“I would like to be known as an intelligent woman, a courageous woman, a loving woman, a woman who teaches by being.” – Maya Angelou

That was the manner in which Maya Angelou lived. Her life was a testament to possibility. Love was her purpose. I can recall the very moment I heard about the passing of Maya Angelou. I was at work. I excused myself, holed myself up in the restroom, and proceeded to release a stream of tears. It felt odd for me, a man who never met this woman, to be crying for her. I didn’t understand the way emotion began to overtake me. But I wasn’t alone. We all mourned Dr. Angelou. She was a woman who defied her definition as an icon, for in all of our canonization of her, she intentionally projected humanity. She remained accessible and met us where we were. Maya Angelou’s words were void of any pretense – simply, yet deeply profound – and, though she possessed a keen intellect, she spoke solely from her heart. In all of our efforts to project sainthood onto her, she remained beautifully human. She invoked a sense of familiarity in the way of a kind teacher, a doting mother, or a stern but tender grandmother. We did not personally know Maya Angelou, but she knew us.