Category: Random Stories & Tidbits

I was changing clothes the other day when I noticed a tag on the inside waistband of my jeans that said “Jones New York” [the brand]. For years, I had thought of them as being Lee jeans. I do own other jeans made by Lee; I guess I just lumped them all together in my head. [No wonder I’ve never been able to find another pair at a thrift store!] Anyway, this simple incident brought up the idea of how we can hold onto ideas for years, even when there is clear evidence of the contrary- even when there are labels emblazoned with the actual brand name and sewn onto the pants in three different places. We see what we choose to see. 

I guess that’s not inherently a bad thing- only if what we choose to believe is detrimental. At first, I thought the message of this story was going to be to step back and see things as they actually are. (Are you really “an awful cook,” or did one pot of rice burn on the bottom?)  

But seeing things as they are right now is limiting, too. Even if no one can guess what any of your drawings represent during Pictionary, that doesn’t mean you should label yourself as being horrible at drawing. Why not leave the door open to the possibility of change and growth?  

What good does it do to think of yourself as ugly or stupid or bad at playing musical instruments? What if you chose to see yourself as attractive, intelligent, and a decent musician? How would that change your behavior? What if we chose to see a world where we’re all attractive and intelligent and decent musicians? I want to host a party where we kick those outdated, mildewed, useless conclusions to the curb. You’re all invited.  

Back in August, I took a walk around my neighborhood after work. A couple blocks from my house, I spotted paper folded and crumpled next to the curb, with the unmistakable color and markings of American money. The number 100 beamed from the corner. I reached down and unfolded the bill. It looked real. It passed my check for a security strip embedded in the fibers.  

I scanned the area for anyone who may have dropped it. The only person I saw was a man sitting in the driver’s seat of a car parked across from me, about 20 feet away. He rolled down his window as I approached his car. I asked if he had seen anyone around that area recently. “No, I haven’t seen anyone the whole time I’ve been sitting here.” He said he worked for the census. Actually, the way he put it was that he should be retired, but he was working for the census. He held a clipboard bearing partially-filled out forms. I showed him what I had found, to explain why I had asked. “Oh, it’s mine,” he joked. We chatted a little. Near the end of our conversation, I said, “It’s your lucky day!” and handed him the bill.  

He seemed to need the money more than I did. Plus, I didn’t feel that it belonged to me. But the main reason I passed the bill along was that it made a much better story. Imagine how disappointing it would be if a stranger walked up to you, waved a $100 bill in your face, asked you a couple questions, then thanked you as they pocketed the money and walked away. It felt rude to mention the money to him and then not let him in on it. I wanted him to experience a thrill just like I did when I found it.  

I feel really lucky. Finding the one-hundred-dollar bill was worth much more than a hundred dollars. Within a few minutes, two examples of mysterious ways of acquiring a hundred dollars were revealed to me. Two crazy-sounding examples! Who goes for a walk and finds a hundred dollars laying around? It happened to me. Who has a stranger walk up to them and hand them a hundred dollars? I was involved in that, too. My takeaway was that there are infinite ways events can occur. If you have a wish or dream, but don’t know how it could logically, practically, “realistically” happen, I say, don’t give up on the idea. Something just as preposterous as the examples I’ve given could happen to you.  

The funniest part of the story is that, earlier that same day, I practically dove in front of someone else’s shopping cart to snatch a dime off the ground. I kept the dime. But then I gave away a hundred dollars like it was a ketchup packet from McDonald’s.  

In the conception stage of my big road trip, part of what I was looking forward to was being an example, showing that any average American could do the same thing. When I’d mention that I planned to camp in a tent, I heard so many comments like, ‘My camping days are over. My back…’ ‘…my knees,’ ‘…my hips.’ I concede that tent camping may not be enjoyable for everyone. I also heard a lot of, ‘Oh, I’d love to do something like that! But I have the dogs…’ ‘…but I have kids.’ ‘…I have a house.’ ‘…a husband.’ ‘…a job.’  

Now, maybe none of these people seriously wanted to go on a trip like I took. But for anyone who has a deep desire and an immediate excuse, I would say, Have you seen how many people travel with their dogs? Look at how many dogs are waiting in cars in parking lots. I see dogs in the grocery store, and they aren’t service animals. People bring their dogs everywhere. Next time you’re at a public attraction, campground, or motel, look around at how many people travel with pets, babies, young children, school-age children, aging parents. Look for people in wheelchairs, or hooked up to oxygen tanks, people using walkers, crutches, and with other physical disabilities. They’re out there. Some families home school their children while traveling. People sell their houses and buy an RV. You can always buy another house later. You could rent out your house for a year, or devise some other innovative solution. I quit my job to travel. Some people get- or create- jobs where they can work remotely while they travel. People have gotten sponsored in order to travel. There are extensive online pages detailing how to rack up thousands of points so you can stay in hotels for free. There are hostels. There’s couchsurfing.

The issue isn’t your circumstances. It’s your dedication to making it happen. It’s your openness to the possibility. You may have other considerations than I did as a single, working adult, but if you are determined, you will find a way. It’s absolutely possible. Do an internet search and I bet you will find people who had your same concerns and issues who have already traveled and who have tips to make it easier for you. Of course, this can be applied to any other undertaking, not just travel.  

I learned two things from this. I learned to look at my excuses in other areas of life and see how flimsy they were, and how simply they could be overcome. (Though simple isn’t always easy.)  

I also learned not to limit myself for the sake of trying to prove anything to the rest of the world. I was hoping to show what an average person could accomplish. If I had been able to travel because I won the lottery or was invited on a trip with a friend or won a contest, people could say, ‘Well, of course you have the luxury of being able to travel- you won the lottery!’ or ‘You won a contest!’ I liked the low-key style of travel partly for the sake of relatability. But hearing all those excuses about dogs and houses and kids, I didn’t get through to a lot of people by traveling in a more ‘realistic’ way, anyway. Next time I travel extensively, why limit myself to any specific mode of travel or experience or destination or price? I’ll go ahead and win the lottery and taste it all.

I was working in the Floral department of the local grocery store, rushing to keep pace with my to-do list, when an older customer with a worn face came up to the counter and requested one red rose.  

I directed him to the cooler and grabbed three roses for him choose from.  

“Which one’s the best?” he inquired.   

“Well, they all came from the same batch.” I quickly examined each bud. “This one is the biggest,” I said, gesturing to the rose on the left. “This one has the most closed bud, so it’ll probably last the longest,” I predicted of the one on the right. He chose the one in the middle that I hadn’t commented on.  

“Guess who this is for!”  

The man was a stranger to me. I didn’t know if he was married or what his relationship status was. “Girlfriend” didn’t seem like the appropriate term for someone his age.  

“Your…lady love?” was the term I finally generated.  

He looked at me pathetically, like he couldn’t believe how dense I was.  

It was Easter, so I guessed, “Jesus?” 

He gave me another look that said, Boy, are you an idiot. “It’s for my mother.”  

Well, how was I supposed to know that?  

“Guess how old she is!” I didn’t know where to begin, and in my stalling, he answered by saying, “I’m 75, and she’s 27 years older than me.”  

“Wow! Good for her!” 

“She’s dead.” 

First of all, if the person isn’t alive anymore, can you assign them an age? Secondly, did he really expect me to answer his question with “I think she’s dead”?  

“Her name was Rosetta- her first name was Rose; her middle name was Etta. Guess what my daughter’s name is!”

“Rose!” 

His daughter’s name is Ivy. Again, how in the world would I have guessed that?  

“I was one of ten children.” He pulled out his phone and brought up a black and white photo of a group of children in winter coats and mittens surrounding a snowman. “That’s me; I’m 14. And that’s Bobby; he’s 13. That’s Susan- she’s 10…” 

Oh, God. Normally, I might enjoy hearing a personal story, but not when I’m behind at work.

He continued through a synopsis of his life, including a dog-eared story about how, decades ago, his wife left him for a 90-year-old. Interestingly, at this job, I’ve encountered a few other men [curiously, all wearing pieces of clothing that proclaimed them to be Veterans] who had been left by their wives who shared the information as if they were bragging. You could tell by the way they had the story edited to a soundbite that they whipped it out of their pocket as easily and often as a credit card.  

“People ask me how I’m doing, and I say, ‘Not bad for an old man.'” He did a little hop-skip-jump in place on marionette-like legs, one knee popping up by his waist, then the other. It looked like a move that a leprechaun character might make during his opening number in a musical. ‘Didja see that?’ He demonstrated the move again. It came to mind that my own dad is also 75, and I couldn’t imagine a scenario that would prompt him to jump like a cartoon character during normal conversation, especially in front of a stranger in public. 

After lots of closing statements (“Have a good day!”, “It was nice talking with you!”, “Stay safe!”), he left, and I could get back to work. I checked on another customer in the department, then gathered supplies to arrange flowers in vases.  

“She died on Easter!” Suddenly he was in front of me again. I jumped, not having seen him approach.  

“You think history doesn’t repeat itself?!” he demanded. I hadn’t said anything on the topic.  

He plowed into the details of his parents’ lives: their “illegal” marriage, his father in his twenties, his mother only seventeen; the exact years his father was in the military; how old his father lived to be. His mother was 27 when he was born. “Guess how old I was when my daughter was born!”  

I wasn’t a big fan of his guessing games, so I didn’t even attempt to answer.  

“Twenty-seven!”  

Oh, sure- the one time I could have guessed the answer!  

The part of the conversation that stuck with me, besides a general surreal feeling and an observation that the coronavirus lockdown might be taking a toll on people’s sanity, was the description the customer had locked himself into. Why would you want every stranger you met to know you as The Guy Whose Wife Left Him for a 90-Year-Old? The Guy Who Had Something Bad Happen (or, Caused Something Bad to Happen) Decades Ago and Never Moved On. And, more importantly, why would you want to BE that guy?  

It was a good reminder not to get trapped by our own thinking. How many of us go around saying, “I’m terrible at math,” or “Patience is not my forte,” or “Trust me- you wouldn’t want to hear me sing!”? The good news is, we can step out of that box at any time. Let it rot in the rain.  

I’ve gotten angry a couple times recently, either during conversation, or while reading messages other people wrote. Afterward, lines from the situation replayed in my head- lines that I don’t agree with or that I find rude and disrespectful. To try and calm down, I started performing tricks in my imagination.  

I imagine a close up of the person’s face as if they’re pictured on a TV screen, their words visible in the air, like how you can see your breath in freezing weather. They start to say the line that’s been repeating most in my head, the one that really gets on my nerves. Immediately when they start talking, the sound goes mute. Their mouth still moves, but it’s futile. From there, I picture any number of scenarios: 

-The person’s words and their face turn into dust that scatters in a gust of wind.  

-The person’s words and face turn into fast-growing flowers, like a time-lapse video of a Chia Pet or a meadow from spring to fall.  

-Colors spill from the sky, like cans of paint pouring down, covering the words, the person, until no discernable shapes can be perceived, just waterfalls of gorgeous, saturated color. 

-The person and their words turn into light that gets increasingly brighter, shooting out in sharp rays, practically blinding, until the whole screen blazes bright white, then serenely fizzles into nothing.  

The image could be covered by snowfall, turn to stone, or fade to invisible. It could morph into soap bubbles that drift on the wind.

I’ve found this to be a very peaceful way of dealing with unsavory words. It doesn’t stop them from coming into my head, but when I transform them into something innocuous or beautiful, I no longer feel anger in response.