TEDx and Death
Few years ago, a respected critique Michal Kašpárek wrote an article „A Plague Named Inspiration“. Among others, he criticized TEDx (although, as far as I know, he has not attended any TEDx event in person). I replied with „Inspiration Is Not a Four-Letter Word“, pointing out real values that TEDx brought to (not only) my life. We talked about it in the team, of course, and we agreed that our goal is not only to inspire but to change people’s lives.
To change people’s lives. Such a bold and immodest statement. But why would we fuss around the ideas worth spreading if we didn’t believe that they have some significant power. That’s WHY they’re worth spreading — because they eventually can change the status quo. But it also means that focusing on potential impact, the red carpet somehow fades away. Sometimes the most significant thing you do is take a unfairly sentenced midwife and give her a chance to speak out and talk to people during the recess. The talk might not formally be the best, but the job of changing lives is done. Away from the stage. It’s amazing to see how a once broken woman suddenly stands empowered and straight, defending her case in front of angry young men. (She was fully pardoned some years later.)
It is a thing that online TED talks can never do. They’re often just sparkling gems of wisdom. A real change happens when people meet, talk, do things together.
I sometimes argue that the most powerful essence of TEDx is not inspiration. It’s 1) people and 2) surprise. Amazing things don’t happen as planned or carefully rehearsed, they emerge unprepared from the lake or jump on you from the tree above.
And so it happened. Three years ago, we were struggling to have a TEDx team of people that would both be energetic and enthusiastic AND reliable and hardworking. Then a fellow organizer brought in David. An old friend, his high-school mate, a construction engineer — to maybe help us with stage design. Soon David became engaged in everything we did, from programming to finance, from technical issues to the motivation of the team.
There are many things we could learn from David. One that still amazes me is that although our senior, he would not usually spread his own wisdom — but rather point out the wise and smart things that you once did or said. He also loved to emphasize that we have to enjoy being and working together. Sharing and spreading joy when preparing the stage for worthy ideas. With David, we gained a friendly, reliable person who would never say „No“ and rarely „Yes, but“. Most of all, his reaction was „Yes, and“. And to my ever present risk and problem spotting, I’d get a sweet „It’s a challenge, will you take it?“.
The most valuable thing David taught me is the belief that our common work, our joint efforts, our spirit is way bigger value than our personal likes or dislikes. Before, I would often think whether I should stay on the team when it meant interaction with such and such person. But with his help, I learned to feel and see the invisible assets that some people bring even „without ever doing anything substantial“.
In the Autumn 2014, when we were struggling with having some subtitles published, David inspired me to apply to become a Language Coordinator for Czech TED Translators. I was accepted immediately and David’s usual „Yippieee!“ was as happy as can be. Thanks to this step, I became a little bit more visible to the TED headquarters and suddenly realized to be invited to come to TED Global in Geneva and a few weeks later also to TED Summit in Banff. That all without having to fill in the long, humiliating self-praising form which TEDx organizers have to use before being able to apply for a ticket to TED. „Yippieee!“ David shouted.
Last September, David came to be at the Christening of my third child. He loved it. And I was so happy I could finally introduce him to my wife. They had actually had a nice chat before I managed to introduce them to each other. Few weeks later, I called him, asking him how he was. We used to talk a lot on the phone, not only about TEDx. There were weeks when we’d call each other every day on our way from work and talk for half an hour until the connection was lost on a fast going train. We were successfully in the middle of preparations for another big TEDx event. „How are you?“, I asked. „I’m going to take a rest for a while“, David replied. Good to hear, he’d been working really hard. „Going somewhere interesting?“ But David surprised me with „Well, I’ll just spend a few days in the hospital. All according to a plan.“ I knew he had an operation earlier that year, so I asked him if it was some physiotherapy. „Well, not actually, just a bone-marrow transplantation.“ He hardly told anyone.
On the big day, we had a great line-up of speakers for TEDxPrague (20th event under this license). Among them all, young shy Blanka with braided hair and irresistible smile. She wished to have a paper coffin with her on the stage. In plain words, she spoke about the Power of Real Good-bye. About the way we need to reconsider dying and death. About the fear and courage to face the pain and helplessness — and act. Blanka and her friend founded „Forrest of Memories“, a place where you can gather when bidding fare-well to your beloved one, letting their ashes rest under the roots of a tree. She spoke about rituals that don’t have to be rigid and festive. About the need to face the pain, stay connected, express love.
David liked the talk. It took me many weeks to have it finally published on-line. We didn’t talk much during the winter, just exchanging quick notes and encouragements regarding the post-production. But finally, the work was done. And it was time to meet again and make plans for the next year. When I called David with an obligatory question whether I should bring cheese of sausages and wine red or white for the meeting, his never mind sounded strange. He came in, skin and bones, eyes deep set and uneasy. Hardly talked, blamed it on a cold he’d caught.
After the meeting, I texted David’s daughter that I am worried and that in case she needed support, I’m there to help. Few days later she replied that David collapsed and was hospitalized. And thanked me that I helped her open her eyes to what was going on. I told Matej, my closest TEDx fellow, and we rushed to the hospital. David sat there in his obligatory polo shirt, smiling grimly. We’d exchange a few sentences about TEDx, about the big blue bruises all over his body, about the ongoing battle for a license for TEDxPilsen, about the beautiful nurses around. „It all went too quickly, I haven’t expected that,“ David said quietly „I might need a dance, like the slow one with our hands that we used to do at tai-chi.”
And that’s it. On March 13th, on the day of Douglas Adams’ birthday, David probably took the famous red TEDxPrague towel and thumbed down a ride up to the stars to give the author of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy an ultimate present in person. The team was like being struck by a lightning when they learned that David is no longer with us. We cried, we hugged, we sang. We met in David’s favorite pub to be together for a kind of last supper. We talked, we collected and printed photos. We drank rum and sang again. Than we carried a big X made of red roses down to the Vltava river. Some of us barefoot. Sang again holding hands and let the red X float down the river.
Last week I walked barefoot on the sacred First Nation’s land in Banff National Park in Canada during the TED Summit. All thanks to David. TEDx spirit is what brought David and me (and many others) together, TEDx spirit is what helped us overcome such great loss when David died. A young, inexperienced TEDx speaker helped us to do the right things at the right time to be able to continue lightly and with immense gratitude rather than bitterness.
TEDx Spirit. It’s not about the red carpet, in the end.
