My flight connections included a serendipitous alignment: Kerry's plan to connect with her Portland friend, Holly, for a trip to the coast put her in the seat next to mine on the flight out to Portland on Friday. After dining at Wild Abandon with Holly & David, I had a short night's sleep before meeting my cab out in front of their house at 4 AM.
My driver was a tall, skinny, 20-something from Somalia named Mohammed. The gist of his story was that his dad had moved them out of Somalia first to Ethiopia, then through the Sudan to Egypt, then to the US. He struggled in school, got a girl pregnant, tried to hold down the cabbie job while pursuing his GED, and has given up on that for now in favor of simply earning money to support his girlfriend and child. Mohammed's is not a remarkable story, per se. It parallels so many others that I have heard in 20 years of teaching in alternative high schools.
However, I am not looking for the remarkable in my dealings with people on this trip. Rather, I am looking for the connection. I am searching for my link to the mundane, to the normal, to the unremarkable piece that lives inside of each of us. I think that might be the key that unlocks the cell door to one of the many layers of self-criticism that obscures my connection to other people, causing me to believe that I am truly alone.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDelete