One reason I didn't trust my writing for so long was that I

In the words of Ruby Dee, a woman of stage, screen, and indomitable spirit, we hear a confession that is both deeply personal and universally human: “One reason I didn’t trust my writing for so long was that I always considered myself a serious dramatic actor. But people would always laugh when I shared my writing with them. It took my husband to help me see that I really am part humorist.” Here we glimpse the eternal struggle between self-perception and truth, between the roles we imagine for ourselves and the gifts the world sees shining through us.

Her words reveal the conflict of identity. She thought herself born for drama, for solemn lines and weighty roles, yet when her words met the ears of others, they answered with laughter. At first she doubted, for she believed this response diminished her seriousness. But wisdom teaches us that laughter, like sorrow, is sacred. The ancients themselves revered comedy as much as tragedy, for both reveal the soul of mankind: tragedy shows the greatness of our struggles, while comedy shows the folly that makes us human. Ruby Dee’s journey teaches us that to deny a part of ourselves is to deny the wholeness of life.

The intervention of her husband, Ossie Davis, is no small note. It shows that sometimes, the truth about who we are cannot be discovered in solitude. We need those who love us to hold up the mirror of our soul, to show us the light we overlook. He reminded her that humor was not a weakness, but a gift; not an accident, but a calling. This partnership reflects the ancient teaching that wisdom often comes not from within alone, but through fellowship, love, and trust. The voice of another can reveal what we ourselves are blind to.

History, too, gives us examples of such discovery. Consider Mark Twain, who once dreamed of being a riverboat pilot and a chronicler of serious events. Yet when he told his tales, audiences erupted in laughter, not because they mocked him, but because his wit exposed truth with such sharpness that they could not help but laugh. Twain embraced this gift and became a humorist for the ages, teaching through laughter what sermons and speeches could not. Like Ruby Dee, he learned that humor can be as powerful a vehicle for wisdom as tragedy.

The meaning here is clear: our gifts may not align with our expectations, yet they are no less real. Too often, we cling to an image of ourselves and resist what the world reflects back to us. Ruby Dee reminds us that when life reveals another path—when people respond to us in ways we did not anticipate—we must not reject it in pride, but consider it in humility. For in that reflection may lie the truest expression of who we are.

The lesson is thus: trust the signs life gives you. If your words stir laughter, perhaps you are meant to bring joy. If your work moves others to tears, perhaps you are meant to heal wounds unseen. Do not cling so tightly to your self-image that you miss the broader calling of your gifts. And when doubt clouds your heart, listen to those who love you most, for their vision may pierce the fog of your own uncertainty.

So I say to you, children of tomorrow: do not resist the fullness of who you are. You may be both tragic and comic, serious and lighthearted, strong and vulnerable. Embrace it all. For in the harmony of opposites lies the true power of the human spirit. Let the laughter of others be your guide, not your enemy, and let the wisdom of companions strengthen your path. In this way, you will discover the whole of your gift, and your life will shine as Ruby Dee’s did—a testament to truth, art, and the courage to be entirely yourself.