10,000 days

“It’s taken 10,000 days to get stuck in my ways.”
-Bebo Norman

I have a lot of learning and growing yet to do, so hopefully I am not stuck in my ways, but today, April 26, 2009, marks my 10,000th day on earth.

I’ve had this date marked on my calendar for nearly a year (yeah, I know I am a nerd). It seemed like a milestone worth celebrating, so I am in Antigua enjoying good food, good wine, and good conversation with my good friend Kelly.

But truthfully I don’t really have anything to celebrate. In my 27 and ¼ years on this earth, I have not made any worthwhile positive contributions to mankind…come to think of it I haven’t made any contributions to mankind.

Even the times I’ve tried to help and do nice things for people have seemed to backfire.

Like once in college a couple days after Christmas I donated all the soda cans I had been stockpiling for months (the city of Columbia, Missouri used to pay 10 cents a can) to a homeless man with a hook hand (it was really hard for him to hold all the bags). I felt sorry for him at the time, but then later found out he was a raging alcoholic who once used his hook to scratch the entire length of the wooden counter at a bar where my brother used to work (if you are ever in Columbia, go to Booches and have a burger).

On one occasion I offered to take home (to his home that is) a stranded pedestrian who was stuck at a gas station near my house in St. Louis. I can’t remember why he was there or what exactly moved me to give him a lift (perhaps it was because he looked like a thug and I felt bad for him since probably no one else would pick him up), but it was a decision I soon regretted. Shortly after getting in the car he asked me if it would be alright to light a joint. “I would prefer that you didn’t.” As we traveled further into the heart of the city in route to North Grand, I used the time to inconspicuously locate items in my car that could be used as weapons if need be. Fortunately we eventually arrived without incident, him holding an unlit joint and me grasping a ballpoint pen.

And then there was the time in Nairobi, Kenya that I ventured out to the Maasai market alone at dusk to purchase a woven basket for my friend and traveling companion, Jenna. She had tried to bargain the basket down while we were in the market earlier that day with no luck, so while she was in an internet café I headed back to the stall to buy one and surprise her. By the time I arrived, the vendor with the baskets had already packed up and left. When I told the people still there what I was looking for, a vendor named Allan offered to help. “I will find you your basket.” I agreed to pay Allan’s bus fare back to his village in the event he found the basket I wanted. Looking back this was probably one of the stupidest decisions I have ever made in my life.

Dusk quickly turned to night as Allan and I made our way to some half a dozen craft storage warehouses in Nairobi. In each one Allan would pull out a bag, “This is your basket.” “No, Allan, that is not my basket.” For some inexplicable reason I could not give up the search, and Allan, banking on his shillings for finding the basket, always had another warehouse in mind after one ended up being a bust.

Now Nairobi, otherwise known as Nairobbery, is not a city to be out in after dark, especially if you are a white woman (there are actually billboards around the city stating, “If you are here at night you will be raped.”). Allan sensed that I was feeling uneasy. “Don’t worry. Because I am with you, they will not cut you here and here.” He made slashing motions across both wrists. “Unless I say so.” That’s really reassuring Allan.

After hours of searching, I finally came to the realization that the wild goose chase was both pointless and extremely dangerous, so I decided to abort. The only problem was that I had no idea how to get back to my hotel. Allan was ready to head on to the next warehouse where he just knew the baskets would be, but I changed our deal on him. I promised him I would still pay for his way home if now he just delivered me safely to my hotel. About 15 minutes later as we neared The Stanley Hotel, Allan started singing his own praises. “Allan is a hero. Allan is a hero. Isn’t Allan a hero?” I think Allan was drunk.

As I said, I still have a lot of learning and growing (up?) to do.