the Man on the bike
This one happened a couple of weeks ago, but it’s too fantastic not to write about.
I recently joined the YMCA (which I am now in love with, but that’s another story for another post). I was walking down Geary Street, on my way to the Y for my very first workout. All of a sudden I heard a booming voice behind me, “Get on the bike!” I turned around and saw an older man riding his bike up the sidewalk, grinning at me. I laughed and said, “that’s ok.” He called out, “Aw come on, don’t be so modest, get on the bike!!” I couldn’t stop laughing, “I’m really ok walking, thank you.”
He rode past me then came to an abrupt stop about 10 feet in front of me. He got off the bike, turned around and offered it up, “here, take the bike.” What a chivalrous gesture. I shook my head, “no thanks, I don’t need it, I’m only walking a few more blocks.”
He looked at me for a second and said, “ok. Are you a real lady?” I was baffled–what kind of question was that? What did he mean? Was he asking me if I’m transgendered? Perhaps not an odd question to ask in San Francisco, but certainly an odd question for someone to ask me as I walked down the street towards the Y. Not sure how to respond (although why was I not sure?), I answered with a hesitant, “yes?”
He let out a squeal, “Girl, you look GOOD! I thought you were a teenager!”
Thank you for the Man on the bike.
Leah from the bus stop
I just met a woman from Texas who inspired me to start this blog.
Let me start at the beginning.
Last night, I had dinner with a good friend who is dealing with a lot in her life right now. Her husband lost his job, a close relative passed away, and she’s selling her home and moving across the state. She said to me, “all these big bad things keep happening to me, but I’m not even spared from the little bad things–nothing is going right, even my car battery just died.”
As I tried to comfort her, I thought about the book that I’m currently reading for my book club: The Year of Living Biblically. The author, A.J. Jacobs, decides that for one year, he’s going to live the Bible as literally as possible. This, of course, leads to some situations that are hysterical (eg. his attempt to stone an adulterer in Central Park), some that are mystifying (eg. trying to keep from wearing clothes of mixed fibers) and some that are greatly inspiring, such as his resolution to be grateful for all things. Keeping in mind the passage from 1 Thessalonians 5:18, to “give thanks in all circumstances” he discusses how his attempt to be grateful has become borderline obsessive. He finds himself giving thanks for the elevator coming quickly, the cable of the elevator not snapping, the elevator getting to his floor without having to stop on other floors, etc. etc. In this extremely amusing passage, however, was a beautiful quote that I shared with my friend: “[giving thanks constantly is] an odd way to live. But also kind of great and powerful. I’ve never before been so aware of the thousands of little good things, the thousands of things that go right every day.”
I told my friend that maybe what she needs to do is change the way she views things. Instead of focusing on all the things that go wrong during any given day, why not focus on all the little things that go right?
All day today I mulled over our conversation. Although I was giving her advice, I think I was really lecturing myself. I like to think that I’m a fairly positive person, but lately I’ve been whining about a lot of things, to basically anyone who will listen. I resolved today to stop whining and start being more thankful.
Which brings me back to the Texan.
I was in downtown late this evening. As I left my office and approached my bus stop, I saw a woman, about my age, standing at the stop, changing out of her heels and into tennis shoes. I smiled because it’s totally something I always intend to do, and wish I did, as my three-inch heels are really not doing good things for me these days. Anyway, the bus was nowhere in sight and the bus stop was apparently in a wind tunnel—it got so cold and windy and I was shivering. I thought to myself, I should move to the side of this building, I bet it’s not as windy. It’s like the woman was reading my mind because she moved to the side of the building before I could finish the thought. Sort of smiling, I went to stand right next to her to avoid the wind and wait for the bus.
She immediately struck up a conversation. I must admit, I was taken a bit off guard. She was young, white and, based on my one minute snap judgment of her, looked like a Marina or a Pacific Heights girl—someone I would never hang out with or expect to try to engage me in conversation at the bus stop. She was disarmingly friendly and nextmuni.com told me the bus was still 10 minutes away, so I thought, why not just talk to her instead of staring at my blackberry and pretending like I had lots of very important e-mails to respond to (my usual strategy for dealing with chatty strangers). In those 10 minutes, I found out that she is from Texas, moved to San Francisco 3 years ago for work, has a best friend who is getting married this coming weekend, was on her way to the gym for some sort of dance class, and—my favorite part of the conversation—lives off Polk St. More precisely, she lives on the exact same block of Polk St that I lived on until just under a year ago, in the building across the street from my old apartment.
We were discussing how much we love Polk St when the bus rolled up. I figured that would be the end of the conversation, but as we got on the bus, she introduced herself and said, “I should give you my card in case you’re ever on Polk St—we can meet up!” She dug around her purse for a second and, when she couldn’t find a card asked me for my number. As we rode the crowded bus down California St, just a foot away from one another (amongst a sea of yuppies and Chinese people) she sent me a text, “Hey its Leah from the bus stop :) nice to meet you. If you ever want to hang out give me a call!!!” I was thoroughly amused. I sent her back a text “Got it! Nice to meet you too, have fun @ your dance class. Hope to see you around soon!” The bus got to Polk St and she got off, giving me a little wave on her way off the bus.
And that’s when I decided that I would start a blog.
I want to be the type of person who is thankful for the thousands of everyday blessings, but I know that I have neither the patience nor the discipline to give thanks every time the elevator takes me to the correct floor without crashing. But I can be thankful for the People I Meet. Those random strangers I run into every day whose conversations, comments, or smiles unexpectedly brighten up my day. It may be people, like Leah, who didn’t live up to my preconceived notion of how a Marina-looking white girl from Texas should act by reaching out for a human connection at a cold San Francisco bus stop. Or the middle-aged black man I passed on the street last week, who told the person on the other end of his cell phone to hold on for a second so he could tell me that I looked nice that day. Or the little old Chinese man on the bus a couple of days ago who tapped me on the shoulder to tell me that he was getting off the bus and that I should sit down on his now empty seat.
Thank you for Leah from the bus stop.
