This is a short but sweet story.
So the other day, I was on my way to a voice lesson with Tim Howard. As I’m getting into the elevator to go to Ripley-Grier, the elevator closes on me and a stranger. I instinctively pull out my phone and pretend that I’m super cool and have millions of people to text so I have something to awkwardly pass the time. The stranger engages me in conversation.
Stranger: Are you a dancer?
(Well. It’s complicated. Cuz I am very self-conscious about calling myself a dancer. Cuz I can’t do tricks like a betch, but I dance and I tap. So. Well. Can I be on So You Think You Can Dance? No. But. Am I dancer? Yes. So..)
Stranger: Oh cool. I can tell. My sister is a dancer.
Me: Really? That’s awesome.
Me: Where does she dance?
Stranger: Well she’s touring Africa right now, but she’s done a lot.
Me: Wow. Cool!
Stranger: Yeah. It’s hard man.
Me: Yeah, it is.
Stranger: I know, I’m a musician. So I know how hard it can be.
Stranger: But don’t give up.
Me: I won’t.
Stranger: If you keep at it, you’re gonna win.
Then the elevator opened; shortest elevator ride ever.
I won’t forget you, kind stranger. Stranger is a rude word, I feel like, cuz it has the root “strange”. You weren’t strange. You were surprisingly kind. So. I won’t forget you, Kinder. Much better. Has the roots “kind” and “kin”.
Love where you are, but don’t you dare forget where you came from.
(Thank you everyone who has ever been nice to me. Ever.)