Skip to main content

Where I Find Myself

Since I quit my job as a graphic designer, I wouldn't say I have created a new life—the one I've been working on all these years has just switched onto a different set of tracks. And now I find myself in the presence of people I wouldn't have met headed in the other direction.

I get to be with women who have risked everything and trekked from the remote regions of Guatemala to find something better in America. We read and spell, and they let me hold their babies and eat their food on occasion, and we laugh a lot.

And I get to spend time with people eager to tell their stories to all of Small Town.

I met a Vietnam veteran who planted minefields outside of Saigon and now counsels Iraq war veterans because he knows what it's like to be taught as a child to kill and then be dropped back into society as if you hadn't just turned yourself inside out. It's all for politics, he says.

I met a man who got drunk at a party 25 years ago and finished the evening with a bullet lodged in his brain, one that he'll carry with him from now on and that leaves him with occasional seizures. More than anything, he just wants to provide for his family and can only lament the stupid actions of his youth.

I shook hands with a breast cancer survivor who spent the weekend celebrating her survival with her closest family and friends, including her mother and her daughter who stood on either side of her, clearly overjoyed that she was alive.

I sat with an eight-year-old girl born with a defective leg who is about to have surgery to fix it. She was afraid she'll have trouble learning to walk again after the surgery, but she was more excited to tell me about the stories she had written and illustrated—she told me the most delightful story of two pizza makers , one from Chicago and the other from New York, who competed to make the best pizza and finally decided to open a restaurant that featured their pizzas side by side.

I have started each of these paragraphs with "I" because people like these have been whirling around me for years without my knowing it. And now I get to be a witness to it all and hear their stories.

Here's to switching tracks and to finding yourself in places that suit you.

Comments

pf said…
Your new "switch" suits you wonderfully, my friend!
Very moving indeed, Robyn. You are absolutely right, there are so many interesting people right here in front of our eyes, in our street, our towns. Like you, in the same job, I've met loads of them and feel richer for it.
cheryl said…
I loved this - your listening for and hearing people's stories.

One of my favorite quotes is from Muriel Rukeyser, "The universe is made up of stories, not atoms."

Every person has a story (or two or a thousand.) You have taken the time to listen.
savannah said…
thank you for this gift today, sugar! i've been lost for a few days and as the song goes, and now i'm found... xoxoxo
Scout said…
PF, thank you. I like it.

Lynn,don't you feel richer? And you wonder what all you'd miss doing anything else.

Cheryl, everybody's got a story—I love the quote.

Rich, bottoms up.

Savannah, you're very welcome.
Shan said…
I love that you've got a whole new thing to do and you love it like it's purely fun. Way to grab hold, take in all you see and share it with the world Robyn! Very inspiring...as usual ;).
MmeBenaut said…
This is so life affirming Robyn. I'm glad that you switched tracks and although any one of the creative gifts that you have could have provided you with something or other, the one that you chose is the one that gives you not only intellectual stimulation but the opportunity to meet with such wonderfully diverse people. Thanks for sharing.

Popular posts from this blog

Am I Stupid, or What?

In two weeks, I will climb up into a charter bus, take my assigned seat, and ride 22 hours straight to Orlando, Florida. I will be a chaperon with the high school marching band, which will perform at Disney's Magic Kingdom--me and 180 people on four big buses for seven days. We will travel together, eat together, play together, fall down exhausted together--and after 22 hours, I suspect stink to high heaven together. Because of the crazy schedule, we will leave Ohio at 6 pm, travel all night and most of the next day, and spend several hours at MGM Studios before ending up at the hotel sometime after 7 pm. After I check in with the eight girls I am to supervise, I intend to shower and shower and shower. I intend to wear clean clothes and socks and brush my teeth until my toothbrush wears out. Of all the things I could be concerned about on this trip, being dirty seems to weigh heaviest on my mind. One of my eight charges could run off and do bad things with her boyfriend, but I'...

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...

An Offending Pile

So, I'm standing in my living room letting my mind wander for a minute or two as I stare out the window and watch the day go by, and I see my neighbors walking their dogs down the street. They are nice neighbors who are always friendly and responsible with their property. That is to say they aren't like the other neighbors who heap rubbish behind their house like Ma and Pa Kettle and let their dogs bark for thirty minutes at a time . Anyway, I see the nice people walking their dogs, a big golden retriever who is as sweet as can be and as dumb as a post—he once ate a sock and nearly died before it was surgically removed—and a new golden retriever puppy. Then I see Neighbor Wife suddenly run down the street with the big dog. Then I see Neighbor Husband stopped in front of my house with the puppy on its leash. And then I see the puppy taking a huge dump in my grass. Let me tell you, that is not done in this town unless the dog owner has a plastic bag handy and is ready to pick up ...