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Only 3 Stops to Dizzy's

Dumbest move on my NY trip? Going without a map. I mean, I love exploring a city by just going where my feet take me, but if you want to go somewhere specific a map is definitely a useful tool.

One of those places I wanted to go to was Dizzy's Diner on 9th Street. I was told I would be able to get some mighty good breakfast there. It was only a couple of subway stops from where I was staying, so normally I would have walked had I had a map, but now I didn't...

And that's how I ended up in the next encounter...

Let me first say that there is a way to do things, and I'm not convinced I handled the situation in the best possible way.On the other hand I did something, where before I would have just felt bad.

I got on the subway and since it was after the morning rush there were some spots to sit. I randomly picked one.

On the opposite side of the aisle were a mother and a daughter. Their clothes clearly showed that they were religious people. They were both deeply concentrated on reading their holy books.

We got to the next stop and a man got on. He too went to sit on the opposite side of the aisle, in an angle from the mother and daughter.

If you know the NY subway system, you know that there isn't a lot of personal space. It wasn't exactly the man's choice to be that close. Clearly the mom still thought the man was sitting too close to them. While looking at him she asked the daughter to move up a spot so she could get away from the man.

At first I was surprised. What had just happened? The man did not look uncared for, nor did he smell bad. I saw no reason for the woman to want to move away from this man.

Until I saw the look on the man’s face; a look of intense hurt. He shook his head. He looked at them and then looked at me. He shook his head again and looked away, out of the window.

Do I need to point out to you that the man was black?

I felt disgusted by what just happened, but normally I would have also felt too self-conscious to do something. I would have quickly looked away and minded my own business hoping someone else would stand up for this man. But the man had looked at me. Not at the person next to me; at me.

I got up, crossed the aisle and sat down next to the man loudly stating that I DID want to sit next to him. To spite the mother and daughter I wasn't going to be quiet about what I had just witnessed.

Yes, I stood up for this man, but I did it in a way that would make the mother and daughter feel bad. And that's where I feel I went about it in the wrong way. It's not with hatred that we change people's vision of the world.

Yet the man looked at me and smiled. He told me he was tired of fighting this battle and that he had given up on standing up for himself. Looking at the mother and daughter he told me that he used to be a man of the Bible himself, but that he was no longer able to read it more than once or twice a week.

I felt his sadness when he told me this. It was like him telling me he could no longer believe, because the real world kept showing him that it wasn't ever going to be like in the Bible.

I had to admit to him that I don't know the Bible or any other holy book from the beginning till the end, but that I was pretty sure that in none of them does it say that one person is meant to treat another person like a lesser human being.

I told him that instead I was pretty sure that life was meant to be the way he and I were living it in that particular moment: Two people freely exchanging a moment in time, a moment that for us didn't last any longer than 3 subway stops.

And that’s how I made it to breakfast.

The Fulton Street subway station

It's been almost two months since I went to NY. It feels like nothing has changed. I'm back to the same old life I had before I left. 

I feel frustrated about that because as much as nothing has changed, at the same time everything has changed. I changed. NY changed me.

The evening in The Broome Street Bar changed the way I look at going places alone, but it wasn't the only marvelous encounter. The second was a man in the subway. 

It's not like he did anything. At least not something unusual to him. Except without knowing he opened my heart and had me do something extremely unusual to me... 

The guy was singing his heart out in the Fulton Street subway station. "If you don't know me by now....."

And while I simply asked to take his picture we ended up singing the song together. "We all come with our own funny moods....."

It went heart to heart. Yes, we did all the desperate hand gestures that come with a song like that. "U will never never never know me... No you won't....."

He opened my heart and had me do something that I love doing: Sing... Sing my heart out... Bursting with JOY... Without fear of making a fool of myself. 

I sing a lot in my every day life. In the street, at work, at home, but other than at home I make sure nobody hears me.

So here I am, almost two months after my visit to NY wanting to not just sing, but wanting to sing my heart out... Over and over again...

The Broome Street Bar

The joke used to be how bars and restaurants were still to be considered "The wild West". You didn't know what you would find upon opening the door. 

Picture those flapping saloon doors and hear the soundtrack of Once upon a Time in the West. Scary, right?

For years I hid myself behind that joke and the person I was going out with. I’d be the frail woman needing protection. I’d make sure not to be the first one going into any establishment and it was rare for me to go anywhere alone.

Did I really think that there were fights going on inside and that someone would point a gun at me? Hardly….. But it felt that way to me. 

Then came New York…..

I was going to visit a good friend. Hang out with her. See the town, and yes, hide behind her. Not that she knew that.

I don't think many people noticed any of this weirdness over the years, except for hearing the joke mentioned above and maybe a raised eyebrow here and there. 

As it turned out my friend was no longer going to be in New York by the time I got there and other than meeting up with some other good friends I had known through the internet for years it was going to be just me.

I actually thought of not going, but I had no reason not to.

I started of gently. On Tuesday morning I bought a fried egg sandwich and a hot chocolate and sat down in Bryant Park. The suffering was quick, but not entirely painless.

After spending the day with two of my lovely friends I was on my own. I started wandering the way I love wandering. No goal, just going where my heart and feet lead me. I ended up in Soho thirsty for a beer.

That’s when I came past the Broome Street Bar. It looked like the place where I wanted to be having that beer, but as much as I wanted to go in, I didn’t want it enough to open the door. I walked on upset with myself for not just going in.

I walked around the block and decided to go back. What could go wrong? I could be received unpleasantly, I could feel unwelcome. In that case I would have my drink and leave. Half hour of suffering tops.

I went in, mentioned I wanted to just have a drink and was seated at the bar. I asked the barman what beer he would recommend. It’s a good trick to get people to like you faster. So I got my Brooklyn Lager.

For a while I just sat there.

Then came a new barman, an Italian businessman, from the Mafia according to himself and a businessman from Washington. We all just chatted for a while, exchanging our reasons for hanging at the Broome Street Bar alone on a Tuesday night. It was fun. We joked around a bit and when I felt comfortable enough I decided to share my problem:

“You know what?” I said to the barman in particular; “I never go to bars or restaurants alone. Not because I mind eating or drinking alone. That is not the problem. The problem is crossing the threshold. I’m afraid of how I will be received and perceived while going into place.”

He smiled at me and said: “It’s not important how we perceive you when you come in, what counts is how we perceive you when you leave.”

BOOM!!!!!!!!

An inconvenient detail

On Saturday, as an after dunch (dinner/lunch), I went for a walk. When I came back up my street I saw Giorgio, the guy I lent money to many months ago, walk into the bar in my street (The loan!). 

I needed to confront him about his behavior towards me, but I hesitated. 

I tend to feel overpowered by men and this guy is 2 heads taller than me and really mouthy. And honestly was it really that bad that he kept hiding from me?

Then I decided, yes it was, if he felt the need to hide from a friend then that made me a bad friend and if I didn’t confront him now, then when?

I asked him to come outside with me and talk. We had a long talk… Some stories don’t end well for everybody involved. Please, count your blessings.  

After talking with Giorgio he introduced me to a friend of his. I forgot his name. We were talking and came to the subject of my girls being twins. He told me that he has an identical twin brother. So I said "So basically no one should be able to tell the two of you apart."

I looked at him and said "Does your brother have that same thing on his eyelid?" He asked if I meant the cyst and he told me no. He had had it for a couple of months now and he had been tempted to get rid of it by himself. 

After we finished our drinks the three of us walked out together. In front of the bar we said our goodbyes; he looked at me and said: "I'm really annoyed that you remarked the cyst."

I looked up at him, made an almost French hand gesture and said in my unusual blunt way: "Don't be, you should be happy that I actually looked into your eyes." ...

Of course I should have said: "I saw you. Isn’t that what really matters?" 

And let’s be honest. Isn’t it? 

Don’t we all need to be seen sometimes instead of being merely looked at? I know for sure that I do…

Ces enfants malade de leurs parents

A wordless encounter this week. A moment of reflection…

Just a woman on the metro with a book you think. 

True, but…… the title of the book means “These kids sick of their parents”.

Here’s the synopsis of the book:

Without wanting it, without knowing it and in spite of us, our parents, our grandparents, our ancestors leave us as a heritage of the things they didn't mourn, the traumas they didn't “digest”, of their secrets. Early death, sexual abuse and other dramas: Insurmountable injuries leave their traces. They continue to exist and are transmitted. 

Even when these things aren't told, the body sometimes expresses them: It’s called somatization. The body of the child, the grand-child or the great grandchild, no matter what age, will become the language of the hurt ancestor, the "word" of the traumas.

Therefore it’s necessary to get the “skeletons out of the closet”, to analyze and treat the open wounds. To free yourself – finally – of the “cold” you carry inside.

I couldn't quite read the look on her face and was left wondering; Is she one of “these kids” or is she a psychologist reading up for her work?  

“Don’t they all have the same eyes?”

Talking with a friend the other day this remark came up and we decided it would be a good title for a book. I’m not writing a book today, but I’ll be writing about a man’s eyes.  

In my encounters eyes are often the first contact. After that most often a smile breaks free, on both faces and a conversation starts. Not today.

I’m sitting here just wanting to cry. There’s this sad feeling in the pit of my stomach still, even though the encounter wasn’t really an encounter and it didn’t last more than 5 metro stops. Yet it touched me so deeply that it has changed my day.

An elderly man got on the metro. Morning metros being crowded he was standing close to me. I noticed his hand shaking even though it was holding on to the metal bar. I looked at him and I saw an immense fear in his eyes. 

I got overwhelmed with feelings of compassion and an urge to cry. I wanted to reach out to him. Hold his arm, give him a hug, say something encouraging, but I didn’t…

First of because I have my own set of inhibitions, and secondly what if I would scare him? So I gave him a smile and his face lit up for a second before moving away to another spot.

He got off at the same station as me. I made sure to walk out directly behind him so he’d have to hold the door for me. I thanked him with a big smile and that’s when he smiled back.

Maybe there’s a next time.

But for now I was left with this sad feeling. I would love to grow in my confidence that reaching out to people is ALWAYS a good thing.

Mirror mirror

The other day I read an article about how we can only love in others what we have in ourselves, because if we don't have it ourselves we can't recognize it in others. "Everyone in your world is a reflection of you."

So I'm sat here looking at the names popping up on my screen at the start of this new year and I can't help but smile.

The diversity of people that have a special place in my life and in my heart is simply amazing. People from all walks of life.

From Mike the homeless guy in my neighborhood, who teaches me about gratefulness, to my friends at Trinity International Church, who give me a sense of stability.

The musicians I've got to know this past year. They inspire me, they make me want to dig at that big ass passion stuck deep down inside and bring out my JOY!

From Oirda the Muslim woman I've known for 5 years, but only really know since this month. We aren't all that different. To my imaginary friends on the internet all over the globe that are always around to lift me up. Time zones are a blessing.

Not to forget my special friend Philippe, nicknamed Poulette, who reminds me to dress like a woman from time to time. I tend to forget.

And of course the strangers that reflect "en live" what they see in me. They make it real.

There's the old friends that remind me of how far I've come and the new friends that show me whom I've become. 

In each and everyone of my friends I find something that inspires me. Positivity, simplicity and limitless love.

I'm the person that has always felt different. Looking at my friends I finally know why. I am so much....... 

Inside of me I hold a piece of each of you and all those pieces make me me. Thanks for holding up that mirror... 

Thanks for being the amazing in me! 

Keep shining!

The things I do that make you wonder!

Yesterday’s encounter may make you cringe and wonder about my sanity. 

I wonder too…

The holidays are a particularly tough time to be alone, especially when the friend you usually celebrate with decides that this year there is no room for you in his proverbial inn. 

I had that coming for a long time, yet I decided to stay in Paris for the holidays and spend a maximum of lazy time with my girls. We’ve all been tired lately

The nights get lonely though once the girls are in bed, but instead of going the obvious way of inviting friends over for drinks and dinner I signed up for a dating website. Yes, I decided that my friends would be too busy with their families, so why not mix with the other lonely single people. I decided that is was okay to at least get some attention and have some talks to get through the nights.

Mind you, I mostly ignored the site. I’d go on from time to time and check my popularity  (I’m so vainnnnn) and eventual messages and then quickly log off because basically I’m not looking for a man. I’m looking for me first and foremost.

Yesterday I was alone for the day. I was playing on my computer and left the website open. Curiosity and having no plans got the best of me. I ended up chatting with Marcello. I told him that I was going to log off as I planned on going for lunch in a nearby restaurant from friends. He said “If I’d live close by we could go for lunch together”.

Half an hour later I met Marcello in front of the metro station in mine AND his neighborhood. Five minutes later I’m rolling through the city on the back of this stranger’s scooter. 

Today I deactivated my account from the dating website.

Life lessons

Friday mornings are secretly kind of special. Not special special, just different. I take the girls to school wearing my pajamas under my clothes, I'm unwashed, unkempt, me quoi!

Same last Friday when I bumped into the owner of the bar in my street. He invited me in and so I told him: "Well, you know, I'm unwashed, unkempt and wearing my pajamas still".

He offered me a coffee after offering me a beer.

We're talking when on the opposite side of the street a man walks by wearing a hat and sunglasses. Sunglasses on this early morning of this very grey day? Ok!

Maestro winks at him to come in. Other than the hat and sunglasses the guy is wearing a big smile. He introduces himself as Said, because that's what people prefer, because it makes him more beur (Arab). Giggle. His name is actually Saidhi and he's Congolese.

He talks and talks and sings and smiles. We talk, we laugh, we hit a beat... Then he stops, looks at me and says: "Look at yourself, no wonder"....

No wonder what?

"Look at how you're sitting there.” And he mirrors me as he’s talking… “You can hardly breathe like that. And as far as I know breathing is one of the essential things we must do in order to live. And to live well we need to let the energy flow, breath well".........

BAM!!!

Where had I heard these words before? Posture, breathing, letting the energy flow through all of your body, not just to your upper legs and back. Feet positioned on the floor. Balance from head to toes...

I had let myself slip again. And I was feeling it...

Life lessons (or reminders) may come from perfect strangers and early in the morning. And in a bar while wearing your pajamas under your clothes! 

The loan!

It wasn’t an encounter per se, except maybe on a higher level.

I loaned money to a friendly acquaintance or an acquainted friend from my neighborhood bar. The fact that I don’t know where to classify him should tell you the relationship isn’t an established one. On the other hand the fact that we star in a video together might make you believe we are quite close. It might also show you the kind of guy he is. If he starts talking no one gets a word in, especially not tiny old me. Ha!

Ok, all of this started halfway through September. I handed him the money and we agreed on how and when he would pay me back. Two fixed dates; he’d get in touch with me, I’d come down and he’d pay me back.  Cool, right?

It’s not how things went. The first repayment date came and went without a word. Small neighborhood, I bumped into him the next day. He let me know that it would take an extra couple of days. He'd changed jobs and he wasn't paid yet.

“Sure, no problem.”

The next week I got a message telling me he'd be around later. Nothing happened.

A week later I bumped into him and Lola (you remember Lola), both drunk. It was a Friday afternoon and I was with my girls. I didn't feel like getting into it with him then and there. He promised again to contact me that same day, but I knew better then to believe anyone in that state. 

Then last week he walked by my apartment. I was sitting on my couch overseeing the street and saw him. As he looked up he saw me. Two minutes later I had another message “Salut, I’ll be coming by in a bit”.

Of course that didn’t happen. So the next day I sent him a message saying “You must really take me for a fool”. He immediately called me and said he’d see me that afternoon…

Again nothing happened, but I decided that I couldn't deal with it at this point. Too much going on as I was leaving to go to a retreat that night and honestly I wasn't feeling it yet.

I may have cursed that day. I felt used and taken for a fool. I wasn't sure how to deal with this. To what point was I supposed to stand up for myself and to what point should I just show grace.

The retreat made me not think of the situation at all and after coming back from the retreat I had actually kind of forgotten about it. Tons of work, a big cold, the kids, the house, the bills, the, the, the...

To my surprise I saw him again last night. And what I saw was not the same guy. His eyes were sad and worried, his head hanging down. He was skittish. He asked to speak with me, but not in front of the girls. We stepped aside and he grabbed my hands. He begged me to forgive him. He asked to have more time to pay me back. Then he begged some more. He looked pitiful. Where was the proud guy I knew?

He rambled on and on about what had happened and why he couldn’t pay me back. I tried to get my side of the story in, but I felt like whatever I had to say was not being heard. I felt like there was no way I could get through to him. I felt there was no point in continuing the conversation…

Then I suddenly felt peace and a force coming over me. I felt like I had grown as tall as he was standing before me, and that’s tall. I grabbed him by his upper arms and all the right words came out then and there: “Stop talking and listen, you can’t pay me back right now, that’s ok. Don’t worry about the money. It’s not the problem; the problem is you not being honest with me. Don’t you ever make me feel like a fool again. Pay me back whenever you can, but be honest with me in whatever you say.”

That’s where or ways parted. 

I may never get my money back. I don’t care. The money might be worth the lesson I learned about who I am and what I want to stand for in life. I may not have always lived along those lines myself, but from now on I want to be the person that when you honor me with the truth, even if it hurts me, I will honor you with grace!