May the Roads Rise to Meet You
Under normal circumstances, I’d be preparing to head into the city right now to work at People magazine, my copyediting job on Monday nights. It’s usually quite frenetic, as these jobs go when a magazine needs to go to press the next day—People is a weekly.
But since the coronavirus outbreak, we all have to work from home. My ancient laptop has had some difficulty with that, so I’m attending a webinar to learn how to get my work laptop to show up on my home one. But I’ll never be able to transport my coworkers here, which is a shame after being cooped up inside for 26 days.
***
One night two months ago, as I was walking into the offices in New York’s financial district, a British coworker looked at me and in his usual wry tone said, “Carney, right? You’re ‘the fox’!” I said, “What?” He explained that my Irish surname’s origins stemmed from druid tribes in the old country, and the Carney name came from O’Kearney, and the chieftain of this tribe was called “the fox.”
I liked this so much that I had to research it immediately and found this (from johngrenham.com):
“Kearney is common and widespread in Ireland, and has a number of different origins. In the west it originated in County Mayo, near Moynulla and Balla, the territory of the O Cearnaigh (from cearnach, meaning ‘victorious’), where it has sometimes also been anglicized as Carney.
County Mayo (taken when we visited in 2018)
“A separate family of the same name, but anglicized as (O)Kearney, arose in Clare, and migrated in early times to the area around Cashel in County Tipperary.
“In Ulster the name derives from Mac Cearnaigh, also from cearnach; they were part of the Cenel Eoghain, the large group of families descended from Eoghan, son of Niall of the Nine Hostages, the fifth-century monarch who founded the Ui Neill dynasty and was supposedly responsible for the kidnapping of St. Patrick to Ireland. The Cearnach from whom they claim descent was a brother of Cosgrach, chief of the Armagh O’Hanlons.
“The most historically important family, however, were the O Catharnaigh, from catharnach, meaning ‘warlike.’ These were chiefs of a large territory in the midlands, in the modern counties of Meath and Offaly; one of their number became Baron Kilcoursey, from the placename in Offaly. An early chief of this family, Tadhg O Catharnaigh (d.1084), became known as An Sionnach, the fox, and his descendants adopted the name O Sionnaigh, which was later anglicized as Fox.”
Well the last thing I’d like my name to mean is “warlike,” but the first thing I’d want it to mean is “victorious” (especially since my first name means that, too).
So I was thrilled to learn that’s the one my family comes from, the first example: “O Cearnaigh (from cearnach, meaning ‘victorious’), where it has sometimes also been anglicized as Carney.” My dad’s ancestors came from the west, from County Mayo (Kiltimagh, to be exact—we visited it back when we checked off “visit London” in October 2018).
When we found the spot my ancestors came from, this rainbow formed across the sky and brought a tear to my husband’s eyes as he photographed me in front of it.
What a relief! I don’t want to be held responsible for kidnapping St. Patrick!
This search for my surname’s origins of course led me down an Irish history rabbit hole, and I somehow stumbled upon this poem—the one pictured above: The Irish Blessing
“May the roads rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back,
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
The rains fall soft upon your fields,
And until we meet again
May God hold you—
in the hollow of his hand.”
I’ve always found that first line confusing. “May the roads rise to meet you”—sometimes this is singular, “road.” What does it mean? Did the Irishman who wrote this imagine a road literally rising up? Is it about hills?
Nobody really knows the blessing’s origins (mine is one my mom gave me years ago—I keep it on my kitchen window). It’s thought to be written by the ancient Celts, and has since been translated into English, losing some of its meaning. Many have interpreted “may the roads rise to meet you” as “may you have no problems,” in other words, “bon voyage”—have a safe trip.
But the definition I like better is this: “May the road find you wherever you are.”
***
The blessing’s other lines are fairly easy to figure out.
The ancient Irish were realistic (though superstitious), so they understood you’d meet obstacles in life. This is what the line about “wind” means—it means, “may you overcome them.” The line about the sun is about belief, the faith that there will always come another day. The line about rain is pretty obvious too—this is about growth. “May God provide rain to create abundance.” (I think it’s about growth as a person, too.) And then of course, the part about God holding you in his hand—this is about being protected.
But may the roads rise to meet you—”may the road find you wherever you are.”
I like that line in particular. And I like it particularly right now.
***
After reading this that night at People, I found another website that said the Irish Blessing is typically recited by the father of the bride at weddings: “In Irish wedding tradition, the father of the bride gives his ‘blessing’ to the groom. This means he approves of the union.”
When I read that, I teared up a little, right there at my desk.
My dad couldn’t be there in person to bless my marriage because of a driver on her phone. It wasn’t until that moment, when I found out the true meaning of the Irish Blessing, that I felt he approved of our union.
Because by that day, my husband and I were living that out, “may the road find you wherever you are.”
We were days away from going to the Super Bowl and St. Thomas, two of the most expensive items on my dad’s bucket list. We weren’t living a “normal” life. We were doing things purely to honor my dad’s wishes, to live the life he left undone.
And yet, we were finding success doing it. It didn’t matter that we’d taken our own road. In fact, it was better that we had.
***
I know had he lived, my dad would have given a toast like this at our wedding. He was a big fan of toasting—and proud of himself for doing it well. At weddings, he recited the last lines of “Ode on a Grecian Urn” (and mistakenly attributed it to Yeats, until I set him straight).
Today is his 71st birthday. And all I can think is, what would he be toasting to now?
How would he celebrate in these dark times? It used to be that my main pursuit with this list was opening up people’s eyes to how important it was to consider one another—to demonstrate that, as Governor Cuomo said today, “you don’t have the right to risk someone else’s life.”
I’m not surprised Americans are struggling to understand their impact on others right now. This has always been the case.
The governors talk to us like we’re children. This is not the time to “play Frisbee with your friends in the park,” Cuomo says.
A mature person doesn’t need to be told not to do these things.
People are dying. In droves. We have to act accordingly.
Does this mean sulking in a corner every day? Wearing black like the Victorians? No. It means continuing to live your life, and maybe even thrive in your life—INDOORS.
Had my dad lived to see this, that’s what he’d be telling me to do.
I can’t toast to him the way I’d like to. But I’m still going to toast anyway. I’m still going to say, you were on the road you were meant to be on, you let it rise up to meet you. Thank you for that.
Because it taught me to let the roads rise to meet me too.
***
If you want to help me with my toast, please send me a bottle of wine. I’m not joking!
To honor my dad’s birthday, I’m embarking on item 49 today, “Own a wine cellar of fine wines.”
At the top he wrote, “Open on Laura’s wedding day.” At the bottom, “The Finest Wine America Has Made.” (photo by Joni Bilderback)
I have about zero wines at the moment, let alone fine ones. The finest one I’ve ever tasted was the one we drank at our wedding (“The Finest Wine America Has Made”). My dad put that one aside for me in 1978. I’m going to do the same with these.
He wanted to sing at my wedding (it’s list item 59), and thanks to his wine, he did. He wanted to dance at his grandchildren’s weddings (that’s item 60).
Maybe thanks to your wines, he can do that too.
The wedding toast (photo by Joni Bilderback)
In these stressful times, I wish for you all to still engage in the small celebrations of life.
I wish that you all find new ways to live, that you still honor your loved ones and listen to their lessons.
That you can see that even if you’re not living a “normal” life, it can still be a great one.
May the road find you wherever you are.