Chadwick Boseman: A Midlife Clarification
Birthdays have never evoked much sentimentality or reflection from me. On my 40th birthday for example, I partied hard by having a colonoscopy consult. The procedure was necessary for a multitude of reasons, including family history (my maternal grandfather passed away from advanced colon cancer when I was 10), my previous bout with cancer (detailed here) and a general hypochondria that produces an urge to daily visit the nearest clinic if anything feels off. I do not chase this impulse, mainly because I cannot afford the co-pays, but boy, if I could…
The jarring thing about my 43rd consecutive year of converting oxygen into carbon dioxide without ceasing is that I keep thinking about Chadwick Boseman, which is an odd experience, since I (a) never knew the man and (b) generally do not get too invested into celebrities outside of just appreciating their work. I am now Boseman’s age when he passed, and yes, colon cancer has impacted my family, but there’s another reason I cannot shake Boseman’s death. It seems like he was just finding his groove, his voice, his calling.
Chadwick Boseman was kind of a late-bloomer. Unless you were a fan of Boseman’s short runs in a couple of TV dramas you were introduced to him through the Jackie Robinson biopic 42, which he landed at age 36 (playing a man whose own MLB debut at age 28 was long overdue).
Fourteen films in the next seven years is a pretty staggering work rate, especially for someone enduring surgeries, treatments, and God knows what measure of daily fatigue.
Beyond the cultural importance of his films—the best of which for me is Black Panther, which I've written about before—Boseman amplified the humanity of his characters. I cannot help but think that this artist could do so because he understood loss. This clip from his wonderful interview with Sam Jones sums up as much:
Boseman’s reflection on losing a friend, being drawn to his brother’s creativity, and discovering his own calling—combined with his mentors at Howard—helped him to tap into the profound empathy that marks his work.
I suppose the loss I’m feeling these days about this young man—young to me anyways—is the realization that we were just beginning to see the full range of his gifts, many of which were evident in his latest film Da 5 Bloods. Boseman is a calming presence, a spiritual mentor to his friends, even when separated from them.
Baseman was a southern man, too, drawing upon our better virtues: A gentleness not to be confused with weakness or cowardice. It’s difficult to describe, but I cannot think of a time when Boseman’s presence on screen ever made me anxious. De Niro’s silence, for example, is always foreboding; that unspoken NYC swagger signals the possibility of malice. Not so for Boseman. He was soft-spoken without timidity. I’d like to think that show of calm and control emanated directly from his soul. I mean, you can’t just do this on request unless you are, in the words of my tradition, filled with the Spirit:
So, the midlife clarification, which perhaps only those of you of a certain age will understand, is simply this: Encourage one another right now. Encourage people to share their gifts, and help them share those gifts with the world. I know much of normal life has been paused, which probably has given you too much time to take stock of your place in the capitalistic food chain, followed by crushing despair after the inventory of your accomplishments has been found lacking. Don’t give in to that impulse. There is no timetable for finding your calling.
Encourage. Share. Spread goodness and kindness, and only give your heart, mind, soul, time and talents to those who feel likewise.
(© 2020, Justin Phillips)
** The mural, recently unveiled at Disneyland, was painted by artist Nikkolas Smith.