Lyfe of Sonya

[lyfeofsonya-blog]

“I thought he was joking”...

...and my world shifted.  I was working in an office.  The most toxic, mean-spirited place I’d ever worked.  And it had taken me so long to get this job.  But as these words came over the radio, I knew I had to go.  

I was working as an Executive Assistant for what an attorney I spoke with called an “Equal Opportunity Asshole”. If he had singled me out for his temper tantrums I’d probably be preparing for a trial right now.  But he treated everyone like garbage so we all just put up with it.  

February 14, 2018: Valentine’s Day and the Parkland Shooting.  I sat in shock and dismay like everyone else in the country but I did not know that this day would change my life.

February 16, 2018: My boss called me into his office to scream at me because I wasn’t sending out a message on LinkedIn as fast as he wanted me to.  The reason being, of course, is that LinkedIn considers what he wanted to send, spam, so I was messaging people one by one.  Ridiculous.  He stopped screaming when the phone rang and when the caller asked how he was doing, he complained of how stupid and lazy everyone around him was.  He then suggested he bring in one of his guns to help “motivate” people.  He looked me right in the eye when he said it, smiled and waved me away.  I complained, of course but the culture of that company had already been tainted by this man and everyone brushed it off as a “joke”.  Two days after 17 children were killed.  A joke.

The following Tuesday I was in my office with the radio on and there was an interview with some of the surviving students.  One said, “I thought he was joking...” and my world shifted.  I was leaving.  I didn’t know where or how I would leave but I was gone.

Each day that week I removed a few personal items each evening.  My stash of teas, multivitamins and supplements.  The extra shoes, reference books, hair doodads and asthma meds.  By the following Friday I had only two personal items in the office--my lamp and a bottle of hand lotion.  I had also downloaded the app for Lyft.  I was all set up, just needed to get the car inspected and wait for the background check.  That Friday, I was revving myself up to leave.  The plan was to go into one of the manager’s office at 2 pm (we closed early on Fridays) and let him know that I would not be returning on Monday.  At noon he called me into his office and they let me go.  With a check.  So much better.

I passed the background check the following Tuesday and started driving on Wednesday morning.  I drove an irate businessman to a meeting and kept him calm on the drive.  I drove a woman home from the hospital. I chatted and joked and sang and got caught up on the news.  It was a great day and at the end of it I had made more than I would have in that office.

I had also made a decision.  That toxic, abusive, and frankly, borderline criminal, atmosphere that I had been in was the last. No more.  I would stay in my car, drive and be kind.  It’s my car, my rules.

Rule #1: Be kind.

Rule #2: Be authentic.

Rule #3: I choose the music but I’ll ask you about your preferences.

Rule #4: Singing, laughing, chatter and silence are all equally welcome.

Rule #5: Fighting, racism, misogyny, bickering, name-calling and bragging about clever ways of hurting people’s feelings are all equally discouraged.

Rule #6: Be kind.

[lyfeofsonya-blog]

My friends want me to quit...

...driving for Lyft.  There was a driver killed by a deranged passenger who stole her car.  Here I am on the adventure of a lifetime because Lyft has given me the flexibily to choose my own times to work with enough money to give me some financial stability.  And I’ve had several phone calls asking me to give this up, settle down somewhere safe.  Where would you have me go?  A bank? although four tellers and a customer were killed last week.  A school? I used to work in schools and have on three separate occasions have sat on the floor out of the range of the windows during lock downs--one where there actually was a man on campus with a gun.  He was suicidal, not homicidal but still.  A nice, safe office? I’ve got another story about that one. A church? A grocery store? Why are people still pretending that there is anywhere safe to go?  As long as we choose to let guns be more accessible than healthcare we are going to be in danger.  I am not quitting.  

I used to be a big believer in signs and omens.  I’m not so much any more.  In my journey of getting to know myself, I found that I would discover signs that pretty much supported me in doing whatever it was I wanted or didn’t want to do.  You can convince yourself of anything if you want it bad enough.  But this week I had three passengers, Raphael, Gabriel & Michael. I’ve been singing this song in my head this week that references four of the archangels including these three.  I don’t think that this is a sign that I am in the care of angels.  I think it’s a reminder.  We are in the presence of darkness.  We are in the presence of light.  

I’ve always had an inkling that I am a light bearer.  In fact, when people describe me they will use light-related terminology.  Bright, glowing, radiant.  The light must be taken into the darkness, not hidden away.  I know there is darkness out there but what can I do but shine a light into it?  

I can drive. I can talk to people.  I can connect with people who I might previously have judged.  I can be a shining light to people who might have judged people who look like me.  The share is as important as the ride.  

[lyfeofsonya-blog]

Her face was harsh and heartsick...

...her make up perfectly done, her foundation making her skin look dewy and flawless, impeccable contouring, precise lining of the eyes and lips of the kind that I can NEVER achieve.  It ran through my head as she walked toward the car that without make up I would never recognize her again.  I could also see that she was in pain.  Even through the mask of make up I could see the agony.  She got into the back seat and huddled in the corner behind me.  She was headed all the way out to Gilbert so we were in for a long ride together.  

I started out with a few polite nothings-- do you prefer I take the 51 or the 17? Is the radio station okay? how’s the air back there? she clearly wasn’t up for decision making.  About ten minutes later I heard a small sniff.  This was before I had put together my courtesy tray of tissues and gum and hand sanitizer that I now travel with, so I dug under the seat for my purse and found a nearly empty pack of tissues.  I handed it back to her silently but she didn’t take it.  Since she was directly behind me I could not tell if she maybe just didn’t see it.  So I said, “I’m sorry you’re having such a hard day, honey.”  She took the tissues and started crying for real.  Soon she was sobbing.  She kept apologizing and finally I just said, “I’ve had to cry that hard many times in my life.  You’re in a safe place to do this right now, I won’t judge you.”

Over the next 30 minutes she started to tell me about her life.  It was a hard life.  I won’t share the more personal details but the broad strokes are that she worked in a “massage parlor”, was addicted to narcotics (although she believed she was safe as long as she wasn’t using needles) and in a mess of a relationship.  

This was my first ride with a sex worker.  It’s a thing, you see, to bring a girl to your home or hotel room and then send her off in a Lyft.  I’ve met many of them now and I’m informed now about who to call if a girl wants to get out of the business so that I can pass that information on but this first time all I knew to do was to be kind.  I assured her that there was support out there for her and more people like me who would not judge and we discussed where she might find help.  Although my instinct was that she wasn’t ready to get help, had not yet hit bottom.  

When we got to her house, the street was quiet.  It was very late and no one was awake in this quiet suburb.  She got out of the car and I got out with her.

Now, I am not a hugger.  In fact, when people meet me and throw their arms open wide and announce, “I’m a hugger.” I will often take two steps back and fling out my hand for a good handshake.  I only like hugging people I know well and sometimes not even then.  But I get out of the car and ask, “Can I give you a hug?” She smiles and nods and I put my arms around her.  She holds on as I rub her back and whisper words that I hope will comfort her.  I’m not even sure what I said but I gave her one of the best hugs I’ve ever given anyone.  

I can’t imagine never being touched like this.  Of only having your body touched to serve someone else’s needs.  To constantly be touched without tenderness or comfort.  So I give her that.  When she breaks away, she blows her nose once more, smiles and says good-bye and walks back into her messed up life.  

My part is ended.  Since then I’ve met more sex workers and I’ve given them the information on where to get help getting out of the business.  There are national programs like Destiny Rescue and Streetlight USA but mostly it’s local help, specific to the city and state you are in and frankly, when I was researching this I was appalled to find out that when you do a google search for how to get out of prostitution, you’ll have to go through a couple of pages of attorney’s ads offering services for men arrested for hiring a prostitute before you can find a single service to help the girls.  Which in a funny way disgusts me even more than the men who use these services.  Some of the men who hire these girls are often lonely and desperate and broken themselves.  I have some small spark of compassion for some of them as well.  But attorneys who make money off of this--just ick.  And Google. The third page to get help for these girls? Seriously? No wonder they think they’ve been forgotten.  They have.

[lyfeofsonya-blog]

She was a Gryffindor Seeker...

...according to her T-shirt.  I could tell she was having a bad day so after a brief discussion of our mutual love for Harry Potter she succumbed to a morose silence.  Normally, this would not bother me but she was heading to Casa Grande which is a good 45 minutes from Phoenix.  So I changed from music to Stephen Fry reading The Order of the Phoenix--the chapter where Fred & George take on Umbridge.  This obviously changed the mood fairly quickly.  Soon I had turned down the volume and we were discussing our respective Harry Potter fantasy personas.  I’m not going to share hers (privacy and all that) but I’ll tell you mine.  

I was a Hufflepuff.  I like Hufflepuffs.  They have a strong sense of justice and fair play that I admire.  After Hogwarts, I started my own magical cleaning service.  I have several VERY SECRET spells, charms, potions and a couple of transfiguration tricks that work on Permanent Sticking Charms.  My rise to renown came when Ginny Potter ( née Weasley) hired me to do something about several works of art at No. 12 Grimmauld Place.  I also grow a variety of potion ingredients that I sell exclusively to Slug & Jigger’s Apothecary in Diagon Alley.  

And of course we discussed the fate of Umbridge.  There are a lot of Umbridges in the world today.  Those who consider other people to be “undesirable” whether it be the origin of their magical skill, the color of their skin, the way they worship or the borders of their birthplace will always be around.  But ultimately they don’t get their way.  Narrative always mimics life.  If it didn’t, it would not hold our interest.  Umbridges are never the hero.  Umbridges may win a few rounds and yes, they can do quite a bit of damage.  But they always fall.  Always.  

And just so you know, it is my belief, that after a stint in Azkaban, Umbridge was paroled.  By this time she was so irrelevant that no one noticed.  She died alone at home and by the time her body was found had been partially eaten by her own cats.

[lyfeofsonya-blog]

What happens in a Lyft...

...should stay in a Lyft.  But in a blog about my life how do I avoid telling tales from the driver’s seat?  I’ve come up with some guidelines for myself that I feel will protect the privacy of my passengers but will allow me full artistic and journalistic license.

1) I will pretty much ask if I can share a story and if there are any parameters to how the passenger would like to be conveyed.

2) I recognize that I am an artist not a journalist.  I’m trying to tell a story that is essentially about a connection that happens between two human beings.  If I fictionalize the story a bit, change names, places, times, details but still convey that moment of connection, I feel that I’ve done my job.

3) There are conversations that happen over and over again with different people.  I might squish a common theme into one representative story.

4) There are a few stories I won’t tell just because I cannot make the passenger anonymous.

I don’t want to spill secrets but there are a lot of wonderful moments that happen in my car.  

[lyfeofsonya-blog]

People had a lot of judgement...

...when I first started driving for Lyft.  I had been driving for about three weeks, I had just auditioned for the Flagstaff Shakespeare Festival and had been booked for one role, which later grew to two and I was feeling happier than I had in a long time.  Right at this time there was an alumni event at my high school, a very prominent, Catholic girls school.  The girls at my school were encouraged to become lawyers, doctors, engineers and MBA’s.  Lyft drivers were not on their radar AT ALL.  Over brie and chicken skewers, the pendulum was swinging from this joyous sense of freedom to embarrassment and insecurity.  A former teacher expressed her fears for my safety. The morning after the event I would receive two calls from women who knew of jobs I could do.  The tone was both supportive and pitying.

I tried to remember that glow of happiness but it had faded.  Later that day after the party, I went to a local Catholic gift shop.  My god daughters were about to celebrate their first communion and I wanted to buy an appropriate gift.  While browsing, I picked up a little book of quotes by Pope Francis.  This is the page it opened to.  

“Journeying is an art because if we're always in a hurry, we get tired and don't arrive at our journey's goal. If we stop, we don't go forward and we also miss the goal. Journeying is precisely the art of looking toward the horizon, thinking where I want to go but also enduring the fatigue of the journey, which is sometimes difficult. … There are dark days, even days when we fail, even days when we fall … but always think of this: Don't be afraid of failures. Don't be afraid of falling. What matters in the art of journeying isn't not falling but not staying down. Get up right away and continue going forward. This is what's beautiful: This is working every day, this is journeying as humans. But also, it's bad walking (riding) alone: It's bad and boring. Walking (Riding) in community, with friends, with those who love us, that helps us. It helps us to arrive precisely at that goal, that 'there where' we're supposed to arrive.”

I still get a lot of judgement when people find out what I do.  It has ceased to bother me.  These rides I give provide me with the means to practice my art, my spirituality, my desire to be kind.  Each ride I give is an opportunity for someone else to get to class, to work, to family, to an opportunity that makes their life better.  

This is the essence of Rideshare. We are all in this together. No judgement here.

[lyfeofsonya-blog]

My car...

...my rules.  Before I started driving for Lyft I was working in what was the most toxic atmosphere I’ve ever experienced.  When I was in the peace and quiet of my own car I had an epiphany.  I may not be master of much but what I am master of is going to be pleasant place to be.  No judgement, no sarcasm, no discouragement allowed.  If someone wants to vent, I let them do it until they start calling their coworkers, spouse, friends names.  Then I try to turn it around and if I can’t, I change the subject.  Light bulb jokes help with this.

How many gorillas does it take to screw in a lightbulb? (answer at the end)

If people need peace and quiet, I give it to them.  If I need peace and quiet I just silently drive them where they are going and say, “Have a great day!” when they leave.

It’s nice to be in control even if it’s just the interior of my car.  I set the tone and the tone is not snotty.  If people are in a bad mood, I don’t respond with eye rolls or attitude.  

Sometimes it’s damn hard.  People talk about all kinds of stuff that push all my buttons.  Racism, class-ism, sexism, pettiness, bitchiness, I get it all.  But, I’ve felt that way too and I’m not a total jerk so maybe these people aren’t either.  It’s not my job to judge.  I try to be as kind as I possibly can and get them safely to their destination.  It seems to work.  People seem to respond well to my treatment and although I may be tired at the end of the day, I’m never really emotionally drained like I’ve experienced before.  

I like living in a world where I don’t feel the need to be snotty and I can give people a small snotty-free-zone for a little while.  Best I can do.

A: Only one.  But it takes a shitload of lightbulbs.

[lyfeofsonya-blog]

Everything in my life got better...

...when I started driving for Lyft.  I was in rehearsal for The Tempest and a bunch of us were early, or perhaps someone crucial was late but we were just sitting around and I started to try and get some of the other actresses to start driving for Lyft.  I talked about the money, the flexibility, the nice people, blah, blah, blah and at some point I said, “Everything in my life got better when I started driving for Lyft.  Someone started to laugh and said, “Um, lead with that.”  So that’s where I’m starting.  

Right now I’m sitting by the window in a cafe in Long Beach, CA on the first day of a year long adventure.  A year ago, I was sitting in an office that had a small sliver of window.  If I stood up, squeezed past a filing cabinet and turned at just the right angle, I could have seen a large white condominium complex and beyond that, a chunk of mountainous, golden desert and a triangle of blue sky.  I worked for a horrible man and was at his beck and call for most of my days.  I really don’t need to describe the tedium and degradation of that job.  It’s in my rearview and there’s no need to bring it back.  

On Valentine’s Day I’ll share in more detail the moment when I chose to drive for Lyft.  It’s a big story in my life and that’s the day to tell it.  So you’ll have to wait.  

For now, I’m starting this blog because Lyft has turned my life around so far that instead of living a life of drudgery, today I am off on an adventure.  This year I will spend two months at the beach, four months performing in a Shakespeare festival, another two traveling to South Africa, India and Australia.  Maybe this wouldn’t be the life you would choose for yourself but it’s what I want.  

I guess that’s what I want to say about driving for Lyft.  The money is enough to keep me going.  The flexibility is enough to set me flying.  If you have a dream of doing something else than you are doing with your life, Lyft might be a good platform to get that something else started.  If you need a flexible source of income while you start your own business, if you are an artist who needs a day job that won’t grunge up your soul, if you are a parent who wants to be wholly committed to your kids schedule, Lyft might be the thing that gets you there.