Shannon Bream - Finding the Bright Side: The Art of Chasing What Matters

My voice cracked as I looked out into the packed auditorium and tried to gather my thoughts. I was frightened and exhausted, scanning the crowd and hoping to catch a glimpse of support from my mother. God, please help me, I whispered under my breath. But I couldnt see my mothers face. I couldnt see any faces, or the clock at the back of the room that was supposed to help me pace my speech and wrap up on time. It was all a blurry mess.

Weeks earlier Id finally had the cornea surgery Id been putting off for years. The procedure was the best bet I had at finding some relief from a long-running case of chronic pain. My vision shouldve healed, and actually improved from before, within a couple of weeks of the operation. But here I was, long past the time my vision should have returned, and no one could explain why my corneas werent healing. I couldnt drive and was struggling to make sense of the blurry images on my phone and computer. At work, where I normally roamed the halls asking everyone about their weekends and complimenting their outfits, I now spent most of the day hiding in my office. My world felt like it was closing in on me, and I was losing hope.

It had been a taxing journey just getting to the auditorium. People laughed nervously when I referred to my mother as my seeing-eye human, but I meant it literally. At the airport on the way here, I couldnt see more than a few feet ahead of me and had to depend on the kindness of strangers to find the right gate. I cried more than once, terrified that Id spend the rest of my life visually impaired and needy.

Surely the organizer would understand if I canceled, right? I felt miserable, with no idea how Id deliver what the audience had been promised: an uplifting, inspiring speech on two of the great joys in my lifemy faith and my work. Just days ahead of the event, I had dissolved into tears with my husband. Im a disaster right now, I sobbed. How am I supposed to stand up there and offer anything hopeful to all these people?

All I wanted was permission to bow out from the event. Instead, his answer was simple. Tell the truth.

Ive spent most of my life trying to make sure the outside world saw someone who had it together. Even when it made no sense to pretend, I kept a smile on my face and acted like all was well. Law degree with honors? Check. Perfect husband and marriage? Check. Flourishing career? Check. Deep faith? Check. Instagrammable travels around the world? Double check. Yet all that desperate striving required an enormous expenditure of energy. Now I was onstage with no cover: as exposed and as vulnerable as I had ever been.

I said a prayer, summoned my courage, and told the audience exactly how I felt.

The truth is, Im in a really tough place right now, I said. I had a surgery weeks ago, and my recovery isnt going well. I feel overwhelmed and afraid. There are plenty of things I dont understand, but I do know this: whats happening now will make sense in the future.

I couldnt read anyones face to see if my honesty was connecting or landing with a thud. This wasnt my usual lighthearted speech, full of self-deprecating humor and punch lines. It was raw and gritty. But I knew Id done what I was supposed to do.

At the end of the speech, I found my way offstage and reconnected with my mom, relieved that it was over. What happened next was an overwhelming surprise. People lined up down the aisles, waiting to hug me, to pray with me on the spot, and to share their own pain. I lost track of time. There were plenty of tears, yet I was flooded with a wave of encouragement that swallowed all the pain of the last month. I was depressed and hurting, and that stage had been the last place I wanted to be. But what I got in return for taking off my mask was immeasurablegenuine connections with other people who had been down similar paths. Their love and prayers sustained me as my recovery continued.

That night taught me something thats taken decades to really understand. Life is an adventure, and Ive loved most of it as much as my beloved Disney Worldfull of princess fantasies and scary rides. My mom actually visited the Central Florida attraction when she was pregnant with me, a trip she believes sparked my lifelong addiction to the Electric Light Parade and endless rounds of Its a Small World (which, to be fair, can send even the most tolerant parent over the edge). Ive got pictures of me in mouse ears with my dad as I ran through the entry gates, him in his polyester 1970s pants and me in a sundress without a care in the world.

Thats how I generally see life, full of good things around every corner. But like everyone, Ive fought past crushing moments of embarrassment. Ive rallied after falling down the stairs at a lieutenant governors Christmas party, or earlier in life, after failing to make the varsity cheerleading squad. (How else would I have gotten that varsity letter for warming the volleyball teams bench?) Ive acknowledged questionable on-air wardrobe choices and deleted tweets Id like to pretend never existed. There have been darker moments, too. Whether it was getting fired from my first news job by a boss who told me, Youre the worst person Ive ever seen on TV, or hearing the words, Theres no cure, Ive walked through the same deep valleys everyone else has. And yet, I still drive my coworkers crazy with my nonstop singing and my insistence on calling it Fri-yay! Because in the end, through all the darkness and lightthere is joy.

I dont know if I was born seeing the world that way, or if its a coping mechanism I learned from the crazy things Ive lived through. All I know is this: life is unpredictable and short and funny. It just is. Sometimes all you can do is learn to laugh at yourself and believe other peoplewhether senators or snarky baristascan be won over with kindness.

Every day Im on a mission to make curmudgeons smile, like the terrifying boss I had when I interned on Capitol Hill. On day one, as soon as the congressman left the office, the chief of staff barked at me, Get General So-and-So on the phone now! Remember, kids, this was preinternet, and I was pretty sure I couldnt just pull out the white pages and find the direct line to top military brass. As I looked around at my new coworkers, the chief of staff added, Anyone who helps her is fired!

By the end of the summer, though, I realized my boss was human. I was pretty sure he wouldnt actually murder anyone, and I kept showing up every daysmiling as he yelled in my direction. I think on my final day he might have smiled back, maybe. And I did end up tracking down that generals phone numbereven without Google.