Good holiday season vibes
A miracle happened to me last week.
The specifics are embarrassing, but the result was amazing. The short story is, I lost my camera. I was in a dark, distracted mood Thursday night, and I was carrying a lot of stuff. I stopped outside my work to make a call ” and left my black camera bag outside the door. A guy named Sean ended up picking it up, bringing it back to his house in Aspen and looking for some evidence of who it belonged to. The next day, just about the time I was ready hurl myself in front of a bus in all my self-loathing, he called me. By the end of Friday, I had my camera back.
I’m still so thankful ” and shocked.
I’m not thinking about that because it just happened to me. I’m thinking about it because that kind of stuff is pure magic, and the longer I live here, the more I notice it around me.
Even on the bus.
By now, I’m an expert on local public transit. While the bus drivers are almost across-the-board friendly, the whole experience can’t help but be pretty impersonal.
Everyone’s got their serious faces on, as if they’re waiting in the DMV, and there’s a general sense of angst in the air. Last Friday, however, that all cracked.
I was on a packed bus, headed up to Aspen. It was bursting full of workers and teenagers and groceries. I noticed a large group of Jamaicans joking with each other.
Everything was normal, boring, even keel until just past Catherine Store. Then, all of a sudden, the bus slowed to 35 miles an hour for reasons still unknown. We were crawling, limping along, as David, an older driver, called for help.
The whole time, he kept us informed about the changes in the situation, and he made jokes and talked in the Spanish he knew. It was obvious how much he cared. I called my friend in Aspen, and she volunteered to pick me up before I completed the trip, but I secretly didn’t want to. I had this sense that the journey would get very rich ” even if it did take me two hours.
In the end, I was right. When we stopped in El Jebel, we switched to a “rescue bus.” During the whole ride, the neatest thing happened. Instead of the entire population of the vehicle getting angry, they kind of banded together. People were friendly and helpful, and I felt this connection to most of them, even the jock mountain boys next to me. They were wearing beanies, carrying a big case of beer and talking up their mountain bike adventures.
When they offered one of their Bud Lights to the scruffy looking ex-marine, I thought the camaraderie was awesome. When the bus driver told all the long-time residents to help out the newbies, show them where to go, my heart swelled at the sweetness.
When one of the Jamaican fellows said to the driver, “You’re a good person. You’re a good man. You need to get some tip,” I couldn’t agree more.
I’m still high off the good-heartedness of all that.
This weekend, I don’t know what I’m doing or where I’ll be. One thing’s for sure, though, I wish it to be half as lovely as last week. Between the camera and bus, I was blown away by the good vibes. And I can only hope that sometime soon, I can give a little of that back to someone. It’s so Pollyanna of me, I know, but I think that would be just perfect.
It is the week of Thanksgiving, after all.
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