Carpool of life

Most days, I get to work via the "casual carpool," where I get in a car with a stranger at a meeting place and get dropped off in downtown SF. I don't know if other cities have things like this, but I find it really nice. At times, the city can seem very impersonal, and can distance you from your fellow human beings. On the train, there is an almost unbreakable rule that you never talk to anyone...ever. If Willie Nelson walked on board with Meg Ryan and they both started yodelling for loose change, you'd still be obligated to read your newspaper or listen to your iPod quietly, eyes down.

I've commented before on how the city can harden you. A joke to the person next to you about Willie and Meg hitting the bottle too hard would likely make them scoot away from you uncomfortably, but even worse, they might engage you in a conversation that could lead to Willie actually being from Pluto, Meg being a spy for the government to hunt down environmentalists, or a lecture from a passionate homeless advocate taking exception to your joke. In this environment, it's easy to withdraw and be safe. But I still lament the lack of interaction, conversation and...friendliness.

The carpool is often (but not always) the answer to this. There are still rude people, though quiet people (like the frequent flyer who just wants to close his eyes, remain unbothered and wake up during landing) are far more common. But just as often I strike up interesting conversations and learn about people's lives. When we lived in Berkeley, I usually listened to NPR in the morning, though I got the occasional liberal channel ("hippie radio" as I call it, imagine Rush Limbaugh in an alternate universe). I often drove in the nicest cars, enough so to decide which ones I would or would not buy. (BMW's and Mercedes' are overrated, while I liked Volvos and Audis quite a lot.) Since we moved to Richmond, the difference is striking. I started learning Spanish so I could strike up conversations. The radio stations are usually hip-hop, Spanglish, or Soft Rock. The cars are often work trucks, small economy cars, or older SUVs.

But despite the strange surroundings and lack of comforts, I've found that the conversations can be far more fascinating. This week I rode with a Nicaraguan immigrant. He's been here 25 years and just got hired on as a longshoreman at the Port of Oakland. Speaking fluently with a thick, crisp accent, he lit up at the opportunity to talk about his home country, and was quick to point out he wasn't Mexican. He bragged on his three children, one of which just became a mechanic, and the other two were going to college.

I've met his kids a hundred times. They won't have an accent and are just as American as you or me. But they're closely linked with another culture, and they are the embodiment of the American dream: giving your kids a better life than you had. I wondered if hidden in his beaming pride was an insecurity that his kids were smarter than he was, or if he had trouble relating to them, even though he gave them the opportunity for that education. Our experiences give us different perspectives and priorities. His idea of success was working.

He spoke of working his way up in seniority at the port so he could get more than the 4 or 5 shifts he was assigned per week. Working only 3 or 4 days, I asked what he did in his free time, and I was struck by the differences in our outlooks. To him, working gave him a sense of fulfillment and self worth. Even when he was at home for the entire day, he sought out work, either around the house or for extra money. He couldn't stand sitting on the couch and watching TV, and the idea of a hobby (aside from working on his house) honestly seemed foreign to him. I, on the other hand, want to work so that I can pursue my life outside of work, even though I have purposefully chosen a career that I enjoy.

I think our generation is spoiled. We don't know what it's like to not be able to buy food, even when we're broke. As Americans' standard of life grows, we grow farther and farther away from the hard life lessons that teach us to save, be frugal and value work over dreams. Those who survived the depression had this ethic strongly, and our parents got some of it, but our generation seems to have no idea where they're coming from. I'm not sure if it's good or bad either. Probably a little bit of both. The world needs dreamers, but we also should keep our feet on the ground.

When I was out of work for such a long time, I remember my perspective changing. I started to scoff at the fairy tale philosphies, of pursuing your dreams and taking chances, that litter high school graduation speeches. I felt a sense of pride in providing food, housing and security for my family, even in a job I didn't like. That idealism is starting to sneak back in, but I don't think I'll ever forget the value of just working and being a provider. Some lessons you hope you never have to learn, but if I had to learn it, I hope I never forget.

Money has been tight lately, and with the possibility of being the family's sole provider on the horizon, it's more pressure to get comfortable with our finances. It's good to be reminded once in a while of what's really important. When I complain that we didn't have enough money to go camping the last month or so, or fret about how I will ever afford to buy that nice camera, or glance with jealousy at those who have enough money to spend freely, I can be reminded that we have a roof over our heads, (nice) food on the table, insurance, a reliable car, and a steady income (knock on wood).

Unlike my Nicaraguan friend, I seem to live life for my hobbies and my free time, but that's not where happiness lies. I think happiness lies in making the most of the time you have, and appreciating your life as it is. In the words of Sheryl Crow, "It's not having what you want. It's wanting what you got."