The three lessons that have had the greatest impact on my life have to do with feelings, with failure and with finding happiness.
A year after I left college, I was given the opportunity to co- anchor the 6 o‘clock news in Baltimore, because the whole goal in the media at the time I was coming up was you try to move to larger markets. And Baltimore was a much larger market than Nashville. So, getting the 6 o’clock news co-anchor job at 22 was such a big deal. It felt like the biggest deal in the world at the time.
And I was so proud, because I was finally going to have my chance to be like Barbara Walters, which is who I had been trying to emulate since the start of my TV career. So, I was 22 years old, making 22,000 a year. And it‘s where I met my best friend, Gayle, who was an intern at the same TV station. And once we became friends, we’d say,“Ohmigod, I can‘t believe it! You’re making 22,000 and you‘re only 22. Imagine when you’re 40 and you‘re making 40,000!”
When I turned 40, I was so glad that didn’t happen. So, here I am, 22, making 22,000 a year and, yet, it didn‘t feel right. It didn’t feel right. The first sign, as President Hennessy was saying, was when they tried to change my name. The news director said to me at the time,“Nobody‘s going to remember Oprah. So, we want to change your name. We’ve come up with a name we think that people will remember and people will like. It‘s a friendly name: Suzie.”Hi, Suzie. Very friendly. You can’t be angry with Suzie. Remember Suzie. But my name wasn‘t Suzie. And, you know, I’d grown up not really loving my name, because when you‘re looking for your little name on the lunch boxes and the license plate tags, you’re never going to find Oprah.
So, I grew up not loving the name, but once I was asked to change it, I thought, well, it is my name and do I look like a Suzie to you? So, I thought,no, it doesn‘t feel right. I’m not going to change my name. And if people remember it or not, that‘s OK.
And then they said they didn’t like the way I looked. This was in 1976, when your boss could call you in and say,“I don‘t like the way you look.” Now that would be called a lawsuit, but back then they could just say,“I don’t like the way you look.”Which, in case some of you in the back, if you can‘t tell, is nothing like Barbara Walters. So, they sent me to a salon where they gave me a perm, and after a few days all my hair fell out and I had to shave my head. And then they really didn’t like the way I looked. Because now I am black and bald and sitting on TV. Not a pretty picture.
But even worse than being bald, I really hated, hated, hated being sent to report on other people‘s tragedies as a part of my daily duty, knowing that I was just expected to observe, when everything in my instinct told me that I should be doing something, I should be lending a hand.
So, as President Hennessy said, I’d cover a fire and then I‘d go back and I’d try to give the victims blankets. And I wouldn‘t be able to sleep at night because of all the things I was covering during the day.
And, meanwhile, I was trying to sit gracefully like Barbara and make myself talk like Barbara. And I thought, well, I could make a pretty goofy Barbara. And if I could figure out how to be myself, I could be a pretty good Oprah. I was trying to sound elegant like Barbara. And sometimes I didn’t read my copy, because something inside me said, this should be spontaneous. So, I wanted to get the news as I was giving it to the people.
And sometimes I wouldn‘t read the copy-because I wanted to be spontaneous-and I’d come across a list of words I didn‘t know and I’d mispronounce. And one day I was reading copy and I called Canada“ca nada.”And I decided, this Barbara thing‘s not going too well. I should try being myself.
But at the same time, my dad was saying,“Oprah Gail, this is an opportunity of a lifetime. You better keep that job.”And my boss was saying,“This is the nightly news. You’re an anchor, not a social worker. Just do your job.”
So, I was juggling these messages of expectation and obligation and feeling really miserable with myself. I‘d go home at night and fill up my journals, cause I’ve kept a journal since I was 15-so I now have volumes of journals. So, I‘d go home at night and fill up my journals about how miserable I was and frustrated. Then I’d eat my anxiety. That‘s where I learned that habit.
And after eight months, I lost that job. They said I was too emotional. I was too much. But since they didn’t want to pay out the contract, they put me on a talk show in Baltimore. And the moment I sat down on that show, the moment I did, I felt like I‘d come home. I realized that TV could be more than just a playground, but a platform for service, for helping other people lift their lives. And the moment I sat down, doing that talk show, it felt like breathing. It felt right. And that’s where everything that followed for me began.
And I got that lesson. When you‘re doing the work you’re meant to do, it feels right and every day is a bonus, regardless of what you‘re getting paid.
It’s true. And how do you know when you‘re doing something right? How do you know that? It feels so. What I know now is that feelings are really your GPS system for life. When you’re supposed to do something or not supposed to do something, your emotional guidance system lets you know. The trick is to learn to check your ego at the door and start checking your gut instead. Every right decision I‘ve made-every right decision I’ve ever made-has come from my gut. And every wrong decision I‘ve ever made was a result of me not listening to the greater voice of myself.
If it doesn’t feel right, don‘t do it. That’s the lesson. And that lessonalone will save you, my friends, a lot of grief. Even doubt means don‘t. This is what I’ve learned. There are many times when you don‘t know what to do. When you don’t know what to do, get still, get very still, until you do know what to do.
