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I want to tell you about my search
for purpose as a journalist
-
and how Dolly Parton
helped me figure it out.
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So I've been telling audio stories
for about 20 years,
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first on the radio and then in podcasts.
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When I started the radio show
Radiolab in 2002,
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here was the quintessential
story move we would do.
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We'd bring on somebody --
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(Audio) Steve Strogatz:
It's one of the most hypnotic
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and spellbinding spectacles in nature,
-
because, you have to keep in mind,
it is absolutely silent.
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Like this guy, mathematician,
Steve Strogatz,
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and he would paint a picture.
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(Audio) SS: Picture it.
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There's a riverbank in Thailand
in the remote part of the jungle,
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you're in a canoe,
slipping down the river.
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There's no sound of anything,
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maybe the occasional, you know,
exotic jungle bird or something.
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JA: So you're in this imaginary
canoe with Steve,
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and in the air all around you
are millions of fireflies.
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And what you see is sort of
a randomized starry-night effect.
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Because all the fireflies
are blinking at different rates.
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Which is what you would expect.
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But according to Steve, in this one place,
-
for reasons no scientist
can fully explain --
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SS: Whoop.
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Whoop.
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Whoop.
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With thousands of lights on
and then off, all in sync.
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JA: Now it's around this time
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that I would generally bring in
the beautiful music, as I just did,
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and you'd start to get that warm feeling.
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A feeling, that we know from science,
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kind of localizes in your head and chest
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and spreads through your body.
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It's that feeling of wonder.
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From 2002 to 2010,
I did hundreds of these stories.
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Sciency, neurosciency,
very heady, brainy stories,
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that would always resolve
into that feeling of wonder.
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And I began to see that as my job,
-
to lead people to moments of wonder.
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What that sounded like was:
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(Various voices) "Huh!" "Wow!"
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"Wow!"
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"That's amazing."
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"Whoa!" "Wow!"
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JA: But I began to get
kind of tired of these stories.
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I mean, partially, it was the repetition,
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I remember there was a day
I was sitting at the computer,
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making the sound of a neuron.
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(Crackling sound)
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You know, take some white noise,
chop it up, very easy sound to make.
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I remember thinking
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"I have made this sound 25 times."
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But it was more than that,
-
there was a familiar path
to these stories.
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You walk the path of truth,
which is made of science,
-
and you get to wonder.
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Now I love science, don't get me wrong.
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My parents emigrated
from a war-torn country,
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came to America,
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and science for them was, like,
more their identity than anything else,
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and I inherited that from them.
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But there was something
about that simple movement
-
from science to wonder
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that just started to feel wrong to me.
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Like, is that the only path
a story can take?
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Around 2012,
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I ran into a bunch of different stories
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that made me think, "No."
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One story in particular,
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where we interviewed a guy who described
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chemical weapons being used
against him and his fellow villagers
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in the mountains of Laos.
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Western scientists went there,
-
measured for chemical weapons,
didn't find any.
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We interviewed the man about this,
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he said the scientists were wrong.
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We said, "But they tested."
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He said, "I don't care,
I know what happened to me."
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And we went back and forth
and back and forth,
-
and make a long story short,
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the interview ended in tears.
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I felt ...
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I felt horrible.
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Like, hammering at a scientific truth,
when someone has suffered.
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That wasn't going to heal anything.
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And maybe I was relying
too much on science to find the truth.
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And it really did feel at that moment
-
that there were a lot
of truths in the room,
-
and we were only looking at one of them.
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So I thought, I've got
to get better at this.
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And so for the next eight years,
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I committed myself to doing stories
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where you heard truths collide.
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We did stories about
the politics of consent,
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where you heard the perspective
of survivors and perpetrators
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whose narratives clashed.
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We did stories about race,
-
how black men are systematically
eliminated from juries,
-
and yet, the rules that try
and prevent that from happening,
-
only make things worse.
-
Stories about counter terrorism,
Guantanamo detainees,
-
stories where everything is disputed,
-
all you can do is struggle
to try and make sense.
-
And this struggle
kind of became the point.
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I began to think, "Maybe that's my job."
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To lead people to moments of struggle.
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Here's what that sounded like:
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(Various voices)
"But I see ... I, like ..."
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"Uh, I ..." (Sigh)
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"Well, so, like, huh ..."
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"That, I mean, I ..."
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"You know ... golly ... I ... (Sigh)"
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JA: And that sigh right there,
-
I wanted to hear that sound
in every single story,
-
because that sound is kind of
our current moment, right?
-
We live in a world where truth
is no longer just a set of facts
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to be captured.
-
It's become a process.
-
It's gone from being a noun
to being a verb.
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But how do you end that story?
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Like, what literally kept happening
is we'd be, you know, telling a story,
-
cruising along,
two viewpoints in conflict,
-
you get to the end and it's just like --
-
No, let me see.
-
What do I say at the end?
-
Oh, my God.
-
What do you, how do you end that story?
-
You can't just happily-ever-after it,
-
because that doesn't feel real.
-
At the same time,
-
if you just leave people
in that stuck place,
-
like, "why did I just listen to that?"
-
Like, it felt like there had to be
another move there.
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Had to be a way beyond the struggle.
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And this is what brings me to Dolly.
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Or, Saint Dolly, as we like
to call her in the South.
-
I want to tell you about one little
glimmer of an epiphany that I had
-
doing a nine-part series
called Dolly Parton's America last year.
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It was a bit of a departure for me,
-
but I just had this intuition
that Dolly could help me
-
figure out this ending problem.
-
And here was the basic intuition:
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You go to a Dolly concert,
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you see men in trucker hats
standing next to men in drag,
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Democrats standing next to Republicans,
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women holding hands,
-
every different kind of person
smashed together.
-
All of these people that we are told
should hate each other,
-
are there singing together.
-
She somehow carved out
this unique space in America,
-
and I wanted to know, how did she do that?
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So I interviewed Dolly 12 times,
two separate continents.
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She started every interview this way:
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(Audio) Dolly Parton: Ask me
whatever you ask me,
-
and I'm going to tell you
what I want to hear."
-
(Laughter)
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She is undeniably a force of nature.
-
But the problem that I ran into
-
is that I had chosen
a conceit for this series
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that my soul had trouble with.
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Dolly sings a lot about the South.
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If you go through her discography,
-
you will hear song after song
about Tennessee.
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(Music) DP (Singing, various songs):
Tennessee, Tennessee...
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Tennessee homesick ...
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"I've got those Tennessee homesick blues
running' through my head."
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Tennessee.
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"Tennessee Mountain Home,"
"Tennessee Mountain Memories."
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Now I grew up in Tennessee,
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and I felt no nostalgia for that place.
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I was the scrawny Arab kid
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who came from the place
that invented suicide bombing.
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I spent a lot of time in my room.
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When I left Nashville,
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I left.
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I remember being at Dollywood,
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standing in front of a replica,
replica of her Tennessee Mountain Home.
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People all around me were crying.
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This is a set.
-
Why are you crying?
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I couldn't understand
why they were so emotional,
-
especially given
my relationship to the South.
-
And I started to honestly have
panic attacks about this.
-
Am I not the right person
for this project?
-
But then, twist of fate.
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We meet this guy, Bryan Seaver,
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Dolly's nephew and bodyguard.
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And on a whim, he drives
producer Shima Oliaee and I
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out of Dollywood,
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round the back side of the mountains,
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up the mountains 20 minutes,
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down a narrow dirt road,
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through giant wooden gates
that look right out of "Game of Thrones,"
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and into the actual
Tennessee mountain home.
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But the real place.
-
Valhalla.
-
The real Tennessee mountain home.
-
And I'm going to score
this part with Wagner,
-
because you've got to understand,
-
in Tennessee lore,
-
this is like hallowed ground,
the Tennessee mountain home.
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So I remember standing there,
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on the grass,
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next to the Pigeon River,
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butterflies doing loopty loops in the air,
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and I had my own moment of wonder.
-
Dolly's Tennessee mountain home
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looks exactly like my dad's home
in the mountains of Lebanon.
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Her house looks just
like the place that he left.
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And that simple bit of layering
led me to have a conversation with him
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that I never had before,
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about the pain he felt leaving his home.
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And how he hears that in Dolly's music.
-
Then I had a conversation with Dolly
where she described her songs
-
as migration music.
-
Even that classic song,
-
"Tennessee Mountain Home,"
if you listen to it --
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(Dolly Parton "Tennessee Mountain Home")
-
"Sittin' on the front porch
on a summer afternoon
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In a straightback chair on two legs,
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leaned against the wall."
-
It's about trying to capture a moment
that you know is already gone.
-
But if you can paint it, vividly,
-
maybe you can freeze it in place,
almost like in resin,
-
trapped between past and present.
-
That is the immigrant experience.
-
And that simple thought led me
to a million conversations.
-
I started talking to musicologists
about country music as a whole.
-
This genre that I've always felt so
-
having nothing to do
with where I came from,
-
is actually made up of instruments
and musical styles
-
that came directly from the Middle East.
-
In fact, there were trade routes
that ran from what is now Lebanon
-
right up into the mountains
of East Tennessee.
-
I can honestly say, standing there,
looking at her home,
-
was the first time I felt
like I'm a Tennessean.
-
That is honestly true.
-
And this wasn't a one-time thing,
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I mean, over and over again,
-
she would force me
beyond the simple categories
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I had constructed for the world.
-
I remember talking with her
about her seven-year partnership
-
with Porter Wagoner.
-
1967, she joins his band,
he is the biggest thing in country music,
-
she is a backup singer, a nobody.
-
Within a short time, she gets huge,
-
he gets jealous,
-
he then sues her for three million dollars
-
when she tries to leave.
-
Now it would be really easy
to see Porter Wagoner
-
as, like, a type: classic,
patriarchal jackass,
-
trying to hold her back.
-
But anytime I would suggest that to her,
-
like, come on.
-
(Audio) This is a guy, I mean,
you see it in the videos, too,
-
he's got his arm around you.
-
There's a power thing happening, for sure.
-
DP: Well, it's more complicated than that.
-
I mean, just think about it.
-
He had had this show for years,
-
he didn't need me to have his hit show.
-
He wasn't expecting me
to be all that I was, either.
-
I was a serious entertainer,
he didn't know that.
-
He didn't know how many dreams I had.
-
JA: In effect, she kept telling me,
-
"Don't bring your stupid way
of seeing the world into my story,
-
because that's not what it was.
-
Yeah, there was power,
but that's not all there was.
-
You can't summarize this."
-
Alright, just to zoom out.
-
What do I make of this?
-
Well, I think there's something in here
-
that's a clue, a way forward.
-
As journalists, we love difference.
-
We love to fetishize difference.
-
But increasingly, in this confusing world,
-
we need to be the bridge
between those differences.
-
But how do you do that?
-
I think for me now, the answer is simple.
-
You interrogate those differences,
-
you hold them for as long as you can,
-
until, like up on that mountain,
-
something happens,
-
something reveals itself.
-
Story cannot end in difference.
-
It's got to end in revelation.
-
And coming back
from that trip on the mountain,
-
a friend of mine gave a book
that gave this whole idea a name.
-
In psychotherapy,
there's this idea called the third,
-
which essentially goes like this.
-
Typically, we think of ourselves
as these autonomous units.
-
I do something to you,
-
you do something to me.
-
But according to this theory,
when two people come together,
-
and really commit to seeing each other,
-
in that mutual act of recognition,
-
they actually make something new.
-
A new entity that is their relationship.
-
You can think of Dolly's concerts
-
as sort of a cultural third space.
-
The way she sees all the different
parts of her audience,
-
the way they see her,
-
creates the spiritual
architecture of that space.
-
And I think now that is my calling.
-
That as a journalist,
-
as a storyteller,
-
as just an American,
-
living in a country struggling to hold,
-
that every story I tell
has got to find the third.
-
That place, where the things
we hold as different
-
resolve themselves into something new.
-
Thank you.
Erin Gregory
edit made to English transcript:
6:14
Ask me whatever you ask me,
and I'm going to you tell what I want to hear.
-->
6:14
Ask me whatever you ask me,
and I'm going to tell you what I want you to hear.