Stranger Danger Isn’t Real.
As I crossed Amsterdam Avenue in an Uber, Blanche DuBois came to mind. Her famous last line “I have always depended on the kindness of strangers” overwhelmed me.
I had been challenged with many obstacles over the last two weeks (more than I ever could have expected.) Complications with my apartment move, tax form craziness, questioning personal relationships, and rain. When one good thing happened, another would go wrong. One step forward, two steps back.
The first squat on my new stoop was spent on the phone with a ConEdison representative. I was crying to them about not having gas (meaning I couldn't roast brussel sprouts for dinner,) and before I knew it, I just began oversharing. This poor woman now has a story of a young girl crying about brussel sprouts and boy troubles-- how ridiculous, looking back I laugh at myself. The mayhem of no gas, living out of suitcases, a dysfunctional lockbox, etc. heightened everything to a brutal extreme. Thankfully, the chaos is over- my past troubles are so silly and simple. Like Ophelia cries, “Oh, woe is me T’have seen what I have seen,”
But no more Ophelia, back to Blanche.
My saving grace was the kindness of strangers. A man in a Nissan blasting Lil Uzi Vert songs helped me squish a full size mattress into an Uber. A woman saw my mom and I struggled to carry that mattress up my stoop. She offered to open/hold the door. A quirky librarian remarked “I hope your life is better than Joan of Arc’s” as I checked out a book about her life. These tiny acts of kindness from strangers led to another sob session on my stoop. However, this time I sobbed over hope and humanity. I recalled a February run in Central Park. I just hit mile 5 along the fancy buildings on Central Park West. Suddenly, a doorman in a long, starch-pressed coat cheered me on shouting “Keep going, keep going!” His smile was so big I could see it underneath his mask. Maybe that’s the unspoken message behind little acts of kindness toward strangers. We’re telling each other to keep going.
Even today, as the storm of moving has ended, I was fortunate enough to get my first dose of the vaccine. Waiting for my name to be called, I struck up a conversation with a petite, timid girl who was my age. This girl confessed how nervous she was to get the vaccine. She went on to tell me she is intimidated by needles and concerned about possible health complications. I casually encouraged her by saying “I understand that, but you'll totally be fine.” Immediately after I uttered these words, it seemed like she was going to cry. “Thank you, I really needed to hear that” she said with a relieved tone. It was if I was the only person to ever tell her she’d be okay. A nurse arrived and called her name. She, with the nurse, walked into the vaccination room. Her spine was a little straighter than it was before.
This week I fully grasped what Blanche meant. The kind intentions of strangers is what kept me afloat this week. Thankfully, my future lies in a brownstone, not a mental hospital (unlike Blanche.)
A “keep going” or “you’ll totally be fine” goes farther than you may think.