Bjcorbin's Blog

There are probably few people in the Western Hemisphere this morning who haven’t heard of yesterday’s passing of Michael Jackson and Farah Fawcett; and while neither one had been at the forefront of the cultural consciousness for awhile, both left an indelible mark on pop culture history. 

At the peak of her popularity, Farah Fawcett was largely viewed as the standard by which physical beauty was judged.  Though her resume of achievements was relatively minor, her image was world renown and in many ways her popularity was similar to that of Marilyn Monroe’s.  Throughout her career Farah seemed to struggle to be viewed as more than just a pretty face and to some degree she achieved that with a couple of TV movies that revealed a greater depth to her acting ability; but in the end, it was her iconic beauty that created a lasting legacy.

By contrast, Michael Jackson’s resume of achievements was extensive and his talent was undeniable.  At his peak, he was arguably the best known human being on the planet and the devotion of his fans bordered on religious.  A tremendously gifted entertainer and a famously generous ambassador of goodwill, it seemed that everything he touched turned to gold.  That was until he allegedly touched a little boy inappropriately.  Even those allegations didn’t seem to dampen his popularity initially, but looking back, it was the beginning of the end for Michael’s unprecedented string of success.  As his personal life came under greater scrutiny, he began to seem less magical and more bizarre.

As a man who grew up in the midst of their popularity, I will confess that at times I envied them and wished that my own life was more like theirs.  I had always wanted to be one of the beautiful people, to be talented and popular and rich!  I once believed that would be the ultimate life and that people like them had it made.  They were the epitome of beauty, talent, fame & fortune; and what could be better than that?  But today, it’s hard for me to view them that way.  Despite all that they had and experienced, both of them appeared to be tormented souls, who seemed to be searching for something that they never quite grasped.  Neither one ever seemed to reach the place of being comfortable in their own skin.  At this point in my life I wouldn’t dream of trading the life that I’ve known for the life that they lived.  Yesterday, as these to cultural icon’s passed away; I doubt that their enduring legacy was particularly meaningful to them.  I wonder if either of them wrestled with the notion of whether anyone had truly loved them for who they were, apart from their accomplishments and image.  Though I am not immune to the sense of sadness that accompanies the passing of every human being, I wonder if the greater tragedy isn’t the life they never got a chance to live.  I pray that they can now rest in peace.