If you are at all like me, you might find yourself growing
more and more disgusted with the world and people. It is hard to imagine that there is good in the
world when we are told the bad morning, noon and night. I like to watch ABC
World News Tonight with David Muir because while he reports on casualties,
disasters, war and general insanity, he does it in such an earnest way, just
brimming with integrity and concern, that I know he is disappointed in the
world too. He also ends each half hour with an uplifting
little piece about “America Strong” or look at this show of human kindness. He knows after twenty-nine minutes of bad
that he better air one minute of good to get us to tomorrow.
I know that in my own writings, I tend to work through the
bad or the negative or what the heck is happening much more than joy, than
happiness and the good I see. However,
on our recent trip to NYC, I had such a connection with three random strangers
that I have to share it to show you the good out there; the commonality and the
humanity that still exists.
The day we went to Battery Park and Wall Street, we took the
subway. We were very proud of ourselves for embarking on this unknown and even
survived the ride back with no AC and an angry homeless man. When we got off the train and went to go
upstairs, we noticed that there was a mob of people waiting on the stairs. We
walked right by them because we just completed our first subway ride and knew
things and knew we were smarter than these people gathering on the
stairs. Actually, they were much, much
smarter. It was pouring rain. Streaming rain. The skies opened and every drop of water in
the universe fell on NYC. Do we wait it
out or run for it? Oh, we ran for
it. Fast-walked for it. We were soaked in seconds. Hair plastered to our heads, feet squelching
in wet sneakers with every step.
Miserably, uncomfortably wet and heading as fast as we could to our hotel. I cradled our cell phones in a bag under my
shirt thinking that if my stomach kept my kids safe for nine months, perhaps it
could do the same for our technology. We
made it to the hotel and squeak-walked through the beautiful lobby crammed with
a million people, water streaming behind us.
We ran into an open elevator, not caring who was in there or how crowded
it could be. Funnily enough, there was another family of four in the elevator
with us and they were as wet as we were. Their daughter lifted up and lowered a
foot, squelch. The son stared stonily
ahead as water dripped from his nose.
The father plucked at his shirt that thwopmed away from his skin and
said a bad word in German. I thought
about trying to speak to them with my high-school German, but decided that we
had all suffered enough that day. The
mom and I locked eyes and laughed. I
laughed in English and she laughed in German and it was this wonderful,
international moment of two families sharing a ridiculously wet elevator
ride. Here was this family from across
the world experiencing the exact same thing as us. Soaking wet clothes, chilled to the bone and
laughter in an elevator. It seems small,
but that laughter has stayed with me. Laughter really is a language everyone
understands.
The next time I felt a connection to a complete stranger was
on our bus ride from NYC to Newark Airport to pick up our car. I could not help thinking how much I would
hate driving in NYC and then thinking how much more I would hate trying to
drive a bus in NYC. I drove a pick-up
truck once and always parked a mile away from everything and tried as hard as I
could to never have to put it in reverse. And here was our bus driver, smiling,
chatty, telling us not to buy tickets in the store, that they would overcharge
us. He asked us not to eat on his bus, we complied and he got us moving. I
thought what a boring day he must have driving to and from the airport all day
long. He provided a lot of commentary on our ride, not looking for a response,
but just talking out loud. When a man
stepped in front of his bus, he remarked “Oh, there goes Superman. Not afraid of this bus. There he go.
There go Superman.” I found him
hilarious. However, it was when he
admonished a woman for eating that I really felt a connection. He had asked her not to eat when she got on
the bus, she said alright and ten minutes later was devouring some sort of
tasty taco. He locked eyes with her in
his mirror and said “I asked you not to eat. All I ask is that you do not eat
on my bus and here you are, eating on my bus.” She muttered she was sorry with
a mouthful of taco and he kept on railing against eating on his bus. What
really caught my attention was as he continued his rant against this woman he
said “Aren’t we all grown?” Aren’t we all grown? Can’t he just explain the
rules once and expect us to follow through? It made me think of the 17,000
times a day I ask kids to put their phones away or to do their work or just
stop. I am using this as my one and only
classroom rule this year.
The last time I really knew what another person was feeling
was in Virginia/West Virginia/Virginia as we were driving back. (We crossed state lines about ten times, so I
can’t definitively say where it was.). We drove by the Potomac River and it was
gorgeous and rocky and moving fast and there were signs for white-water rafting
and we commented that we should go white-water rafting. And then we turned the corner and came upon
this family of four standing on the side of the road, soaking wet and holding
an inner tube. They were all standing as far away from each other as possible
and as I looked at the mom with her rigidly set shoulders, her angry back and
her pissed-off jaw, I knew how she felt. She was soaking wet, standing on the
side of the road and looked like maybe white-water rafting was not as much fun
as we thought it should be. We commented
on how I am often that angry mom and the kids and Bill laughed at how she was
probably pissed that the snacks were all wet and she was just hungry and when
we passed the truck carrying other tubers and tubes back we knew that someone
in that family had not moved fast enough and they had just missed their ride
back. And I totally felt that mom’s
anger at vacation things that should be fun but can be more work or that
sometimes you just want to eat or go to the bathroom like a normal person. I
felt that. I honestly cannot get that woman out of my head and have named her
Wendy and have the start of a short-story about her brewing in my brain. Hang tight Wendy, I got you.
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| Beautiful or disgusting? We'll let Wendy tell. |
I share these stories with you because these complete
strangers reminded me that we are more alike than unalike (head nod to Maya
Angelou). We might hear more about the bad, but there are normal people and good still out there in our world. We are all just people living
our lives and trying our best and getting wet or frustrated or laughing out
loud with strangers in an elevator, and that people and this life are a
beautiful thing.
