Commander Marci Jansen reporting.
I’ve written and rewritten this log several times, never quite feeling like I’d found the right words. Here goes attempt number twelve.
“Are you okay?” seems to be the question of the day. It’s the first thing people ask me in person, and the first thing people ask me via text. And the answer is no. I’m not at all okay. I’m pretty far from okay.
It’s been 7 days since Leonard Nimoy passed away, and I am still not okay. And I don’t know when I will be.
That, I think, is the measure of his greatness. I never met him. I’ve sat in on two Skype calls, but I’ve never seen him in person. I’m a nameless fan in the galaxy of Star Trek. But he is dead, this man I never even met, and I am not okay. I can only hope to inspire that kind of love before I leave this world.
As children watching our idols on television and in film, it never occurs to us that they’re aging before our eyes. It never occurs to us that, when we are entering our thirties and forties, they might be entering their seventies and eighties. We never conceive of a day when they will no longer be alive. We become especially spoiled by shows like Star Trek, where the hero rarely ever dies, and even when he does, sometimes he doesn’t stay dead. Likewise, we often don’t understand their importance to us until we’re grown.
I could talk about Leonard Nimoy’s impact on my childhood. About how, living through the darkness of emotional, physical, and sexual abuse at the hands of my parents, “Star Trek” was one of the few cherished bright things I had.
I could talk about how, later in my life, as a bisexual teenager in a Southern Baptist family, I identified with Spock more than anyone in my “real life.” I could talk about his devotion to Judaism, and how I always felt like a bad Jew who could never live up to his example. Seriously—I have a plastic, light up menorah and I eat bacon—shamelessly. I’m the definition of a bad Jew.
I could talk about his Full Body Project, where he photographed overweight women as if they were the societal “normal” beauties, because to him, they were. He didn’t see size when he looked at them, he saw their hearts and souls and he thought they were beautiful. And he was right.
I could talk about all those things and so many more. Instead, I want to share something a little more current.
I’ve always had a fear of driving by myself. It’s a long story, stemming from my childhood, and not something I’ll go into here, but suffice it to say, it’s a fear that has impacted my life. Last year, I stumbled across an advertisement for the Ottawa Comicon, where Leonard Nimoy would be doing a Skype. I knew immediately that this was something I had to do. He had retired from the convention circuit several years ago—the dream of meeting him was a long gone one. This would be the next best thing. Unfortunately, I’d already spent my travel budget on plane tickets to Chicago to meet William Shatner. If I was going to go to Ottawa, I’d have to go by car, and my husband can’t travel that distance. Which meant I’d have to drive myself. Alone.
So... I did. Four panic attacks, three rest stop sugar binges, a check engine light, one ridiculously large bridge no one warned me about (did I mention I’m scared to death of bridges?), and a 45 minute holdover at Customs later (apparently I look like an international terrorist who just might steal Canada), I was in my room at the hotel—which had lost half of my reservation. By the next day, I had figured out the check engine situation (stupid gas cap!), checked out of one hotel, into another, and was braving my first ever large convention. Did I say large? I meant LARGE. Many people. Much noise. Too crowded. Too loud.
Eventually, I sat down in my seat for the Skype. The beep-boop music of a Skype call rang over the speakers. The next second, Leonard Nimoy’s face filled the screen. At that moment, everything was worth it. I sat there in awe, watching him talk and laugh with the audience. I felt like a little kid on Christmas morning, who’d just been given the best gift ever.
I was able to sit in on another Skype with him at Shore Leave, later in the year. I was just as amazed, just as giddy. During that one, he sang to us. He sang. And I have the illegally-recorded video to prove it.
Since then, I’ve kept that momentum—in July 2014 I drove to Ticonderoga, NY to become a member of the Grip and Electric team on Star Trek: New Voyages / Phase 2. I would never have achieved that, had I not been given that push by Leonard Nimoy.
And he never even knew he did it.
I think, above everything else, that is his true legacy—his far-reaching impact on everyday people. We are Leonard Nimoy’s legacy.
Rest in peace, Leonard. You have been, and always shall be, my unicorn.
