The lesson in Maya Angelou’s ‘Good morning’

Regarding the May 29 front-page obituary for Maya Angelou, “ Daughter of the South who gave voice to generations ”:

“Good morning.” Suddenly, the voice penetrated my cocoon. I had been oblivious to the hustle and bustle in the State Department portico as a colleague and I exchanged pleasantries after an unsettling early morning meeting in 2008. The voice came from an elderly African American woman in a wheelchair. I realized that she had said “good morning” to us repeatedly. My face flushed with embarrassment, and I wondered how long she had waited for our attention. She wore large, dark sunglasses and sturdy black shoes. She was elegantly dressed and carried a beautifully carved walking stick.

“Good morning,” she said again. She swiveled her attention between my colleague and me, and continued in what I now recognize to be that familiar, deliberate cadence, “I must say good morning to you, and you must say good morning to me. We must all say good morning to one another. We cannot just pass one another without saying good morning.” And my worries and frustrations melted to a puddle. I smiled. With grateful respect, I responded to this rich voice of strength, “You are so right. Good morning.”

Her purpose with my colleague and me achieved, she signaled the person pushing her wheelchair to continue into the State Department. There, I read in the following day’s Post, Maya Angelou presented an award to Desmond Tutu at a ceremony in his honor. In the days that followed, grounded by the poet laureate, I got through my early morning trans-global phone calls and e-mails refocused on results that matter rather than the sometimes-petty political process that surrounds them. “Good morning,” I began each one.