David Tennant and Saying Goodbye

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Photo by marc thiele on Flickr’s creative commons

Ten years ago, I thought it would mean everything to see my favorite voice actors on a stage from a distance and in an autograph line for a moment. But that didn’t mean everything. The greatest gift came when they gave their time in hotel lobbies and conference rooms, letting us witness their own reunions with each other, and inviting us into their lives.

And if you know my story with Adventures in Odyssey, you know how the gifts kept piling up: gifts of time, of words, of moments, of remembrance, with these very same voice actors, and with others who work with them, others who love them.

June 17, 2018, wasn’t August 16, 2008, but then again, it couldn’t be.

Other than those Adventures in Odyssey actors, there was never really anyone famous I wanted to meet. Well, there was one. If he ever came to town, I knew I would pull out all the stops to be there, but it was a dream I didn’t think would come true. But then he did, and so did I.

It meant the world to me to meet David Tennant at Denver Comic Con. He is every bit as lovely and generous with his fans as I hoped he would be. I stood at the front of the second overflow line for twenty minutes, which meant I had a clear view of him shaking hands with people and listening and signing bits of cloth and paper. And I saw the looks on those people’s faces when they walked away. It was beautiful to see his commitment to being fully present to hundreds of people, even though he would never see them again.

Memories are still beautiful even if only one person will remember them, but they are also bittersweet.

Celebrity is a strange thing. How much we will pay for 10 seconds of conversation, or a greeting and a flashbulb that gives us a glossy photo to pin to the wall. How much I paid for these things, and how I kept grasping for ways to be remembered: a clever word, spoken; a hundred words, written and given.

But there was not enough time, or words, or moments, or remembrance. This is how it is. But I still couldn’t help repeating our conversation to everyone who would listen, in hopes that I would remember every word. And I can’t help the tears in my eyes now.

It’s only natural to want to meet someone whose work has made its mark on us, whose art has tapped into something deep inside of us, or even someone whose life seems to overflow with goodness. We feel like we know them, and we want to meet them and tell them why we are different people because of them, but we have only seconds, and we are not fully ourselves for even those seconds, because we are weighing every word, we are starstruck, we can’t believe it’s really happening.

There’s not enough time, I thought while driving home, in the throws of an emotional hangover. There’s not enough time. And then I realized that I wasn’t thinking about my favorite actor anymore.

I am saying goodbyes now, as I prepare to move to New York in a few days, but I am in denial. I am giving a clever word, spoken; I am giving a hundred words, written. These are the words that matter most. David Tennant is a wonderful person, I’m sure, but he has people who are actually in his life to tell him this. He doesn’t need my card, even if it does encourage him. He doesn’t need my wit, even if it does amuse him.

But the time, the words, the moments, the remembrance, matters so much more when they are shared, when they are building a house for both parties. When we can be fully ourselves. When it is up to us to speak life into the person across from us, because they are our loved one, or because they are one who needs love, or both.

I treasure the memories of those flashy days, those once-in-a-lifetime handshakes, but they aren’t the only beginnings to celebrate. I most want to remember the beginnings that led to middles of new faces becoming familiar and small talk lengthening and days turning into nights and all the while we are together still.

There’s not enough time.

June 17, 2018, wasn’t August 16, 2008, and neither of those days was the one when I drove to the northernmost reaches of Denver to attend a meet-up group, or the one when I was one of two people to bring strategy games to a party-game gathering, or the one when I braved the snow to visit the nearest house church. But then again, they couldn’t be.

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