We heard the sirens in the distance and knew exactly what to do. We had done it before. Many times. You have, too. It’s automatic. My daughter was at the wheel and as the lights became visible, clearly heading our way, she signaled, slowed and pulled over, as did the cars sharing the road with us. Everyone waited patiently as the fire truck and ambulance raced toward us, maneuvering through the path we had collectively created for them. I covered my ears as they passed us and then we worked our way back onto the road and resumed our journey.
“I love this,” I said. “What?” my daughters asked. “I love that when we hear a siren, road rage and hurry are suspended and people start working together.” The girls agreed that it was cool, but couldn’t resist teasing, asking me if wanted to stop at the store, get food and blankets and bring buckets of water. We laughed. They know me for what I am – a bit of a sap – a sentimental believer in human goodness. But I do find it worth noting that people who, just minutes before were racing to pass us or flipping us off as we passed them (not that I ever do anything like that while driving…) were suddenly transformed by the fact that someone needed help. In an instant, we switched from being isolated individuals with personal agendas to a unit, working together to help someone in serious trouble – someone we don’t even know. No longer adversaries, vying for position on 23rd Street, we had become allies, united by a common goal.
The cynics (including myself on certain days) might argue that the hefty fine for not cooperating is the real motive for our behavior. Perhaps. But I’ve seen this sort of thing enough to believe that there is something else at work that compels us during times like these. When something big happens, something that affects us all, we behave differently.
Take snow for instance. Did you ever notice how peoples’ moods change when it’s snowing? Last week, as soon as the snow began falling, I felt my mood lift. Walking down the dock, as the flakes became evident, everyone I passed greeted me with a smile and said, “Snow!” Not “Hi,” but, “Snow!” (Complete with exclamation mark.) Who hasn’t stood in awe and delight at the window when the first snow of the season begins?
The next day after commuting on snow-covered, icy roads, everyone in the office, dressed in their best winter-weather-work chic, asked about commutes, conditions in neighborhoods, trouble we may have had getting to work. When does that happen? When do we start out with “How was your commute today? Anything new at your house?” We just come in, say hello and get to work. Hot or cold, rain or shine, clouds or wind – all the same. But snow? A whole different story.
When I got back to the marina, a neighbor had shoveled the dock – the whole dock. That’s 1200 feet. Nearly a quarter mile. I was reminded of our Queen Anne neighbor, Phil, who always cleared the front paths and sidewalks for three older women who lived on our block. It touched me and inspired me to see if there was anything I could do. Get some groceries? Make soup and bring it over?
When it snows, the to-do lists and the activities of our lives are suddenly not so critical. My mother-in-law, who lived in rural New Hampshire once wrote in a letter after a major storm, “Snow gentles people.” We become Zen-like in our enjoyment of Now. Kids stay home from school. We walk to places we would normally drive to; we visit each other unannounced; we play. The entire day is devoted to the experience of the snow. We are together in our common experience. And it is joyful.
When I lived in New York City, my hometown, I noticed the same thing during transit strikes. New Yorkers are used to moving through the city on autopilot, using subways and buses to cover great distances each day. (In defense of New Yorkers, who many assume are cold-hearted, gruff, aggressive and don’t give a hoot about anyone they are passing in the street, let me explain that NYC dwellers have to conserve their hellos because if they said hello to everyone they passed, they’d never get anywhere. But stop someone and ask how to get to the Empire State Building and, if they can, they will take you there. Salt of the earth. The Best. Whaddya talkin’ about? Get outta here.) During the strikes, we rallied. We put on our walking shoes and hoofed it to work. I had to walk from West 9th Street to 59th Street – that’s two and a half miles. Each way. People were smiling, united in their common plight and their resourcefulness in overcoming it. I was actually a little sorry when a strike was over and the feeling of fun and connection to the people with whom I shared the city began to fade.
9/11 was an extreme example of this experience of connection. After hearing from my sister who lived in lower Manhattan and had just watched the second tower collapse, talking to a brother in DC who lived near the Pentagon and watching some television coverage, Dan & I decided to take the kids to school, go to work, and keep in touch. Remember, we didn’t know what was happening. Was this isolated to NY and DC or was our country under attack? I arrived at work, very shaken, and was greeted by my co-workers who surrounded me with support. One of the waiting areas had a television running all day for anyone who wanted or needed to follow the situation. 9/11 and the period that followed was a tragic, numbing, horrific time. People I had known died in the towers and the city I call home was changed in more ways than just its skyline. But it was also a time when we were profoundly connected to everyone -- not only in our immediate community, but also across the country and throughout the world. In spite of one of the most evil acts ever committed by a handful of people, the rest of us proved the goodness that exists and the ties that bind us together as a family.
It’s curious that it often takes tragedy for us to find this connection. Thankfully, we do find it, but it’s unfortunate that we find it mostly during hard times. What if we drove around, cooperating with everyone on the road, working together to make sure we all get there safely? What if we offered rides, or food or help to people even when the sun was shining? It would be weird, I know. Kind of a Pleasantville existence. It might even start to annoy even this sentimental New York transplant. But if, once in a while, we stop to think about our connection to all the people on the street, or in the store, or at work I think it could change the way we move through our days.
I don’t want another 9/11 or major tragedy to feel that connection. But I do want to feel it so… Let it snow!
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