About a year ago now, on October 10th to be exact, I received a gift from a mother on behalf of her dead daughter. Perhaps the peculiar power of that sentence explains why this small lime-green wristband, valued by market forces at approximately five dollars, has quickly become one of the most thought-about objects I own.
Calling it a personal gift might be a bit much. I never met the daughter, Esther, in life, and had only had peripheral contact with the mother, Lori, twice before; once seeing her onstage at a conference, and once online, and never properly meeting in a way that we could be called acquainted. I received this gift because I happened to heed a call for a Nerdfighter meetup. Everyone there who didn’t already own a wristband was given one.
Still, I wouldn’t call it a giveaway; not in the sense of the mass, commercial connotations of the word. It was a gift given to me, and the others who received identical gifts, because I was, by virtue of being there at the time and being enthusiastic about it, was part of the Nerdfighter community, which Esther was a part of and had found immense joy in. Because Nerdfighters that show up to gatherings should have Esther’s wristbands as a matter of course. Because I needed one, and it would be rude to make a friend pay for something they needed from you.
Perhaps you can start to grasp why this small action and token have given me so much cause for reflection, especially given that I consider wristbands to have a special meaning to them. Clearly this one is a token of sorts. But of what? I wouldn’t call it a reward; the manner in which they were given doesn’t bespeak a reward, and I certainly haven’t done anything to merit this specific one. As a symbol of fraternity and comradeship? Possibly, but though I may believe that Esther and I would have been friends had I known her, we weren’t, and it’s a stretch to say that I’m friends with someone I never knew existed while they were alive.
I have gotten a few hints. The first comes from John Green’s remarks regarding Esther, both in his videos, and in his speech at Nerdcon: Nerdfighteria. He talks about her, at least partially, in the present tense. This is echoed in the literature of This Star Won’t Go Out, the foundation set up in her honor which manufactures and sells the bracelets in question. Esther may be gone, but the impact she had on their lives during hers continues to reverberate.
This talk is familiar enough to me. It comes up at the conferences I attend; how we have an impact on each other, on others, and in terms of advocacy, on policy and the world. The wristband pulls at those same strings, and so feels sentimental beyond the story behind it. It reminds me of stories I’ve heard a hundred times before, from tearful eulogies to triumphant speeches, in soliloquy, and in song. It reminds me of the stanza from In Flanders Fields that always stops me in my tracks.
I am always drawn to this stanza, particularly the second and third lines. Because yes, it’s a sad song, but those two lines hint at something more. The torch isn’t lost; on the contrary, it continues to be held high. There is tragedy, but there is also a chance for something like redemption. Not revenge; it’s the wrong kind of song to be a proper up and at ‘em fighting song. Rather, a chance at making some good come out of the situation. Yes, this group failed to finish what it started, but all is not lost so long as someone picks up the torch. It’s a sad song, but it also has hope in it.
So the torch, or in this case, the wristband, is mine. Now what? How do I hold it high in this situation? More crucially, how can I make sure I don’t break faith? How do I ensure that this star doesn’t go out? If I had ever met Esther, or even known her online when she was alive, instead of only in past tense, I might know how to do that. And from what I’ve been able to gather, she made it clear that she had no desire to be remembered only in past tense (hence my very careful wording, and focus only on my own perspective).
Luckily for me, I once again have several hints. I know the causes she championed, and those which others close to her have championed by her inspiration. Many of them mirror the same ideals I hold. Indeed, some months after that day in October, I received some feedback on a pitch I had made to This Star Won’t Go Out regarding a Project Lovely idea, essentially telling me that while my idea wasn’t quite what they were looking for at that moment, that my head and heart were in the right place. The message seems to be that I am expected to carry the torch / keep the Star shining simply by continuing to have a positive impact, or in Nerdfighter parlance, by not forgetting to be awesome, and decreasing worldsuck, through whatever means seem best to me, at my own discretion.
The wristband, then, is a symbol of that mission. It is a good mission, and a mission I was probably going to try and accomplish even without a wristband, which is probably why it seemed so natural that I should get one. Perhaps I shan’t accomplish it in my time, in which case it shall be my turn to throw the torch from my failing hands, so that others in turn shall wear wristbands. There is a comforting poetry to this.
All of this has a special relevance today, since, for those who haven’t figured it out, today, August 3rd, is Esther Day. When John proposed to make her birthday a holiday in Nerdfighteria, she responded that she wanted it to be about love and family. This has been interpreted as being a sort of Valentine’s Day for non-romantic love. In particular, the tradition is to tell others in so many words that you love them.
This is difficult for me, for two reasons. First, the obvious: I’m a guy, and an introvert at that. Guys are only ever expected to voice love towards others under a very narrow range of circumstances. So I’m squeamish when it comes to the L word. And secondly, I have an aversion to dealing in absolutes and making commitments I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to keep absolutely. This is learned behavior, ingrained by years of having medical issues wreck plans, and uncompromising administrators hold me to the letter of my commitments despite extenuating circumstances making those promises all but impossible.
Even now, typing words out, I find myself backpedaling, tweaking phrases to avoid putting things plainly and opening myself up. But I’m going to suck it up. Not for Esther, because I never met her, and it isn’t fair for me to do things in her memory since I don’t actually have a memory of her. But for Esther Day. For the things she set in motion. For the trust that the people she trusted put in me.
I love my brother, despite bitter arguments. I love my parents, who enable me to live probably more than my doctors. I love my friends, both old and new. I won’t name them, despite convention, for their own privacy, but you know who you are, and you have open license to confront me and demand to hear the words personally over the coming days. I love the Nerdfighters and Tuatarians I have met, both in real life and online, who proved that whether or not the world at large is cruel, there are pockets of kindness all over. I love my disabled comrades, who give me perspective and inspiration. I love my doctors and nurses, who keep me alive, and indulge me when I value things above following medical advice precisely as given.
I know I’m supposed to say, now that I’ve said it, it wasn’t so hard. But, actually, no, that was terrifying, for all the reasons I outlined above, and it’s still terrifying to know I’ve said it, let alone to leave it up. But I’m going to leave it up. Because it’s the thing to do. Because even if others don’t follow my example as is the tacit understanding, having a world with more love and appreciation in it, even a small amount, is a good thing.
Happy Esther Day.
