I’ve never been able to hold myself down to one book at a time, and this weekend I added a new one into the mix: Scratch Beginnings. Subtitled me, $25 and the search for the American dream, the book tells the story of a young college graduate who chooses to begin his life with a mere $25 in his pocket. Adam, the author, moves into a homeless shelter in an unknown town and attempts to prove that the American dream is still a possibility, that with only so much to begin with, he can work his way up to stability. Here are the ground rules for his journey. To be a success, within a year he must accumulate a full time job, an apartment, $2,500 in the bank and a functioning car. He achieves this and more, all without alluding to his college education or any prior connections. It’s a fascinating book to read.
At one point in the narrative Adam has managed to buy a pickup truck, and so he is no longer going to need to ride the bus. And yet the bus driver — a consequential stranger who he doesn’t even know by name — is one of the people who has impacted him the most. On his last day riding the bus, Adam gives this letter to his driver. It made me stop and think. It inspired me. And it reminded me of my purpose in life. It’s worth the time to read it.
Dear Mr. Bus Driver, whose name I don’t know and whose path I will never cross again in my life:
It’s incredible how insignificantly significant guys like you and I are. It’s interesting how in the grand scheme of life, we have the power to wake up and make a difference in the world. Or not. You and me: a regular old bus driver and a regular old mover.
Every day, Monday through Friday, I ride your bus, and eery day, Monday through Friday, you get my day started off right. You greet every rider with a smile and a “Good morning” and you proceed to brighten everybody’s day with common conversation or witty comments. It doesn’t matter who gets on your bus or how long they ride, when they hop off your bus, with a regenerated hop in their step, their demeanor has inevitably changed for the better.
You do that. You! Otherwise irrelevant and unimportant in this crazy, self-indulgent world of ours, you find some way to be selfless. It isn’t fake and there surely aren’t any ulterior motives behind your actions. After all, you aren’t going to benefit financially by being a great guy. You aren’t going to get tips from the clientele that ride your bus. As a matter of fact, you’re going to get your same paycheck regardless of what kind of attitude you bring to work.
But are you even really that special? I mean, you don’t do my taxes, you can’t represent me in the courtroom, and you can’t operate on me if I tear ligaments in my knee. You’re not a big shot, and you don’t bring home a six-figure salary. You’re just, well, a normal, run-of-the-mill kind of guy.
Except that you’re not normal. Which is the reason I’m writing to you.
I’m writing this note to you because I’ve ridden other buses, and I’ve had other bus drivers. Some are cordial and some are not. Some smile and some don’t. Some have an extra quarter lying around if we’re short on fare and others are penny-pinchers. Some can’t wait for the workday to end, while others, like you, represent what is naturally good about our society today.
We are so very necessary, guys like you and I. After all, without us, who is going to drive buses or move furniture? Who is going to fix cars or serve breakfast to those doctors and lawyers and accountants?
The crazy thing is that there are millions of people like you around our country! Just as there are millions of people with poor attitudes who wake up with selfish intentions, there are people like you, who wake up with the purpose of making a difference in somebody’s day. They’re everywhere: bankers, construction workers, retail employees, landscapers, and roofers; doctor’s assistants, dental hygienists, restaurant managers, and used car salesmen. Well, bad example, but you get the idea. The simple fact is that some people will go through their lives virtually unnoticed, while others, like you, will be remembered.
And I would just like to say “Thank you.” Thank you for making a difference in my life, however small you think that difference may be.
Today is my last day riding your bus. Chances are, I will never see you again, but at the same time, I want you to know that I will never forget you.
Cheers,
Adam Shepard
{ 4 comments… read them below or add one }
Sounds like a great read! I’ll have to check it out. Thanks!
Heyyyy Marla,
Thanks for taking the time to read (and post!) about my book. You definitely picked out my favorite part of the book…it really is kind of crazy–and unexpected–how I managed to be inspired by regular, normal people.
As a result of the experience I write about in this book, I’m so much more open to the possibility of meeting people that can make a difference in my life (or vice versa)–from the golf course to a homeless shelter and in between. Know what I mean?
Cheers!
Adam
Adam, you are a great writer. I picked up your book during a mere browsing session at a bookstore. Since I was tired and there was a great leather couch nearby, I sat down to browse it and ended up reading the first 25% of the book. So obviously I bought it.
At the time I picked up your book, I was “officially” reading the book Consequential Strangers. The premise of that book is that the seemingly insignificant people in our lives are actually the people that keep us connected, healthy, growing. It is most often the consequential strangers who supply us with a novel idea (“The moving company is hiring”) or the small amount of encouragement that keeps us on the straight and narrow.
Your book was a perfect companion to Consequential Strangers, since virtually everyone in your network was a mere acquaintance. And look at the value they added into your life during your project. People you may never have “bothered” with before. You see, the intimates in our networks will probably look a lot like us, think like us, have similar experiences. They have relatively little novelty to add to our lives. Strangers, however, are nothing but novelty.
Marla, thanks for using the term consequential strangers and for showcasing Adam’s story with the world. I just happened on this blog while tooling around the Internet, and I’m so glad I did. I hope you’ll keep talking about CS–it’s such an important message. And please, if you like the book, tell others about it.
And where can I find out more about you?
Melinda Blau