenging undertakings. It wasn't them looking in on me and saying, "She's so wonderful! Look what she did!" It's them standing next to me, saying, "We are thankful with you. We are joyful with you. And we wish you God's favor or help, which you are sure to need as you continue to move through this life." Nobody was singing my praises for graduating or getting married ... they were singing the praises of life, of grace, of joy.
Over the weekend we watched Country Strong, in which Gwyneth Paltrow plays a country music star who ultimately self-destructs under the pressures of her fame and lifestyle. It was predictable and familiar, and it was sad. At one point in the movie, I shouted out what I thought would happen next. It happened, just as I knew it would, and I started crying. "You knew it was coming," Kevin said, "and you're still crying?" I couldn't help it ... the world thrust her onto a pedestal and stood below clapping and cheering. She was at the top, and she was alone. And alone, she couldn't survive.
Where is the line? What differentiates the true meaning of "congratulations," a coming together in joy, support and gratitude, from the adulterated version, a complete separation of one successful person from everyone else in the world? I suppose it depends on who's cheering you on.
When my parents congratulated me at my graduation, they were really saying, "We're still here for you." When my sisters congratulated me at my wedding, they were really saying, "We've got your back if you ever need us." When my husband congratulated me for self-publishing, he meant, "I'm so happy people are reading your book."
The people in my life know that while a graduation, marriage and self-published book are special, they are by no means extraordinary or particularly unusual. Their congratulations were not for the accomplishment of an unbelievable feat, but for the reminder that I am not alone on this planet. Unlike the celebrity who is admired but abandoned to a private, threatening world, ordinary people who pursue what they love (education, families, creative arts) and are supported by their friends and families get the most out of congratulations. They get the joy, celebration, help, and grace. They get the reminder that it's not only about what you've done, but who's been by your side. They get the safe place to hide if the perfect plan turns out less than perfect.
These are the gifts I've received for pursuing what I love, and these are the congratulations that keep me strong. As I re-think the meaning of congratulations, I'm tempted to use it more often, in all of its variations: a call when it's needed, a note of encouragement, a pan of lasagna. Anything that combines the "together" with "grace." Anything that makes someone else feel less alone.
The same thing happened when we got married. Everyone was happy, and came with more wishes of congratulations. Again, I didn't get it. I knew it was a happy occasion, but where was the achievement in saying "I do" and marrying someone I loved? I didn't feel like we'd necessarily accomplished anything--we'd just committed to share a life together, something we really wanted to do. It didn't seem like a great feat or a huge success after lots of hard work. In fact, we felt like we'd gotten away with something way too easily.
Then I self-published my book. My fellow writers understand the love/hate relationship with self-publishing: I love the idea that my book is finally out there, and hate the idea that I couldn't convince an agent to pick it up. So when I finally self-published and started promoting the ebook, I was shocked at the response I got from friends and family: congratulations. Really? Maybe you didn't hear me right, I thought. Maybe you thought I said, "I got published," instead of, "I self-published." No? You understood just fine? And you're saying congratulations? But it was second-best, plan B. It was something to do in lieu of the accomplishment I originally wanted. And yet, the well wishes came pouring in.
While I am pleased that I graduated from college, married a person I love and self-published a book, I've been struggling with the concept of congratulations. So like most things I'm struggling with, I took it to Google. "Congratulations etymology" went into the search box, and I found this:
congratulation
mid-15c., from L. congratulationem , noun of action from congratulari "wish joy," from com- "together, with" + gratulari "give thanks, show joy," from gratus "agreeable" (see grace).
I clicked on the grace link and found this:
grace
late 12c., "God's favor or help," from O.Fr. grace "pleasing quality, favor, good will, thanks," from L. gratia "pleasing quality, good will, gratitude," from gratus "pleasing, agreeable," from PIE base *gwer- "to praise, welcome" (cf. Skt. grnati "sings, praises, announces," Lith. giriu "to praise, celebrate," Avestan gar- "to praise").
Suddenly, my mind made sense of it all. It wasn't that I'd accomplished something deserving of praise. It wasn't that people were proud at these unique and challenging undertakings. It wasn't them looking in on me and saying, "She's so wonderful! Look what she did!" It's them standing next to me, saying, "We are thankful with you. We are joyful with you. And we wish you God's favor or help, which you are sure to need as you continue to move through this life." Nobody was singing my praises for graduating or getting married ... they were singing the praises of life, of grace, of joy.
Over the weekend we watched Country Strong, in which Gwyneth Paltrow plays a country music star who ultimately self-destructs under the pressures of her fame and lifestyle. It was predictable and familiar, and it was sad. At one point in the movie, I shouted out what I thought would happen next. It happened, just as I knew it would, and I started crying. "You knew it was coming," Kevin said, "and you're still crying?" I couldn't help it ... the world thrust her onto a pedestal and stood below clapping and cheering. She was at the top, and she was alone. And alone, she couldn't survive.
Where is the line? What differentiates the true meaning of "congratulations," a coming together in joy, support and gratitude, from the adulterated version, a complete separation of one successful person from everyone else in the world? I suppose it depends on who's cheering you on.
When my parents congratulated me at my graduation, they were really saying, "We're still here for you." When my sisters congratulated me at my wedding, they were really saying, "We've got your back if you ever need us." When my husband congratulated me for self-publishing, he meant, "I'm so happy people are reading your book."
The people in my life know that while a graduation, marriage and self-published book are special, they are by no means extraordinary or particularly unusual. Their congratulations were not for the accomplishment of an unbelievable feat, but for the reminder that I am not alone on this planet. Unlike the celebrity who is admired but abandoned to a private, threatening world, ordinary people who pursue what they love (education, families, creative arts) and are supported by their friends and families get the most out of congratulations. They get the joy, celebration, help, and grace. They get the reminder that it's not only about what you've done, but who's been by your side. They get the safe place to hide if the perfect plan turns out less than perfect.
These are the gifts I've received for pursuing what I love, and these are the congratulations that keep me strong. As I re-think the meaning of congratulations, I'm tempted to use it more often, in all of its variations: a call when it's needed, a note of encouragement, a pan of lasagna. Anything that combines the "together" with "grace." Anything that makes someone else feel less alone.