A Visit with My Better Self

I was all set to be a mean, angry, judging person. . .

Instead of heading home after exhibiting at the Las Vegas Gift show, I decided to take an extra day and visit the Grand Canyon. I’d never been, time to scratch one off the bucket list. The 600 mile round trip seemed a bit of a slog, but the price was right, and rather than rent a car, I signed up for a bus tour that included lunch, various stops, and three hours at the south rim, where Dad used to drive a tour bus back in the 1930s.

I happened to pick the one day in the week when the beautiful, dry and sunny weather at the Canyon was predicted to shift to rain, snow and 40 mph winds.

The tour bus guide was a caricature of the worst: lots of bad jokes, self-conscious, extremely loud laughter (no one else was laughing), little repeat phrases like “all righty-oh,” racist joking with the non-white passengers: “Hey, Brazil!” “Hurry up, India!” We had to hear about the challenges of dealing with Japanese tourists, and then listen to her little sing-songy “doot de doot de doot” inserts into empty space.

After only a short period of time, I was already creating a blog in my mind where I would tear her apart on paper afterwards.

Then, the tour bus itself had very dark windows because of the intensity of the sun in the summers, so as a result, it was not possible to really see the landscape. More disappointment: never having been in Nevada and northern AZ, that had been a primary interest for me. The dim light quickly made people sleepy and also served to make it possible to watch a series of mediocre movies chosen to keep us entertained during the long journey, which began at 7 am and was to end 14 hours later back in Vegas.

I had already made the choice to leave behind my IPad pacifier and just be with the contents of my mind for a day. So the combo of irritating guide and no view out of my window meant that I quickly responded when (I’ll call her Nancy) offered that anyone could come sit in front if there was the desire to take a picture. No one else was interested, so I asked her if I could sit there for the day, and she said okay, reluctantly.

This meant I would spend the day up close and personal with an annoying individual, but the better view became the higher priority. The desert landscape and extraordinary rock formations gradually transformed into high desert golden grasslands. There were lots of clouds, but sun breaks made the views more dramatic, so the trip to the Canyon rolled by with grace and occasional moments of ecstasy.

I decided to deal with Nancy by asking her about herself. She must have been in her 50s. And this became the moment when life began to teach me a lesson.

It turned out that Nancy and her husband had raised five kids plus five foster kids. Her mother had taught her the value of hard work. She had been driving tour buses for five years, supporting her husband while he worked on starting a new business. They only saw one another a few times a month. Four of their kids were doing well. Two were teachers. One built solar systems.

But one daughter had been killed by a car when she was twenty-two. After several days on life support, they had pulled the plug and gave her heart to a young South American boy with MS. Two years ago, Nancy had brought him on a trip to the Canyon.

Like her daughter, he had acquired a great love of lattes.

So now I was realizing that the pigeon-holing I had done with Nancy was wrong. I am glad we never got into politics, but who knows, she might have surprised me there too. What I came down to was really, a rather extraordinary, good-hearted woman without any real people skills, which she covered up with over-the-top self-conscious, and yes, sometimes inappropriate behavior.

When we got into snow, she was driving too fast. We passed a bad car crash. We slid past a stop sign and she laughed loudly as I gripped the edges of my seat.

Somehow, I got the idea to tell her that I appreciated the care she was taking to deal with the challenging driving. She stopped laughing and slowed down. I thought of other ways to support her, acknowledging her life of hard work, suggesting she had the potential to be a good storyteller. Caring instead of my Inner Critic.

We came at last to the Canyon, which was hidden in a thick cover of clouds. I stood in the snow and rain and did what photographers speak of with awe, passion and wonder — waited for the light. And it began to come, moving the clouds aside, creating fragments of what seemed like divine revelations.