TEXARKANA MAGAZINE
In an age where you have the right to post a mean TikTok comment at the drop of a hat, hiding behind a cringe username, that idea feels almost rebellious, doesn’t it? I have spent a lot of my life believing authenticity meant transparency. “If I think it, I should say it.” “If I feel it, I should share it.” “If something happened to me, maybe there is a Facebook post, an article, or a conversation waiting to come out of it.” I have been on social media since I was 12 years old. For most of my life, sharing has been second nature. And I still believe there is tremendous power in vulnerability. I think I always will. Some of the deepest connections I have ever made with another person started in a Facebook comment section because I felt called to share online, “Yes, this happened to me, too.” Those can be powerful words. But now, on this never-ending learning experience we call life, I am starting to understand there just might be a difference between being authentic and being completely, utterly exposed. And Dolly seemed to understand that difference better than almost anyone. Think about how recognizable she was: the blonde hair, the nails, the outfits, the laugh, the accent, and the rhinestones. Dolly never entered a room halfway. She was unapologetically, unmistakably Dolly Parton. Yet somehow, for a woman who spent more than six decades being famous, there were entire pieces of her life that didn’t belong to us, and I love that! Her husband, Carl Dean, famously remained almost entirely outside the spotlight. She generally declined to tell people how they should or shouldn’t vote politically. She could speak about her faith, childhood, dreams, failures, and beliefs while still maintaining boundaries around the life underneath the rhinestones. Maybe that is why so many different kinds of people loved her? Dolly didn’t need us to agree with her about everything because she never deemed it necessary to fill us in on what she thought about everything. Contrast that now with the world she left us. It’s a world where people with a large platform are crucified for staying silent on certain topics. Something happens, and within minutes, everyone is expected to have a statement about it. Over and over, we invite strangers into arguments, relationships, heartbreaks, and wounds, then wonder why those strangers suddenly believe they have a seat at our table. Dolly taught us all that you can be loud and still have a private life. You can be outgoing and still keep certain parts of your life to yourself. You can tell your story without telling every story. You can have an opinion without publishing it. You can even change your mind quietly without issuing a press release explaining why. And I know that I, for one, could stand to rediscover the beauty of keeping a few things sacred. If Dolly were still here, I think she would remind us that we never have to become quieter, duller, or less authentically us. I’m pretty sure she would encourage us to keep all the sparkle that makes us who we are, and rock it proudly, just like she did. We just need to learn that our life is ours, before it belongs to an audience. Dolly spent 80 years showing the world exactly who she was, but by golly, until the very end, she kept something for herself, too. You go, girl.
GOOD EVENING TXK COLUMN BY BAILEY GRAVITT
W hat does a world without Dolly Parton look like? It certainly has a little less glitter… a few less rhinestones. But when Dolly Parton died in August at 80 years old, we lost more than a country music legend. We lost one of the last people who seemed to understand something the rest of us are quickly forgetting. It’s something I have struggled to comprehend my whole life: you can be completely yourself without giving the entire world access to you.
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