The kindness of strangers is so often a blessing. It is another proof of goodness, truly Godliness in this world. This is a great thing. Seeing how beautifully we louse things up with the people we know, it's good to know that there are strangers who are willing to help.
The beauty of being a stranger is that when the opportunity to be kind presents itself, we decide based on our own compass, without having to factor in the degree of the damage we've already taken.
Showing posts with label strangers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label strangers. Show all posts
Friday, September 25, 2009
Thursday, January 4, 2007
People are Strange
I work in Downtown Cleveland. We have a problem with the homeless panhandling in the area.
I wear a uniform to work. I am an African-American female. My hair is locked (dread locked). I work full time, earn a decent penny, and own my home (in a suburb). I am a quick-witted, polite, well-read Starbucks fiend who is only rude if someone comes between me and my grande-traditional (dark)-roast-with-hazelnut-and-room-for-cream (and 2 equal) [this is all said in one breath]. I am divorced, a mom, a lesbian, a writer, a painter...I mean really who has time for all their labels; what is most important for this posting is that I am a law abiding, employed, relatively normal citizen (I mean, really, I even VOTE).
I am fat and need to lose weight, but at 5'4", intimidating is not one of the labels I would think apply to me, at all.
But am I?
I have come to see that on any given day, regardless of the time of day, I strike fear in the hearts of those who pass me.
Most days I laugh at this. I have arrived at 1:40 for my 2:00 shift and asked passersby if they had change for a dollar (dollar in hand) and they would speed past me or say no! Men walking fast with change jingling in their pockets. WTF? You gotta laugh. Most days.
I have walked down the street and watched women move their purses to the other side of their bodies.
Oh shit. Most time, I must admit, if I am in a very bad mood, I will look over as she is passing and say "BOO!" Bitchy, I know but WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU SEE?
I am a police dispatcher. I can check any U.S. citizen for warrants, driving records, criminal history, etc. I can find out all sorts of nifty information with just one other piece of information, I get paid well to know how to do this. In the military I had a security clearance. I know Korean, and some Spanish (more than most people but not fluently). I have heard more shit about the things that human beings do to one another than most people could even imagine. But, for whatever reason, even wearing that uniform with the badge and the police department patch, I am frightening to some people. And, wearing that uniform, I am invisible and dispensible to others.
I want to say that this never bothers me.
But, I haven't lied to you before, why would I want to start now.
It infuriates me.
My former sister-in-law, used to have her boyfriends call our house, listen to our answering machine and then have a ball because the guy would never guess that it was a black woman speaking. She'd corner them into conversations where they swore that they could tell some one's race by their voice; she always won the bet. She got a kick out of explaining that I was her sister's girlfriend. I should probably call Beth and give her my new phone number, just for giggles.
Every so often I call a store and ask an employee to hold something for me and it rarely fails that when I get there they have a hard time hearing me. Not because I don't speak well, but because they were expecting something else. I mean I don't look like my name should be Kellie--in their minds at least. I know what's going through their minds when they say "What's your name?"
They are expecting something 'ethnic' or 'colorful', and I don't mean to disappoint. Kelly is a shade of green, so it has some color to it. But, it seems that they are listening hard for something else: a unique name, or poor diction. I guess the disappointment of not having to work hard to decipher my meaning causes a shortage. I end up repeating myself anyway. Now it's a running joke in my family, we wait for it and laugh. I know they can understand me; I talk for a living.
It is my job to be articulate and clear.
But at those moments, I also feel very alone. Because even though I know I haven't done anything wrong I am still the one viewed as suspicious.
I mean, of course that guy should have made sure his alarm was set when he turned and saw... ME?
Seriously?
Is it my brown skin? My nappy, nontraditional styled hair? My uniform? Or is it racism or classist?
It's not just downtown. At my favorite lesbian bar, I am eyed suspiciously. My hair is too long and ethnic. I wear make-up (most times), carry a purse, wear tight jeans and heels. Though I enjoy Killian's, I often order red wine--preferably a Zinfandel. I mean I just don't fit in.
I stick out like a sore thumb nearly everywhere I go.
But I am tired of being polite in the face of other people's rude behavior. I am tired of turning the other cheek.
The only place that I have not found this, recently, has been my church...and I haven't been there in months.
I mean I really wish I could have people know that I am not anything they would probably assume of me.
I took my last semester of classes on line. I would bet that most of the students in my English class especially, where I earned something ridiculous like 107%, would pass out if they had a picture to accompany my ass-kicking essays and test scores.
But the truth of the matter is, I am glad that those people walk on by, because if they are so shallow that they cannot see past my hair or skin color or uniform, they do not deserve my time.
The thing most people don't get is that we are all outsiders, somewhere and in some way.
Being different is the tie that binds us-it is what most of us know. It is one chord that rings true most often among us.
But, it sure is lonely and cold sometimes walking alone.
For everyone who can relate, in one way or another, I dedicate People Are Strange by The Doors (yup, I'm a fan; please don't say you're surprised)
People are strange, when you're a stranger
Faces look ugly when you're alone
Women seem wicked, when you're unwanted
Streets are uneven, when you're down
When you're strange- faces come out of the rain (rain, rain)
When you're strange- no one remembers your name
When you're strange, when you're strange, when you're str-ange
peace
PS: I hope you can see the irony of the situation. I am the person who people call for help, often in their worse moments; but on the streets they run from me. It really does make me laugh out loud as long as I am having a day where I can laugh at it. Every day is different.
I wear a uniform to work. I am an African-American female. My hair is locked (dread locked). I work full time, earn a decent penny, and own my home (in a suburb). I am a quick-witted, polite, well-read Starbucks fiend who is only rude if someone comes between me and my grande-traditional (dark)-roast-with-hazelnut-and-room-for-cream (and 2 equal) [this is all said in one breath]. I am divorced, a mom, a lesbian, a writer, a painter...I mean really who has time for all their labels; what is most important for this posting is that I am a law abiding, employed, relatively normal citizen (I mean, really, I even VOTE).
I am fat and need to lose weight, but at 5'4", intimidating is not one of the labels I would think apply to me, at all.
But am I?
I have come to see that on any given day, regardless of the time of day, I strike fear in the hearts of those who pass me.
Most days I laugh at this. I have arrived at 1:40 for my 2:00 shift and asked passersby if they had change for a dollar (dollar in hand) and they would speed past me or say no! Men walking fast with change jingling in their pockets. WTF? You gotta laugh. Most days.
I have walked down the street and watched women move their purses to the other side of their bodies.
Oh shit. Most time, I must admit, if I am in a very bad mood, I will look over as she is passing and say "BOO!" Bitchy, I know but WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU SEE?
I am a police dispatcher. I can check any U.S. citizen for warrants, driving records, criminal history, etc. I can find out all sorts of nifty information with just one other piece of information, I get paid well to know how to do this. In the military I had a security clearance. I know Korean, and some Spanish (more than most people but not fluently). I have heard more shit about the things that human beings do to one another than most people could even imagine. But, for whatever reason, even wearing that uniform with the badge and the police department patch, I am frightening to some people. And, wearing that uniform, I am invisible and dispensible to others.
I want to say that this never bothers me.
But, I haven't lied to you before, why would I want to start now.
It infuriates me.
My former sister-in-law, used to have her boyfriends call our house, listen to our answering machine and then have a ball because the guy would never guess that it was a black woman speaking. She'd corner them into conversations where they swore that they could tell some one's race by their voice; she always won the bet. She got a kick out of explaining that I was her sister's girlfriend. I should probably call Beth and give her my new phone number, just for giggles.
Every so often I call a store and ask an employee to hold something for me and it rarely fails that when I get there they have a hard time hearing me. Not because I don't speak well, but because they were expecting something else. I mean I don't look like my name should be Kellie--in their minds at least. I know what's going through their minds when they say "What's your name?"
They are expecting something 'ethnic' or 'colorful', and I don't mean to disappoint. Kelly is a shade of green, so it has some color to it. But, it seems that they are listening hard for something else: a unique name, or poor diction. I guess the disappointment of not having to work hard to decipher my meaning causes a shortage. I end up repeating myself anyway. Now it's a running joke in my family, we wait for it and laugh. I know they can understand me; I talk for a living.
It is my job to be articulate and clear.
But at those moments, I also feel very alone. Because even though I know I haven't done anything wrong I am still the one viewed as suspicious.
I mean, of course that guy should have made sure his alarm was set when he turned and saw... ME?
Seriously?
Is it my brown skin? My nappy, nontraditional styled hair? My uniform? Or is it racism or classist?
It's not just downtown. At my favorite lesbian bar, I am eyed suspiciously. My hair is too long and ethnic. I wear make-up (most times), carry a purse, wear tight jeans and heels. Though I enjoy Killian's, I often order red wine--preferably a Zinfandel. I mean I just don't fit in.
I stick out like a sore thumb nearly everywhere I go.
But I am tired of being polite in the face of other people's rude behavior. I am tired of turning the other cheek.
The only place that I have not found this, recently, has been my church...and I haven't been there in months.
I mean I really wish I could have people know that I am not anything they would probably assume of me.
I took my last semester of classes on line. I would bet that most of the students in my English class especially, where I earned something ridiculous like 107%, would pass out if they had a picture to accompany my ass-kicking essays and test scores.
But the truth of the matter is, I am glad that those people walk on by, because if they are so shallow that they cannot see past my hair or skin color or uniform, they do not deserve my time.
The thing most people don't get is that we are all outsiders, somewhere and in some way.
Being different is the tie that binds us-it is what most of us know. It is one chord that rings true most often among us.
But, it sure is lonely and cold sometimes walking alone.
For everyone who can relate, in one way or another, I dedicate People Are Strange by The Doors (yup, I'm a fan; please don't say you're surprised)
People are strange, when you're a stranger
Faces look ugly when you're alone
Women seem wicked, when you're unwanted
Streets are uneven, when you're down
When you're strange- faces come out of the rain (rain, rain)
When you're strange- no one remembers your name
When you're strange, when you're strange, when you're str-ange
peace
PS: I hope you can see the irony of the situation. I am the person who people call for help, often in their worse moments; but on the streets they run from me. It really does make me laugh out loud as long as I am having a day where I can laugh at it. Every day is different.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Synchronicity
There are times when I have terrible perceptions of myself. I will doubt even the most basic things. I have said this before, but I can cook a meal regularly, but every once in a while will question that I know how to properly feed anyone.
The universe has been moving for me in profound ways; in ways that I cannot say I believed I deserved. I have been attending church for the past month. Nearly every week, I get a message about my artwork. I have only mentioned the messages to two or three people. This past Sunday, as I was getting ready, my daughter told me I should start painting again.
"I miss your artwork" she said.
I nearly cried. I was beyond touched. I understood in that moment that what I had said with my art mattered, and not just to me.
For six (6) years my creativity was silent. I did not write. I did not paint. I felt that I had nothing to say. Nothing that mattered.
This morning, one of my co-workers said that I have fire and passion in my eyes when I talk about my art, and I put that same fire and passion in everything I do. I did not think that this man paid any attention to me other than the occasional conversation. I was blown away. I felt a little more comfortable about sharing it even more.
There is no such thing as chance. There is sychronicity. I went back to church because I needed a few things:a new love with whom I could be safe, secure, and open, to get in touch with my creative voice, and to feel safe in sharing that voice. There is power and grace in prayer. There is power in naming what you want from the universe. There are no accidents. I am being answered in abundance.
I am humbled and I am blessed.
peace.
The universe has been moving for me in profound ways; in ways that I cannot say I believed I deserved. I have been attending church for the past month. Nearly every week, I get a message about my artwork. I have only mentioned the messages to two or three people. This past Sunday, as I was getting ready, my daughter told me I should start painting again.
"I miss your artwork" she said.
I nearly cried. I was beyond touched. I understood in that moment that what I had said with my art mattered, and not just to me.
For six (6) years my creativity was silent. I did not write. I did not paint. I felt that I had nothing to say. Nothing that mattered.
This morning, one of my co-workers said that I have fire and passion in my eyes when I talk about my art, and I put that same fire and passion in everything I do. I did not think that this man paid any attention to me other than the occasional conversation. I was blown away. I felt a little more comfortable about sharing it even more.
There is no such thing as chance. There is sychronicity. I went back to church because I needed a few things:a new love with whom I could be safe, secure, and open, to get in touch with my creative voice, and to feel safe in sharing that voice. There is power and grace in prayer. There is power in naming what you want from the universe. There are no accidents. I am being answered in abundance.
I am humbled and I am blessed.
peace.
Wednesday, October 4, 2006
Take time to meet the flowers
We get so busy trying to get from point A to point B that we do not see each other. Maybe the reason we rush around so much is so that we don't see one another. Maybe the point of it is that we don't want to see others, really see them. Every work day I walk to get coffee. I start work at 6 A.M. and the walk helps me start the day. One of the things I enjoy about my walk down two short blocks on quiet downtown streets is watching people. I have become pretty accurate guessing which people will avoid my gaze, or won't hold the door open. It seems that some people cannot get beyond my chocolate skin or my dread locks. It doesn't matter what I am wearing; dress clothes, uniform, or smile. It doesn't matter that my eyes are twinkling with a smile, or even amusement. Now, we have a problem on W.6th with homeless people begging. But I am in a neat, clean uniform, I am freshly showered, my locks are in a neat ponytail. I don't think I can be mistaken for the homeless, but for my brown skin. It amuses me how many people will avoid my eyes. So few are willing to offer a smile and a good morning. People have their heads buried in the paper, their blackberries, ipods, and laptops. The more productive we are, the less aware we are and we pay attention to fewer things.
Last summer, I noticed, on my walk from the coffeeshop, one flower that was white among a whole bed of purple blooms. It was beautiful and made me smile. The guy walking towards me had to smile back. That made it all the better. It is the little things that matter.
Have you noticed how many singles are saying how hard it is to meet people these days? It seems that we have lost the art of being able to talk to one another. Not every conversation is going to lead to a romance, but isn't it great when you strike up a conversation with a stranger and find out that the two of you have a great deal to talk about, and some things in common. This does not mean that you are 'soulmates'. It does mean that there are plenty of people out there for you to meet, if you take the opportunity.
A couple of weeks ago, I drove to Columbus to see Toshi Reagon. I was alone at a table when a woman, who was also alone, asked if I was with someone and if I'd mind if she sat with me. I told her sit down, we introduced ourselves and talked. Her name was Shawn. She was smart, a little shy, had only been in town for a few months, but had not been out because of long hours at work (the University). She's working on her doctorate and seemed a sweet soul. No, this is not about looking for love. This is about being able to enjoy people. This total stranger was pleasant and I was able to meet a new person and enjoy a wonderful concert as well. How divine! This is a beautiful evening; great music and good company.
So often we don't know how to meet people because we won't even talk to people who we would not consider dating. Life is about more than that. Think of it as practice. Conversation is an art. Besides, if you don't know how to strike up a conversation with a stranger, what will you do when someone you'd like to meet floats by. Meeting people is beautiful. It is a shame that we have all of this technology to help improve the quality of our lives, but all day long beautiful, exotic, intricate, colorful beings walk past us without our ever noticing. We all need to take time to meet the flowers.
Last summer, I noticed, on my walk from the coffeeshop, one flower that was white among a whole bed of purple blooms. It was beautiful and made me smile. The guy walking towards me had to smile back. That made it all the better. It is the little things that matter.
Have you noticed how many singles are saying how hard it is to meet people these days? It seems that we have lost the art of being able to talk to one another. Not every conversation is going to lead to a romance, but isn't it great when you strike up a conversation with a stranger and find out that the two of you have a great deal to talk about, and some things in common. This does not mean that you are 'soulmates'. It does mean that there are plenty of people out there for you to meet, if you take the opportunity.
A couple of weeks ago, I drove to Columbus to see Toshi Reagon. I was alone at a table when a woman, who was also alone, asked if I was with someone and if I'd mind if she sat with me. I told her sit down, we introduced ourselves and talked. Her name was Shawn. She was smart, a little shy, had only been in town for a few months, but had not been out because of long hours at work (the University). She's working on her doctorate and seemed a sweet soul. No, this is not about looking for love. This is about being able to enjoy people. This total stranger was pleasant and I was able to meet a new person and enjoy a wonderful concert as well. How divine! This is a beautiful evening; great music and good company.
So often we don't know how to meet people because we won't even talk to people who we would not consider dating. Life is about more than that. Think of it as practice. Conversation is an art. Besides, if you don't know how to strike up a conversation with a stranger, what will you do when someone you'd like to meet floats by. Meeting people is beautiful. It is a shame that we have all of this technology to help improve the quality of our lives, but all day long beautiful, exotic, intricate, colorful beings walk past us without our ever noticing. We all need to take time to meet the flowers.
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