The Connective Power of Stories
This is a piece I wrote some years back and just stumbled upon again …
My cell phone rang at 4:15 a.m.
“Hello.”
“I am outside waiting when you’re ready, ma’am.”
The cab driver was here to take me to the airport. I was heading to St. Louis to meet our research team at the National Council of Teachers of English’s Annual Conference.
I am habitually early. It causes me significant stress when I walk into a class, a party, or an event late. My cab was not due until 4:20 a.m.
Early!
I already liked this guy. I am a big fan of people who show up on time and an even bigger fan of those who show up early. There is something about punctuality that whispers, “I value this experience or conversation we are about to embark on.”
As we headed off, I inquired, “Have you been working all night?” I am fascinated by people’s stories. And that is all it took—that’s all it really ever takes. My experience is that people want to be seen, to declare—this is who I am. I matter. Open with a question about them, not a comment about you, and it’s off to the races.
He shared that he just started driving the cab six months ago. He talked about his wife, a nurse, who worked with patients undergoing bone marrow transplants. I told him about my sister-in-law, stepmother, and stepsister—all nurses.
Connection.
When people share who they are, common ground emerges from our centers.
He said his wife worked the evening shifts, so in his retirement, he signed up for nights. When he was not driving a cab, he manned a large pickup truck—the same one he volunteered to use on snowy days to transport nurses and doctors back and forth from the hospital.
Before he retired, he was a tattoo artist. As I sat behind him, I could see the tattoo on his upper neck and forearms—visible as he grasped the steering wheel that early Thursday morning.
Another connection.
I am fascinated by tattoos, though I don’t have any myself. My father, who never demanded much of me, asked for two promises: Don’t ride a motorcycle and don’t get a tattoo. At 43, I have managed to do neither. My stepsister, who entered the picture years later, missed the memo, or perhaps was old enough to ignore the memo, and has colorful landscapes all over her body, countless narratives of sorts.
As a writer and painter, I always want to know the story behind the tattoos. To me, tattoos are paintings with plotlines, so I inquired, “Where did you learn your craft?”
“Prison,” he replied. When I recounted this story to my husband, this was the part where he interjected, “You should have jumped out of the car?” Additional expletives were deleted from this telling. In truth, however, that sentiment, “Why didn’t you jump out?” is how society often reacts to those who have been incarcerated, but it stands in stark contrast to my experiences getting to know the women and men in the prisons where I volunteer.
So, instead of jumping, I asked him to tell me more. That question, “Will you please tell me more?” - is a powerful connector.
He recounted that when he was incarcerated, he met a man who taught him to “paint.” Over his time away, he honed his craft. When he got out, he opened his first tattoo parlor, sharing, “Ma’am, with a felony on your record, there is no way to get another job, so I had to make my job, my own opportunity, my own life. Whether you are convicted for five years or twenty, you have a life sentence in the United States. I am still punished every day for something I did over forty-some years ago.”
After opening his first tattoo parlor, he opened two more, pulling down well over 10K a month, and life was good for a long stretch. With his work, he put his wife through nursing school and one child through college without loans or student debt.
Impressive.
About fifteen years in, tattoo parlors exploded on the scene, and though he kept his loyal client base, the rest of his business dwindled. Eventually, it was no longer profitable to keep the doors open to multiple shops. He attempted to get into construction, but his felony conviction kept him off of most sites, so he subsisted by piecing together odd jobs. Now, in retirement, many of his friends drove Ubers for extra cash, but that wasn’t an option for him, someone with a felony. Even though he had been a productive citizen and loyal husband and father for over forty years, society continued to tell him he was unemployable.
Knowing the importance of community and family, both of which he saw lacking in the corporate bureaucracy of many of the jobs for which he was applying, he took a chance and showed up at the doorstep of a local cab company. In a world of electronic conversations, we often forget the power of showing up as our true selves, in person to tell our full story, not the touched-up version for Instagram. Within his telling, the owner saw his inherent goodness, work ethic, creativity, and persistence and gave him a chance. That is all anyone is ever really looking for in their story: a chance.
As I got out of the cab (you see this whole story, this whole process of getting to know, coming to see, looking to understand, took less than seventeen minutes, a cab drive to be exact), he ran my credit card, which I signed electronically and hit send, immediately recognizing I didn’t push the button to add a tip and knowing, as I am infamous for not doing, I wasn’t carrying cash.
So, I fessed up, “I am profoundly sorry. I have royally screwed this up. When I get to St. Louis, I will go to an ATM and mail you the tip. Where do I send it?” He was silent and then replied, “Your tip was asking me about my story. Your tip was honoring what I had to say.” Though I appreciated his sentiment, I feel deeply about thanking people for exceptional service, and he was exceptional in every way, so I pushed.
He instructed, “Here’s my card. Instead of the money, take time to call my boss and tell him about our morning together.” With that, we hugged, and I made the call. Over twenty minutes, I told the owner of the cab company about this man’s kindness, professionalism, generosity, and pledged to use this company again, bypassing Uber, because this company believed in giving people chances, when so many companies, out of fear or laziness, simply stopped doing that important work (I also mailed the tip to the cab company).
Jesus was a big fan of giving people second chances - people others were happy to convict for a lifetime. Jesus was also a big fan of telling the story of people society attempted to silence.
My hope is you will tell others this story, passing along our shared humanity one narrative at a time. That is the work of our spiritual story, the threaded compilation of our experiences, woven together and connected to something larger than ourselves. Within those connections, we form a union with others. Through that joining, we discover our significance - inside the significance of the people we come to truly see. It is what Desmond Tutu referred to as Ubuntu - “my humanity is inextricably bound up in yours.”
So, when you go out into the world today, take a minute to hear the story of someone at work, on the street, or in your classroom. Then take a moment to share a piece of your own telling and witness the power of in-person connection - impossible to forge through 140 characters or photoshopped images.
Two Read
This week, I am reading:
The Healing Power of Storytelling: Using Personal Narrative to Navigate Illness, Trauma, and Loss by Annie Brewster
The Late, Lamented Molly Marx by Sally Koslow
Favorite Quote
“Festering with regret changes not one thing.” ~ Sally Koslow
Workplace Bullying: Finding Your Way to Big Tent Belonging
From the Publisher: Workplace Bullying: Finding Your Way to Big Tent Belonging is a lifeline for people who have been targets of workplace abuse and are desperately trying to make sense of the trauma. It is a resource for partners trying to help their loved ones heal. And, it is a toolkit for managers and industry leaders inspiring to create inclusive cultures by proactively addressing toxic behaviors that stagnate innovation, fracture work communities, and drive out top employees. To simplify a complex topic and make the book readable and engaging for a wide audience, the author uses the elements of story to tell the tale of workplace bullying, zooming in on the characters, settings, and plotlines of cultures that allow and/or encourage workplace abuse.
Purchase Through Rowman and Littlefield
Purchase Through Amazon
Reach Out With Questions and Ideas
I love hearing from readers, so please don’t hesitate to reach out to say hello or suggest topics for me to write about next ~ dorothysuskind@gmail.com.