What I Know For Sure
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Authors: Oprah Winfrey
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Contents
Introduction
It’s not a new story,
but at least for this book, I think it’s worth telling one last time: The year was 1998, I had been promoting the movie
Beloved
in a live television interview with the late, great
Chicago Sun-Times
film critic, Gene Siskel, and everything was going perfectly smoothly, until the time came to wrap things up. “Tell me,” he asked, “what do you know for sure?”
Now, this was not my first rodeo. I’ve asked and been asked an awful lot of questions over the years, and it isn’t often that I find myself at a complete loss for words—but I have to say, the man managed to stop me in my tracks.
“Uhhhhh, about the movie?” I stammered, knowing full well that he was after something bigger, deeper, more complex, but trying to stall until I could come up with a semi-coherent response.
“No,” he said. “You know what I mean—about you, your life, anything, everything…”
“Uhhhh, I know for sure … uhhh … I know for sure, I need time to think about that some more, Gene.”
Well, sixteen years and a great deal of thought later, it has become the central question of my life: At the end of the day, what exactly do I know for sure?
I’ve explored that question in every issue of
O
magazine—in fact, “What I Know for Sure” is the name of my monthly column—and believe me, there are still plenty of times when an answer doesn’t come easy. What do I know for sure? I know that if one more editor calls or e-mails or even sends a smoke signal asking where this month’s installment is, I’m going to change my name and move to Timbuktu!
But just when I’m ready to raise the white flag and yell, “That’s it! I’m tapped out! I know nothing!” I’ll find myself walking the dogs or brewing a pot of chai or soaking in the tub, when, out of nowhere, a little moment of crystal clarity will bring me back to something that in my head and my heart and my gut, I absolutely do know beyond a shadow of a doubt.
Still, I have to admit that I was a bit apprehensive when it came to rereading fourteen years’ worth of columns. Would it be like looking back at old photos of me in haircuts and outfits that really ought to be left in the seemed-like-a-good-idea-at-the-time file? I mean, what do you do if what you knew for sure back in the day turns into
what were you thinking,
here in the present?
I took a red pen, a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, a deep breath, sat down, and started to read. And as I read, what I was doing and where I was in my life when I wrote these pieces came flooding back. I instantly remembered wracking my brain and searching my soul, sitting up late and waking up early, all to figure out what I’ve come to understand about the things that matter in life, things like joy, resilience, awe, connection, gratitude, and possibility. I’m happy to report that what I discovered in those fourteen years of columns is that when you know something,
really
know something, it tends to stand the test of time.
Don’t get me wrong: You live, and if you’re open to the world, you learn. So while my core thinking remains pretty solid, I did wind up using that red pen to nip and tuck, explore and expand a few old truths and some hard-earned insights. Welcome to my own private book of revelations!
As you read about all the lessons I’ve struggled with, cried over, run from, circled back to, made peace with, laughed about, and at long last come to know for sure, my hope is that you’ll begin to ask yourself the very same question Gene Siskel asked me all those years ago. I know that what you’ll find along the way will be fantastic, because what you’ll find will be yourself.
—Oprah Winfrey
September 2014
Joy
“Sit. Feast on your life.”
—Derek Walcott
The first time
Tina Turner appeared on my show, I wanted to run away with her, be a backup girl, and dance all night at her concerts. Well, that dream came true one night in L.A. when
The Oprah Winfrey Show
went on tour with Tina. After a full day’s rehearsal for just one song, I got my chance.
It was the most nerve-racking, knee-shaking, exhilarating experience ever. For 5 minutes and 27 seconds I got a chance to feel what it’s like to rock onstage. I have never been more out of my element, out of my body. I remember counting the steps in my head, trying to keep the rhythm, waiting for the big kick, and being so self-conscious.
Then, in an instant, it dawned on me:
Okay, girl, this is going to be over soon.
And if I didn’t loosen up, I would miss the fun. So I threw my head back, forgot about step, step, turn, kick, and just danced.
WHEEEEW!
Several months later I received a package from my friend and mentor Maya Angelou—she’d said she was sending me a gift she’d want any daughter of hers to have. When I ripped it open, I found a CD of a song by Lee Ann Womack that I can still hardly listen to without boohooing. The song, which is a testament to Maya’s life, has this line as its refrain:
When you get the choice to sit it out or dance, I hope you dance.
What I know for sure is that every day brings a chance for you to draw in a breath, kick off your shoes, and step out and dance—to live free of regret and filled with as much joy, fun, and laughter as you can stand. You can either waltz boldly onto the stage of life and live the way you know your spirit is nudging you to, or you can sit quietly by the wall, receding into the shadows of fear and self-doubt.
You have the choice this very moment—the only moment you have for certain. I hope you aren’t so wrapped up in nonessential stuff that you forget to really enjoy yourself—because this moment is about to be over. I hope you’ll look back and remember today as the day you decided to make every one count, to relish each hour as if there would never be another. And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance, I hope you dance.
I take my pleasures
seriously. I work hard and play well; I believe in the yin and yang of life. It doesn’t take a lot to make me happy because I find satisfaction in so much of what I do. Some satisfactions are higher-rated than others, of course. And because I try to practice what I preach—living in the moment—I am consciously attuned most of the time to how much pleasure I am receiving.
How many times have I laughed so hard on the phone with my best friend, Gayle King, that my head started to hurt? Mid-howl I sometimes think,
Isn’t this a gift—after so many years of nightly phone calls, to have someone who tells me the truth and to laugh this loudly about it?
I call that five-star pleasure.
Being aware of, and creating, four- and five-star experiences makes you blessed. For me, just waking up “clothed in my right mind,” being able to put my feet on the floor, walk to the bathroom, and do what needs to be done there is five stars. I’ve heard many stories of people who aren’t healthy enough to do that.
A strong cup of coffee with the perfect hazelnut creamer: four stars. Going for a walk through the woods with the dogs unleashed: five stars. Working out: one star, still. Sitting under my oaks, reading the Sunday papers: four stars. A great book: five. Hanging out at Quincy Jones’s kitchen table, talking about everything and nuthin’: five stars. Being able to do good things for other people: five plus. The enjoyment comes from knowing the receiver understands the spirit of the gift. I make an effort to do something good for somebody every day, whether I know that person or not.
What I know for sure is that pleasure is energy reciprocated: What you put out comes back. Your base level of pleasure is determined by how you view your whole life.
More important than 20/20 eyesight is your internal vision, your own sweet spirit whispering through your life with guidance and grace—now that’s pleasure.
Life is full of
delightful treasures, if we take a moment to appreciate them. I call them
ahhh
moments, and I’ve learned how to create them for myself. Case in point: my 4 p.m. cup of masala chai tea (spicy, hot, with foamed almond milk on top—it’s refreshing and gives me a little lift for the rest of the afternoon). Moments like this are powerful, I know for sure. They can be your recharge, your breathing space, your chance to reconnect with
you.
I have always adored
the word
delicious.
The way it rolls off my tongue delights me. And even more delectable than a delicious meal is a delicious experience, rich and layered like a fine coconut cake. I had one a few birthdays ago—both the cake and the experience. It was one of those moments I call a God wink—when out of the blue everything lines up just perfectly.
I was hanging out with a group of girlfriends in Maui; I’d just come back from India and wanted to have a spa retreat at my house to celebrate turning 58.
As girlfriends do even at this age, we sat around the table and talked till midnight. On the night before my birthday, five of the eight of us were still at the table at 12:30 a.m., worn out from a five-hour conversation that had run the gamut from men to microdermabrasion. Lots of laughing, some tears. The kind of talking women do when we feel safe.
In two days I was scheduled to interview the famed spiritual teacher Ram Dass, and by coincidence I started to hum a line from a song invoking his name.
Suddenly my friend Maria said, “What’s that you’re humming?”
“Oh, just a line from a song I like.”
She said, “I know that song. I listen to it
every
night.”
“No way,” I said. “It’s an obscure song on an album by a woman named Snatum Kaur.”
“Yes!” Maria said. “Yes! Yes! Snatum Kaur! I listen to her every night before I go to bed. How do you know her music?”
“Peggy”—another friend who was with us—“gave me a CD two years ago, and I’ve been listening ever since. I play her every day before meditating.”
Now we were both screaming and laughing. “No
way!
”
“I actually thought of having her come to sing for my birthday,” I said when I caught my breath. “Then I went,
Nah, too much trouble.
Had I known you liked her, too, I would have made the effort.”
Later that night, lying in bed, I thought,
Isn’t that something. I would have gone to the trouble for a friend but not for myself. For sure I need to practice what I preach and value myself more.
I went to sleep wishing I’d invited Snatum Kaur to sing.
The next day, my birthday, we had a “land blessing” with a Hawaiian chieftain. That evening we gathered on the porch for sunset cocktails. My friend Elizabeth stood up—to read a poem, I thought, or make a speech. Instead she said, “You wanted it, and now you have manifested it.” She rang a small chime, and suddenly music started to play.
The music was muffled, as if the speakers weren’t working. I thought,
What’s going on?
And then there appeared, walking onto my front porch … Snatum Kaur, in her white turban. And her musicians! “How did this happen?” I cried. And cried, and
cried.
Maria, sitting next to me with tears in her eyes, held my hand and just nodded. “You wouldn’t do it for yourself, so we did it for you.”
After I’d gone to bed the night before, my friends had called to find out where Snatum Kaur was, to see if they could get her to Maui in the next 12 hours. As life and God would have it, she and her musicians were in a town 30 minutes away, preparing for a concert. And were “honored” to come and sing.
