So I promise, no soul-moving, life-changing, or deeply important things today. Only self-deprecating, everyday stories....
This morning the trains were late- so far, normal- and everyone was in a hurry. The packed trains kept passing the crowd by, who was getting more and more frustrated. Just yesterday we had a staff meeting where we were reminded that someone needs to always be here at 9. (Since I'm usually the one here at 9, I'm assuming that they're referring to the 2 times I've been late). So this morning, I was feeling the anxiety that the business-casuals being passed by the train were feeling....
My first train arrived, we all herded in and packed on, and we made it to the transfer station. Everyone is in a hurry during rush hour in the mornings, but for those in an extra state of "hurriedness" they mandate the right side of the escalators for standing people and the left for the crazies to walk/run/leap up. Well, as I was making my way up the left side, I kept imagining what would happen if just one person on the right swung their elbow just right, knocking down their fellow left-side and causing a domino effect of people down the way.
Somehow in the middle of my day-dreaming, BAM! I completely fall. I still have no idea how it happened. But I have a large bruise on my knee and part of my toenail gone, so I know it happen. And the funny part was, as I was literally laying on the left side of the escalator, people continued standing, staring ahead. I guess it's normal for a curly-headed girl to be sprawled out, face-down on the escalator during rush hour. Thanks business casuals. There was one older woman that asked "Honey, are you alright?" Pridefully, I picked myself up and with my head held high muttered an "Oh yeah, I'm fine." Right Molly- because this happens all the time.
And then I make my way up the rest of the escalator, limping and missing part of a toenail, to begin my morning here in good ol' Chicago.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
A More Perfect Union
Obama does a wonderful job of speaking to my soul. I'm not sure how he does it, but everything he says resonates with something deep within me....and this morning was no different:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pWe7wTVbLUU&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pWe7wTVbLUU&feature=related
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Stressed?
If you want to know how people deal with stress in the city, ride the public transportation. At some point during your ride most likely something will break down, hesitate or sling you from side to side. Last night I got on the train and the usual 10 minutes it takes to get from downtown to my apartment turned into a 45 minute ride.
The girl sitting on the other end of the car continued talking to her boyfriend about supermodels. About how they can't eat, how they're really not stick-skinny (obviously it's just the camera that gives them that effect) and she just can't get over....
The couple sitting in the middle of the car start creating their own CTA (Chicago Transit Authority) slogans. "If you want to add annoyance to your long, frustrating day at work, take the train!"
The girl on the end kept staring at the floor, sitting in the same position with her hipster skirt and jacket placed just so. I wish I knew what was playing on her iPod to keep her sitting that still, staring at that same spot, with no expression for the entire ride....
And finally, the boy across from me. He kept mumbling curse words, banging his head on the back of his chair and then (my favorite part of course) taking out his lighter to burn the bottom of his jeans. Over and over again.
I tend to just sit in a kind of lethargic state, staring into nothingness and thinking about the past. Today the rain made this impossible not to do. I was at a training and sometime during my third glass of Ugandan Chai (that I smuggled into the country club in my purse), my mind wandered back to Uganda. Sitting in the hut with the doors open, listening to Dr. Kim talk about water pumps and agricultural ideas: solutions for practical problems. Then the rain would come and we'd all stop and listen. There's no rain like African rain. And as I snap back into how to solicit money from "major gift donors" I ask myself, what am I doing here?
The girl sitting on the other end of the car continued talking to her boyfriend about supermodels. About how they can't eat, how they're really not stick-skinny (obviously it's just the camera that gives them that effect) and she just can't get over....
The couple sitting in the middle of the car start creating their own CTA (Chicago Transit Authority) slogans. "If you want to add annoyance to your long, frustrating day at work, take the train!"
The girl on the end kept staring at the floor, sitting in the same position with her hipster skirt and jacket placed just so. I wish I knew what was playing on her iPod to keep her sitting that still, staring at that same spot, with no expression for the entire ride....
And finally, the boy across from me. He kept mumbling curse words, banging his head on the back of his chair and then (my favorite part of course) taking out his lighter to burn the bottom of his jeans. Over and over again.
I tend to just sit in a kind of lethargic state, staring into nothingness and thinking about the past. Today the rain made this impossible not to do. I was at a training and sometime during my third glass of Ugandan Chai (that I smuggled into the country club in my purse), my mind wandered back to Uganda. Sitting in the hut with the doors open, listening to Dr. Kim talk about water pumps and agricultural ideas: solutions for practical problems. Then the rain would come and we'd all stop and listen. There's no rain like African rain. And as I snap back into how to solicit money from "major gift donors" I ask myself, what am I doing here?
Monday, August 25, 2008
Consistency = Best Friend
The other day in that same park where all crazy experiences happen, I met a man from (I think) Jamaica. He approached me and instead of saying hello, like I would to meet someone new, he asks me "Have we met before?" Great. I don't do well with lame introductions like this.
No, I'm sure we haven't.
"Well do ya have a smoke?"
Nope. Sorry.
"I can see ya busy. I don't mean to bawtha ya. I'm sorry."
No- you're not bothering me. I'm just on the phone. So I can't talk right now!
"Ok, I'll come back then."
Great.
After I'm off the phone, he returns.
"What's ya name, love?"
Oh, Molly.
"I grew up with a gawl called Molly. She be tiny. And beautiful. And I lawved her. But she gone off an got mawrried now."
And that was our interaction. And now I see him like every other day! And we always have the same conversation. He asks my name, I tell him. He tells me what a small, beautiful girl that Molly he grew up with was. Tells me how he loved her. And then we keep walking.
I think we'll be best friends someday. He's one of the only people I see consistently, strangely. I haven't had those everyday people yet: that guy on the 8:33 train with the blue book or that woman on the corner of Wabash and Roosevelt at 8:56 with her Starbucks coffee and pink razor phone. Hopefully soon. I could use some normalcy.
No, I'm sure we haven't.
"Well do ya have a smoke?"
Nope. Sorry.
"I can see ya busy. I don't mean to bawtha ya. I'm sorry."
No- you're not bothering me. I'm just on the phone. So I can't talk right now!
"Ok, I'll come back then."
Great.
After I'm off the phone, he returns.
"What's ya name, love?"
Oh, Molly.
"I grew up with a gawl called Molly. She be tiny. And beautiful. And I lawved her. But she gone off an got mawrried now."
And that was our interaction. And now I see him like every other day! And we always have the same conversation. He asks my name, I tell him. He tells me what a small, beautiful girl that Molly he grew up with was. Tells me how he loved her. And then we keep walking.
I think we'll be best friends someday. He's one of the only people I see consistently, strangely. I haven't had those everyday people yet: that guy on the 8:33 train with the blue book or that woman on the corner of Wabash and Roosevelt at 8:56 with her Starbucks coffee and pink razor phone. Hopefully soon. I could use some normalcy.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Jamaica or Jesus?
I went to a Jamaican festival this weekend with Brian and Jessica. I got free tickets from these guys that work next to our office- and I thought it would be incredible. While the atmosphere was great- who doesn't like people with dreads, dressed in bright colors, talking about Bob Marley like he's Mother Theresa?- the music surprised us. We stayed for a few of the bands, which ended up being gospel singers- or something like it. They just kept shouting and rapping and all I could make out was "Lawd Jesus Christ" over and over. People around us were swaying and dancing and singing. The lone 3 (cool white kids in the back): we watched awkwardly and then left during what the guy at the gate shouted was "the best part of the whole day!" He couldn't believe it. But we didn't believe him. So we left anyway.
We also watched this on Sunday:
http://movies.nytimes.com/movie/452047/Man-on-Wire/overview
It was quite good. I told Brian it had better be the best movie I had seen in a long time to pay $10 at some independent film theater just to see it. And it was. The main character challenges the viewer to live each day creatively. Not living on past successes or past ideas. But to create new adventures and dreams for today. He reminded me that I could make my life as beautiful and refreshing as I wanted. And I intend to try.
And for tonight:
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0052311/trailers-screenplay-vi33489177
I doubt it will be as interesting as the night with the rain and the dancing and the Chicago movie. But, it is in the same place- so maybe the "excitement magic" hasn't worn off yet!
We also watched this on Sunday:
http://movies.nytimes.com/movie/452047/Man-on-Wire/overview
It was quite good. I told Brian it had better be the best movie I had seen in a long time to pay $10 at some independent film theater just to see it. And it was. The main character challenges the viewer to live each day creatively. Not living on past successes or past ideas. But to create new adventures and dreams for today. He reminded me that I could make my life as beautiful and refreshing as I wanted. And I intend to try.
And for tonight:
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0052311/trailers-screenplay-vi33489177
I doubt it will be as interesting as the night with the rain and the dancing and the Chicago movie. But, it is in the same place- so maybe the "excitement magic" hasn't worn off yet!
Friday, August 8, 2008
Tell Me Your Story- I'm Dying to Know
Sometimes I think I have this written on my forehead. Granted, many times I'll seek after it. I meet people and ask questions, make eye contact and listen attentively. I want to know what their struggles are, where they've come from, what they hope for.
But there are some people out there that offer their story without any invitation. This happened twice the other day when I was downtown.
I had been craving McDonald's for a few weeks (don't judge me...I know you are....) and sat down next to a woman reading. Before I take my first bite of processed, fried chicken shaped like a nugget this man rams into the back of me. He's a larger man, scruffy with a loud laugh. He says "Watch out! Chunky guy coming through!" and sits next to me. Until I finished my last french fry this guy talked. I asked no questions, made no eye contact and still he continued with his slurred speech and trucker jokes. He told me every scary story from driving a truck that I never wanted to know. One involved a woman pulling up next to his truck one night in a parking lot, acting like her car didn't work, climbing into his truck with nothing but an overcoat on. Apparently she was a "hooker that was wanted by the law." Others were about wanted killers. Who tells these stories the first time they meet someone? They continued until the bits of cheeseburger stuck in his scruff and spewed on my arm were too much for me. As I was leaving, he told me to always have my cell phone with me on the road. Thanks. And then told me we'd see each other soon, because "You never know where I'll turn up. We might see each other real soon." Awesome.
Then I walk past a woman sitting on a ledge asking people for a meal. I walked by her like I do many of the people on the street. Don't they know I am only living off a stipend? I don't have a salary either. Then I realized that she wasn't asking for money, booze or time. Just a meal. Easy enough. So I went back thinking, I'll run into Potbelly and get her something and still make my train. Instead, she tells me that she can only eat certain types of food because she has no teeth and a sensitive stomach. Her story continues all the while I'm thinking about my train. I didn't have time to walk 6 blocks to the nearest whatever restaurant to get her whatever type of food, so I thrust $5 at her, apologize and run to the train. Then I wonder how many people she does that too? Everyone's in a hurry- so I doubt anyone agrees to walk 1/2 a mile to the restaurant. I'm mad at her- beggar's can't be choosers- right? Somewhere in the midst of our conversation I forgot she was capable of having an opinion- I don't even like Potbelly's. But all I could think was "She should eat whatever I give her, because she's lucky I even stopped." Oh brother. In my mind, she's not even a person. Just an annoyance that took up too much time and my $5 (which could get me a fast-n-fresh pizza that would last for 2 meals)! Who have I become?
People and their stories. I suppose everyone you meet has one, but we're too busy to hear them. I blame it on technology and our equating time with money. Maybe. Or maybe we just don't want to know that people can't afford to eat or that truck drivers have no one to talk to (so when they do have someone to talk to, they have to tell them everything). I don't know.
But I do know that I need to practice genuine listening, because I obviously have forgotten how.
But there are some people out there that offer their story without any invitation. This happened twice the other day when I was downtown.
I had been craving McDonald's for a few weeks (don't judge me...I know you are....) and sat down next to a woman reading. Before I take my first bite of processed, fried chicken shaped like a nugget this man rams into the back of me. He's a larger man, scruffy with a loud laugh. He says "Watch out! Chunky guy coming through!" and sits next to me. Until I finished my last french fry this guy talked. I asked no questions, made no eye contact and still he continued with his slurred speech and trucker jokes. He told me every scary story from driving a truck that I never wanted to know. One involved a woman pulling up next to his truck one night in a parking lot, acting like her car didn't work, climbing into his truck with nothing but an overcoat on. Apparently she was a "hooker that was wanted by the law." Others were about wanted killers. Who tells these stories the first time they meet someone? They continued until the bits of cheeseburger stuck in his scruff and spewed on my arm were too much for me. As I was leaving, he told me to always have my cell phone with me on the road. Thanks. And then told me we'd see each other soon, because "You never know where I'll turn up. We might see each other real soon." Awesome.
Then I walk past a woman sitting on a ledge asking people for a meal. I walked by her like I do many of the people on the street. Don't they know I am only living off a stipend? I don't have a salary either. Then I realized that she wasn't asking for money, booze or time. Just a meal. Easy enough. So I went back thinking, I'll run into Potbelly and get her something and still make my train. Instead, she tells me that she can only eat certain types of food because she has no teeth and a sensitive stomach. Her story continues all the while I'm thinking about my train. I didn't have time to walk 6 blocks to the nearest whatever restaurant to get her whatever type of food, so I thrust $5 at her, apologize and run to the train. Then I wonder how many people she does that too? Everyone's in a hurry- so I doubt anyone agrees to walk 1/2 a mile to the restaurant. I'm mad at her- beggar's can't be choosers- right? Somewhere in the midst of our conversation I forgot she was capable of having an opinion- I don't even like Potbelly's. But all I could think was "She should eat whatever I give her, because she's lucky I even stopped." Oh brother. In my mind, she's not even a person. Just an annoyance that took up too much time and my $5 (which could get me a fast-n-fresh pizza that would last for 2 meals)! Who have I become?
People and their stories. I suppose everyone you meet has one, but we're too busy to hear them. I blame it on technology and our equating time with money. Maybe. Or maybe we just don't want to know that people can't afford to eat or that truck drivers have no one to talk to (so when they do have someone to talk to, they have to tell them everything). I don't know.
But I do know that I need to practice genuine listening, because I obviously have forgotten how.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
I have recently developed 2 new fetishes. Gilmore Girls and Iced Coffee. They have managed to completely change my life since Friday. I don't know if I like it. I talk excessively about everything and nothing and spend a lot of money.
My job is getting progressively more busy, which has been nice. Today I've been *place here a nice name for commanded* to attend a press conference with the esteemed (hated) Governor Blagojevich. He's talking about health care, so we need to be present. It would be like attending a Bush press conference. Well known, but not liked. So you almost feel privileged, but then remember who it is you're listening to. If I was Shane Claiborne I would paint my chest and shout revolutionary things at him. Instead I'll sit in the back and take notes with the other business casual youngins.
Oh life.
My job is getting progressively more busy, which has been nice. Today I've been *place here a nice name for commanded* to attend a press conference with the esteemed (hated) Governor Blagojevich. He's talking about health care, so we need to be present. It would be like attending a Bush press conference. Well known, but not liked. So you almost feel privileged, but then remember who it is you're listening to. If I was Shane Claiborne I would paint my chest and shout revolutionary things at him. Instead I'll sit in the back and take notes with the other business casual youngins.
Oh life.
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