The grass is (not) always greener

Last month, I was presented with a job opportunity. The hourly rate was significantly more than what I currently make and the facility was brand new. Taking into consideration the fact that one of my part-time jobs will be drawing to a close at the end of June, it seemed like the perfect fit.

Seemed.

So I went ahead and switched things around at my current jobs to accommodate the new position. I was excited by the prospect of better pay, a clean slate, and the chance to apply some of the things I have been learning in class.

And here I am, on the other side...but the grass is not greener here...in fact, there is no grass at all. The new facility is barren and the atmosphere is dead. 

Money isn’t everything. There is something to be said for having the ability to commute to work by bike, a welcoming environment and friendly faces who are appreciative of you, even if the pay is less.

Thankfully, that was the mindset I had from the start, making certain I did not burn any bridges along the way as I set out to explore the other side.

Sidewalk Prophets

A friend of mine from Boston is visiting Philadelphia for a few days. Last night we went to dinner in Old City. It was a nice evening so we decided to walk the 20+ blocks back home. No more than five minutes into our walk, a man, sitting on the step of an abandoned building called out to us as we passed by. “Is there a thin line between love and hate?” he asked.I don’t quite remember what I said in response, but it started a conversation between us. Immediately, I was drawn in by this man’s eyes, the passion with which he spoke and the intensity in his demeanor. It wasn’t what he said so much as the way in which he said it.

When he finished speaking he asked us for spare change, what he considered “compensation” for sharing his story. I handed him what I had in my pocket, which wasn’t enough for the slice of pizza he was seeking. I told him we could walk down to the pizza place and I’d buy him a slice. As we were walking, we passed another restaurant. His eyes lit up when he said, “That place has the best ribs. Have you ever had them?” To which I replied,” No, but if what you really want is ribs, then let’s go in and I’ll buy you take out.” So, Natasha, Curtis, his associate (who had a wheeled suitcase) and I went into “Q BBQ & Tequila” and placed a to go order at the bar.

While we were waiting, Curtis continued talk about his life, where he had been, what he had done and how he lost it all. In all honesty, I don’t know how much of his story was true and it didn’t really matter to me because the message he was trying to convey was valid. It struck a chord in me. These are the moments in life that I cherish the most, these chance meetings with strangers, people you have never met, yet they somehow “know” your story.

When the order was ready, we left the restaurant and walked down Chestnut Street. Curtis accompanied us for four blocks to the Liberty Bell, and then we parted ways. Before he left, he showed us a “secret handshake” that the people on the streets use. Our paths may never cross again, but I am thankful for this encounter and humbled, knowing that a short order of ribs wasn’t exactly a fair trade for the lesson he taught me.