What's below the surface?

I recently had dinner in south St. Louis city at Crusoe’s (deeeelicious Mayfair dressing btw) and as I was walking to my car I noticed the old cobblestones showing through the asphalt on a side street. It made me wonder about the story beneath the surface. What historical figures may have ridden down that same road in a horse drawn carriage? Or who were the men charged with the back-breaking labor of laying those bricks by hand years and years ago.

My next door neighbor has lived there for 25+ years. He told me that at different times in its history my house was a crack house and a whore house! So now visions of Dolly Parton and Burt Reynolds singing and dancing come to mind…but it’s one of the reasons I love my house…there’s over 100 years of stories to be told.

I’ve been observing people through different eyes lately…trying to see what’s below the surface. The woman who won’t leave the house without her Coach purse with giant C’s all over that screams to everyone that she spent $400; the loud-talker who has nothing substantial to report in a meeting but talks louder than everyone to make you think what he says is important; the handsome pathological liar guy who makes up outlandish stories to impress you; the quiet friend with the big blue eyes who is never the center of attention but is always observing everyone and everything…what are they hiding? What do they know? Who hurt them in their past? What are they afraid of?

I may work with some of these people…they may be my friends...and as I navigate the relationships it makes life a lot more interesting trying to connect with what’s below the surface.

Life in the city

I really do love living in an urban area. I love my 100+year old historical home. It’s geographically desirable in relation to my social life. My neighborhood is a melting pot of humanity. Cherokee street has become a Little Mexico. I’m very close to the South Grand neighborhood which has a heavy influence from Asian Americans. And of course African American and Caucasian.

I inherited my mother’s talking gene which means I tend to strike up a conversation with anyone, anywhere. So here are a few stories from my life in the city.

“I’m on the disability”
I was pumping gas at the local Conoco. A young African American man was at the opposite pump. He was driving an SUV with the fancy, shiny rims. I struck up a conversation with him by complimenting his fun plaid shorts. His friend limps up to the pump…an older man walking with a cane. He joins the conversation.

Man: “Hey baby, how you doing?”
Me: “Good thanks, how’re you?”
Man: “Good baby, do you have a boyfriend?”
Me: “Yes, thanks, I’m dating someone.”
Man: “Aw come on baby, I’m on the disability. Do you know what you get on the disability? Baby, I could take care of you.”….

“Blackbox”
I finished my grocery shopping at Save-A-Lot and went to rent a movie at the Redbox. There were two African American fellas hanging out on the sidewalk. They were rapping and beat boxing as I walked up. The same guy from the first story is one of the men but he doesn’t recognize me. And he’s lost the limp and the cane. He initiates the conversation.

Man 1: “Hey baby, you want to buy a DVD?”
Me: “No thanks, I just want to rent.”
Man 1: “Come on baby, we’re just trying to make buck” (or something like that)
Man 2: “Forget the Redbox, baby I’m the Black Box”

Are you kidding me? That is hilarious and brilliant! As a marketer I could not ignore a tag line that clever!

Me: “Blackbox!? That is awesome. Ok what do you have?”
Man 2: “Resident Evil Trilogy, Saw IV, My Bloody Valentine”…then they both pause, look up, look at me and kind of laugh and say something like “she’s not into that …what else do we have?”

I end up buying “Grown Ups” from my local Blackbox. Love this neighborhood!

“Stamps”
This happened this week. I ran into Save-A-Lot after my workout. A woman stopped me in the parking lot.

Woman: “Hey baby, can I ask you a question?”
Me: “Sure”
Woman: “Would you like to buy some stamps? I can sell you X# of books for $X.”
I can’t remember the exact amount or dollars. I just said “no thank you, I don’t need any stamps.”

As I walked away she said “no... Food Stamps!”

My friend Fern, who happens to be African American, calls me the “whitest girl on earth.” I think this last story confirms that.

Life is really just one big, unpredictable hike

For the second major hike of my life, I chose a 4-8pm timeslot so I could experience the red rock as the sun was setting. Of course I hired Tom Reich and his dog Summit again since I had such an exhilarating first hike with them.

We drove to the Bell Rock access point. I saw several families with small children coming out so I was reassured this hike would be within my skill level. Several women were even wearing flip flops…are you kidding me?!

Immediately the incline felt very steep, I could feel my heart rate race and I was breathing heavily. The hike was very different from my first trail that wound through the trees and up the mountain on a clearly marked trail. This one was more wide open slide rock and felt more like rock climbing than hiking (at least in my beginner hiking mind). We got to a stopping point so I could get a drink of water and I was shocked at how far we had come in such a short time in both horizontal and vertical distance. Breathtaking view once again.

At this point the ‘hike’ looked like a giant vertical rock and I was petrified! With nothing to hold onto how the hell was I getting my 45 year old @$$ up there! I stopped and told Jim I couldn’t do it. There was a couple right behind us so I let them go ahead. Once I saw them navigate the rock I was mildly reassured that I could do it. It just felt nearly impossible at that point. I’ve never encountered anything like that. No place for your hands to grab onto to help pull you up or simply for balance. No ropes, caribeners, no safety net. And in my mind, it seemed too easy to lose your balance and fall backwards and tumble down hundreds of feet over the rocky terrain!

Jim could feel my anxiety and he offered to hold my hand going up this route, offered a different, less vertical climb or we could turn around and go back down. I opted to push myself to try the vertical climb. Of course my heart was racing and I was probably cursing the craziness in my mind but we proceeded up the rock. We went a couple more levels and then I had to stop. Because now I’m thinking about how are we going to get down!

I felt good about pushing myself that far but I didn’t need to add to the extreme hiking adventure I was experiencing! Jim was terrific coming back down. At several points we sat down to scoot down the rock at steeper drops. Bell Rock had humbled me and I owned my nerdiness and scooted down with pride!

At one point, Jim took off his hiking sandals so his bare feet could absorb the vortex energy. Really? If he can hike down in bare feet, I can certainly hike down without crying like a little baby.

In retrospect, my view of easy/beginner hiking at the beginning of this trip envisioned simple, clearly marked, zig-zagging trails up and down mountains. I did not imagine slide rocks or the big river rocks. I did not plan to cross a creek barefoot. I did not envision vertical climbs. I did not envision the near paralyzing fear and crazy racing heart pounding in my chest. There’s a metaphor to life in here somewhere. Jim’s definition of easy might be a little warped because of his experience. Life can’t be all easy hikes with clearly marked trails. You have to get your heart and blood racing every once-in-awhile…makes you feel like you’re really alive. And yes there will be situations that seem to paralyze you with fear. But when you conquer the creek, the big river rocks or the vertical climb… you feel satisfied and proud. And you feel the possibility...



and PS...the photo is looking down the vertical. It's MUCH steeper in real life!