I found out that Dolly Parton died at the beginning of a conference call for work.
I gasped.
I don’t know exactly how, but I knew it wasn’t just some false alarm that was going viral among boomers on Facebook.
I knew as soon as I heard it that it was true but at the same time, I was struggling to wrap my mind around it.
I won’t pretend that I was some kind of lifelong super fan that had memorized her entire discography.
She’s never been my top artist on Spotify, and I don’t think I’ve seen any of her movies.
But like most Americans, I had a real fondness for her that I struggle to articulate.
I started liking country music when I was young; like grade school aged, and I heard Gretchen Wilson’s “Redneck Woman” for the first time at a Texas Roadhouse. But my affinity for the genre really took off in college.
That’s when I think I started exploring the work of legends like Garth Brooks, Reba, and the one and only Dolly Parton.
I remember watching her interviews on YouTube, and being immediately taken with her.
The way she spoke and carried herself was just so magnetic.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been suspicious of people that seemed “too nice.”
Maybe it’s because I’m from New England, maybe it’s because I grew up in a church culture that seemed shallow and artificial to me, maybe I had one too many encounters with these kinds of girls in high school, but for whatever reason, it always struck me as insincere.
But watching Dolly, the thought never crossed my mind.
There was no room for skepticism of her motives or her integrity.
You could just tell that she said what she meant and meant what she said.
I don’t know. Maybe some industry puppetmaster was feeding her lines, using her to push an agenda, and I’m just a gullible woman easily fooled by good marketing.
But the warmth, the grace, and the love just radiated from her in a way that seemed impossible to fake.
It didn’t come across as this rehearsed, contrived, media-trained routine of someone trying to convince you of who they were or that you should like them. It was a woman that seemed to have no interest in being anyone but herself and that you couldn’t help but like.
And the further away we get from a certain era, the more you have to appreciate a talent like hers. When it seems like so many people become famous on accident, or deliberately for all the wrong reasons, it makes those generational wonders stand out all the more.
She didn’t just have the looks and the personality; she had a God given gift. She was a natural on stage with the voice of an angel.
And she had the face of one too.
One of my favorite things about her was the way she looked.
Obviously, she was stunning, but I admired her steadfast commitment to looking the way she wanted to, no matter what anyone thought about it.
She didn’t seem phased in the slightest by what critics had to say about her big blonde wigs, her long acrylic nails, or the way she dressed.
If I wasn’t a Christian, I would dress like a streetwalker and did for years on end. I’d joke that it was the result of being exposed to too much Betty Boop in my formative years. I’ve written at length about my affinity for revealing clothes and reforms I’ve made, inspired by the Holy Spirit.
Before that transformation, I knew that my political profile and my preferred style didn’t make sense from the outside looking in, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care if everyone else wanted to wear prairie dresses and pilgrim outfits; I wasn’t giving up my crop tops or bodycons for online approval.
I remember that sometime in the last few years, in her 70s, she wore a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader costume, and a lot of people ridiculed her for it.
But I respected her for it.
To me, it made her relatable. Because if I was still up and kicking and sound of mind at that age, I’d like to be just as audacious, defiant and myself as she was.
Realistically, I know I’ll never be Dolly. I doubt that any of us will be.
I know I’ll never be universally adored. I know I’ll never be so effortlessly endearing. I know I’ll never have a fraction of the impact that she did.
But I think we could all learn something from her.
There’s a quote of hers that’s been circulating since she died; “find out who you are and do it on purpose.”
I’ve spent a lot of the past year thinking about purpose
I thought about it when Charlie Kirk was assassinated at just 31 years old. I thought about it as his wife assumed a leadership position in his organization. And I thought about it as I watched crowds of people fill an arena for one of the most cancelled men in America.
Charlie wasn’t revered by everyone. Erika certainly isn’t, and Kanye maybe even less so.
But what they did seem to have in common with Dolly were extraordinary abilities and specific callings that they embraced even if they didn’t always succeed.
They might not have been as palatable, inoffensive or broadly beloved as Dolly, but they didn’t have to be.
No matter what you thought of them, it was hard to argue with their vocations and resolve.
They touched lives, they changed lives, and they made use of what they were given.
And I think a great deal of the insecurity, negativity and neurosis that permeates the modern world comes from a lack of understanding of what we were made for.
We weren’t all put here to be superstars, or to change the course of history.
But we were all put here for a reason.
And the sooner you understand what that is and come into alignment with it, the better off you’ll be.
If you don’t know why you’re here, that’s okay. I think the best place to start looking for answers is in your Father.
what do you think?