I am lifted by the calloused hands of cotton pickers.
Ministers to the spiritually and physically sick taught me how to raise my hands in submission and worship to the same omnipotent God that carried my people out of a life of slavery. They taught me to serve others in love, with hands outstretched, meeting them at the point of their need.
Singers taught me to sing the spiritual songs my ancestors sang to God and one another in the time of their labor and persecution.
Teachers taught me that learning is a life-long process and that one can transform society through teaching.
So you see - I am hoisted on the shoulders of slaves, sharecroppers, maids, teachers, nurses, ministers and activists that taught me how to love God, love people, and love myself.
But this art of living is not one to be kept to oneself, but to be passed to the next generation so that even after they make it into the Promised Land, they will remember the wilderness.