appreciating creativity

Monday evening I wandered the South Side in Pittsburgh. There is something about the architecture and layout of the homes in many Pittsburgh neighborhoods that I love. For some reason, the chipped paint, the uneven brick, outdated windows, and weeds growing out of concrete allures me.



There was a father and a young son walking down a lonely alley. The little boy's arm was stretched upward to hold his tall father's hand. Even then, you could see the father leaning over to the side a bit in order to hold the hand of his child. I couldn't help but follow for a few minutes. I've seen many parents with their children. But for some reason, I found this duo to be particularly beautiful and symbolic of innocence and love.



I walked past an abandoned lot. Everywhere around this patch of ground was brick and buildings. But for some reason, this space was empty. Abandoned. It was open and lonely and appeared as if it was just waiting to be filled. I stared, and I stared, and I stepped into the center of this abandoned, gravel covered lot. The space resonated with me. I felt like I understood it with an unfortunate commonality.



When 7:00 hit, I wandered over to Club Cafe. They have an open mic night even Monday to feature musicians. It had been far too long since I'd heard and appreciated live music. When I walked in, there was this eerie sensation about me. As a teenager, I'd romanticized about my life as a young adult, and I'd always pictured myself sitting in dark and lonely cafes while listening to brokenhearted musicians pour out honesty and truth. There I was, like a fulfilled prophecy, sitting in a space like looked just like my fantasies, seated in the same position, drinking the same drink, and listening to musicians echoing what I always imagined they would sing.



I loved this one man in particular. At first, I harbored a bit of a cultural judgment towards him, and he beautifully put me in my place. This young man looked like a corporate suit, minus the suit jacket, that is. I wondered what he could be doing in a place like this, let alone being one of the people to sing. And then, he told his stories before each song. And I realized that just like you cannot judge the poor and the marginalized, you cannot judge the put together or wealthy either.

For we are all people, we are all humanity. We are all just trying to live and survive, to make it and get by. Some of us do that in different ways than others. But we all have souls, we all have passions, and there is beauty in each and every person. When this man in his professional shirt and tie began to sing behind his guitar, his lack of eloquence and simple realism is what made me believe in him. He became my favorite person in the room.




The singers wailed and they cried. They laughed, and they contemplated. An interesting thing about undiscovered or amateur musicians is that they're always apologizing for themselves or their music. They're sorry the song is "shaky," or that they're "still memorizing the lyrics." I wished I could have instilled more confidence in them, because each person was beautiful. One girl brought tears to my eyes as she questioned in her lyrics how she could go back to where she's been, even though it's the most beauty she's ever known.



I was enthralled, and I was grateful. Music is such a simple thing, you know? It's something you can take with you anywhere. At the heart of it, music is free. We've monetized it, but music is a free gift for and within all of us. I appreciated the creativity and vulnerability of these people and the free gift they were offering to me. Because the music was theirs, I felt as though they were offering a piece of themselves to me, a stranger.

This was connection. This was creativity. This was life.

mumbling your ignorance

The other evening, my friend and I were at the grocery store picking up necessities for dinner. I am recently unemployed and in the middle of applying for government assistance. My friends are Iraqi refugees -- currently under employed and on assistance while trying to survive in a country that doesn't recognize their prestigious but foreign bachelors degrees.

As the cashier finishes scanning our potatoes, peppers, milk, and chicken, my friend pulls out his Pennsylvania ACCESS card (food stamps) to pay for our groceries. Behind us is a middle aged couple. The man has an award winning beer belly and an untrimmed mustache. I could not make out what the woman said to her partner, but by the man's response, it was obvious she was asking what kind of card my friend had.

I heard the man behind me mumble. "It's government money! It's our money that we pay in taxes that they're using. They're just lazy and should get a fuckin job. It's people like us who work for a living who should get paid for doing something. Instead, they're buying food for doing nothing. Fuckin lazy, that's all it is."

I could feel my face flush, my hands clench, and the rising and falling of my chest grow rapid with each irate breath. I looked at my friend. He hadn't heard the man behind me -- good. I was so embarrassed by this American behind me, I was glad my friend hadn't heard his statements. My mind started racing and I started inwardly yelling the speech I wanted to whirl around and spew out at this man.

"If you have something to say, then speak it clearly and own your words. Stop mumbling. You have no idea. I have worked since college, and I have worked as a social worker. Yes, I'm young, but I've spent my entire working career thus far trying to help and love other people. I've paid taxes. I've been responsible. And out of the blue, I got laid off."

"Now, I am searching for jobs, putting in applications, and going to any interview offered to me. Being unemployed does not make you lazy -- being unemployed and doing nothing about it is what makes you lazy. But you wouldn't know that I've put in thirty applications in the past two days just by looking at me and judging me, now would you?"

"And my friend here? He does work! But it's not enough because this country is too enthocentric for him to survive right now. He put his life in danger to assist YOUR military men. He helped the American government and almost died doing so. He loves this country, maybe even more than you do. And now he's here in the United States trying to rebuild his life and working damn hard on doing so."

"So you think that because we are using an ACCESS card we are lazy? Are you so narrow minded, judgmental, and ignorant that you assume all people on government assistance are lazy? Do you think we want to stay this way? Do you think we're proud of it, like it's some badge of honor? No, it's not true. You have no love in your heart. You are unkind, you are unjust, and unmerciful. You have no idea what our stories are, the circumstances that we've come from, and the efforts we are making to get back on our feet. Please forgive us if while we're applying for jobs and going to interviews, we still need to eat. Believe me, I cannot wait to become employed again. And may I show more compassion and understanding towards other people in difficult situations than you have shown to us today."

Those are the thoughts that raced through my head. The stormed around my mind so quickly, and I wanted to whirl around and blurt them out to this ignorant and selfish man. I wanted him to know he was WRONG and I wanted to put him in his place for making such cold and assuming comments.

But I didn't.

Instead, I grabbed some grocery bags, my friend grabbed some grocery bags, and we walked back to his place. Once inside, we were greeted by three of our friends, and the five of us made dinner together. We talked, we laughed, we chopped up vegetables and boiled chicken. We listened to Persian music and two of the boys taught me some Arabic phrases while we waited for the potatoes to cook. It was just another dinner in the simple apartment, embracing community and fellowship, and appreciating what we had over a meal together.

I knew the stories and circumstances of all the people sitting with me at the table, and they knew mine. We are poor, and we are struggling. But I guarantee you, that night while eating our chicken and potatoes and listening to cultural music, we were some of the happiest people in this world.

Scout

Onward

This is not about sorting out the past. This is about figuring out the here and now and where to go from this point. The past cannot be undone, we cannot recreate our yesterdays. However, we can embrace today and strive for our tomorrows.

I'm just a girl who is feeling a little lost and confused. I'm trying to figure out myself and my world and my place in it. Sometimes it's beautiful, sometimes it's ugly. Always messy, for sure.

These stories are all a part of the journey. They're going to shape who I become, and I've got a lot of becoming to do.

Scout