With one arm resting half-in, half-out of the diver’s side window of our white Chevy Crew Cab pickup truck the wind raced over my skin, cooling it, while tugging gently at my arm hairs. A periodic errant gust would collide with my skin before diverting inward to tickle my face and fill my ears with the sound of the fresh black tarmac whizzing by beneath rugged truck tires. My eyes locked forward on the road, one hand on the wheel casually navigating the high mountain two-lane highway that threaded through the passes near Silverton in south-western Colorado.…
Several years ago I had a realization. That realization wasn’t sudden, or abrupt, but it was profoundly powerful. It was the realization that we as individuals are fundamentally responsible for our actions and the impact of those actions on the people around us. That realization led me to re-analyze the way I interact with people, and what type of people I choose to surround myself with.
I’ve come to realize that there are effectively two types of people in the world. Those who create their own luck and dismiss adversity/challenges and disappointments as part of the process, and then those who languish in their own bad luck. This latter group seem constantly plagued by bad luck, most of which can be traced back to their life choices and fixation on their own poor condition. The latter seem to always be pointing to others and claiming, “if only I had your luck, your skill, your opportunities, your good lucks, etc.” and who by that same coin refuse to create their own luck and opportunity. These ‘if only’ personalities relish in creating missed opportunities and then pointing to and fixating on them as indicators of why they cannot get ahead or succeed. While this world view isn’t the focus of this post, it is tied directly to an inner decision that goes hand in hand with it. So, keep it in mind as you read.
Pay It Forward
The concept is simple. When you read those three words, you probably immediately think of the movie which offered the ideology significant publicity. Ultimately, however, it’s little more than an extension of the Golden Rule – that is, do onto others as you would have done onto yourself.
It’s a simple approach to life, but one which is surprisingly rare. Oh, don’t get me wrong, you’ll find small examples of good behavior in everyone, but in many ways it has come to be an ideology at odds with our culture. Why help a stranger in a city of millions? It’s part of our nature to wonder, “What’s in it for me?” and of course, “What’s the cost?.” The answers to these questions don’t exactly give the most marketable responses. What’s in it for me? The chance of a better world. The chance to help people. It’s a vague answer, one which is general and initially seems insignificant. You can bring the concept of Karma into it as many do, but even then it’s somewhat nebulous. The truth is that living a life which focuses on paying it forward does pay major dividends. You live a happier, healthier life and ultimately end up surrounding yourself by other people who are sincerely willing to help, for no better reason than that they can, but in truth – that is the easy part of the equation.
The second question is far more challenging: what’s the cost? Most believers in a pay it forward ideology will shrug off the question, usually giving a nebulous answer that implies nothing – that there is no cost. The reality is, that there is a cost – and that cost can potentially be significant. A point I was painfully reminded of last night.
There’s a reason that one of the most widely recognizable adages in our culture is, “No Good Deed Goes Unpunished”. It’s not that every good deed is punished, but rather that the sting of getting burned while trying to do a good deed hurts twice as much. It’s not only fundamentally hurtful but carries with it a strong sense of betrayal coupled with anger and those emotions, especially combined are incredibly powerful. So powerful in fact that they can do far more than just causing people to abandon a Pay It Forward approach to life, where they might do little more than revert to apathy and inaction. It can cause a Pay It Backwards approach which leaves people bitter and aggressive and that’s the true danger. It’s also why I started this article talking about how we deal with success and obstacles in our day to day lives.
I mentioned earlier that the reason for this post was an altercation I had last night. Without going into too much depth I came upon a car last night around 9:30PM in a parking lot commonly used by bar goers. I was a bit early and the parking lot was largely empty. I immediately noticed that the car next to mind still had the keys in the door. I faced a dilemma. The keys were not owned by someone I knew and none of my business. They were a stranger’s keys and any theft/damage done would be to a complete stranger, and the direct result of their lack of attention. Yet, if they had been my keys and a stranger noticed them – what would I hope that they might do? Ignore them and leave the car to the next, less scrupulous passer by (Keep in mind that the Phoenix area ranks in the top 10 for Automotive theft)? Or take what action was available to help.
After a moments consideration I weighed the options – would they find the keys if i put them on the front tire? The windshield? Probably not. Should I open the car door and place them on the car seat? Maybe during the day, but not at night – that would go beyond just helping and risk trespassing. The obvious option seemed to remove the keys and drop them on the ground immediately below the lock. There they’d be easily found by the owners when they searched their pockets, but wouldn’t be readily visible to everyone in the parking lot. I dropped the keys, and began my way towards the bars where I was schedule to meet several friends.
I got about 15 feet before a large male (I’m 6’4/200 pounds and this guy was larger/more athletic) started shouting at me from ahead of me. I quickly explained the situation, what was going on, and encouraged the guy to calm down and talk to me. He wasn’t having it. The back and forth continued for a solid minute as I backpedaled maintain my distance while he threatened me, demanded MY keys, and ignored what I was saying. I even went so far as to volunteer to call the police over, if he’d calm down, so that I could explain the situation. The threats continued, even after I could see that the Girl he was with found the keys – right where I said they’d be – and had opened the car door.
Eventually he decided threats of putting me in the hospital were insufficient, and made a leap towards me. I know when I’m outgunned – and I retreated. Quickly. He couldn’t keep up, gave up shortly there after, turned and made a B-line back to my vehicle, which he proceeded to kick repeatedly leaving heavy scuffing on the trunk and denting in the rear passenger side door so badly that it won’t open. Keep in mind, all of this has occurred AFTER I’ve offered to discuss the incident with the police and after the girl he was with had gained access to the car.
Still keeping my distance, I dialed 911 as soon as he headed back towards the vehicles and requested police intervention. They arrived, but not before the thug and the woman he was with got into their car and burned out of the parking lot – unfortunately – before I could close enough distance to grab a plate number.
So, what did trying to help someone get me? Very nearly a serious trip to the hospital, and at least a $500 deductible to get the damage fixed.
To Pay It Backwards?
The whole event left me feeling incredibly frustrated, angry, and disheartened. Beyond that, it left me wondering what I’d do in the future when I find myself faced with a similar dilemma. The thought do nothing of course came to mind, but it didn’t stop there. What might I do in the future? After all, helping someone had just been negatively re-enforced, so why not do the opposite? Why not sheer the key off in the lock with a quick kick? Should I join countless other Arizonans and start carrying A gun? A knife?
As each of these thoughts floated through my mind over the course of the evening, I inevitably had to keep reminding myself that the cost still merited the greater benefit. That I was faced with a very clear opportunity. I could stick to my guns and remain a “shit happens” person, or I could pack it in, throw up a white flag, and retreat to the “If only”, “poor me” camp.
For my part I’ve chosen to stick to my guns. In the future I may think twice before deciding to go ahead and try and help someone out in a similar situation, but I’ll still do it. Why? Because it’s worth it. Unfortunately, discussions I’ve had with friends in the last 24 hours left me feeling like these types of events have led a lot of people to abandon a Pay It Forward approach to life, which is a loss for us all. I hope if you find yourself in that camp, that you’ll re-consider.
At the end of the day, despite the occasional cost – it’s worth it.
The bus I caught from the waterfalls ended up being a regional slow-moving one. Its route took it down rural roads and through small villages. The up side of which was an exceptional view of the Croatian countryside. The downside of which was an added hour plus to the bus ride. After four hours on the thing my legs were cramped, I was tired, hungry, and anxious. The hostel I had reserved a spot closed their reception at 8PM unless you had e-mailed ahead, which I hadn’t as I fully expected to arrive closer to 5 than 9.
The city of Split itself is fairly large, much larger in fact than I expected. The old town however is tiny and ironically enough, much smaller than I expected. The good news was the bus station was located right by the ferry station/port and right next to the old town. I’ve hinted and flat out mentioned it before – but I suppose this is another prime example…I’m doing everything by the seat of the ol’ pants so of course I had no clue where the hostel was, lacked a map and only vaguely remembered the hostels name (it was easy after all…Split Hostel…I was in Split and it WAS a hostel…soo yeah go me).
I quickly found an over-priced internet cafe, paid for 10 minutes, printed a HORRIBLE map off their website and set off to find the place at a bisque pace (it was already 8:40). Split is a fascinating city, it’s also incredibly confusing – but more on that later. I wandered around, ended up completely overshooting where I was going and was thoroughly confused as to where exactly I was. I asked a local, who in the drop of a hat set to helping me find the place. He had recently started English lessons as was eager to gain a little experience talking to me. He wasn’t sure where the hostel was, but together we wandered around the heart of the old town for a few minutes. Eventually, he asked another local, who joined up and also set to helping locate the place. The newcomer split off after taking us to another square and seeing things were in hand. This left the original local and I to locate the small alley behind a magazine stand that led to the hostel. Relieved to be there and to have met such incredibly warm and friendly people, I said my thanks and wandered up the stairs to the hostel.
Luckily the place was still open. I walked past the small courtyard in front which was full of hostel residents all gathered around drinking and getting to know each other. I then paid for my room, dropped off my stuff and set to introducing myself. I joined the others out on the patio and practically threw myself at the stool I was going to sit on. Collapsing in an exhausted, relieved heap, I introduced myself and as often occurs in a good hostel was immediately part of the group. We all socialized a bit, then all set off to a nearby bar. There we settled in and closed the place down, mixing, mingling and exchanging wild stories.
The next morning I’d dedicated to checking out one of the local islands. First though I started out by exploring Split a bit. Split (the old town) is an incredible city. Located beside the harbor it shows obvious signs of being a major tourist haven but has a more aged and historical feel to it as well. Home to arguably the last (or second to last) western Caesar it was once a beautiful palace. It has also served as a major fortification and general city. The old town itself is an odd mix of old buildings and marble-paved streets. The city is (IMHO) designed to be defended from military attack. The old city is tiny – a 5 minute walk will get you across it. However, it is a crazy mix of tiny streets, small squares, alleyways and stone structures.
The city is designed to both confuse and limit successful troop movement. Even if an invading force were 10 times that of the defenders they would easily become lost in the warren of small streets and alleyways. At some points only 1 person can walk down the street, while others allow for a spacious 3 or perhaps even 4. All the while invaders would be exposed to rooftop assault. Its often hard to tell if you are turning into a small walkway that will dead end, or a dead end that turns out to be the entrance to a large courtyard with 3 or 4 other exits and entrances. It took me quite a bit to figure out the lay of it and it was not until I started exploring every small, odd, tiny little crack in the walls that I truly got to explore the city. The streets themselves are made of a marble-like stone and washed every night creating a clean, uniform feeling to things.
Cats – Croatian cities have tons of cats. It’s fantastic and while the cats are arguably wild they are clean, well kept and well fed. I heard it rumored that they were partially there to keep the snake, rat, and pigeon populations under control. Many of the locals leave food out for them and the rest they catch and scavenge. As a cat lover, it was great having beautiful cats all over the place. In many ways cities like Split and Dubrovnik belong more to the cats than to the people.
After exploring Split and finding some food, I returned to the hostel where I bumped into 3 of the girls I’d talked to a bit the night before. They had missed their initial ferry and were preparing to catch a later one to a different (and closer island). I inquired about the island and their plans and they invited me along. It fit with my plans and seemed like a good idea so I grabbed my bag and out the door we raced. We caught the ferry and headed to the island of Brock. A windy and cold hour or so later we unloaded off the boat into a small town. I’d heard some of the other guys that had done the island the day before talk about renting a car or scooter. Eager to see the island and countryside the girls and I quickly decided to give it a try. For $20 each we got an automatic car for the day. One of the girls offered to drive and I took up the co-pilot’s seat map in hand. The island itself it turned out was…well an island and a small one at that, which, worked perfectly for us allowing us to see about half of it during the course of the day.
Our first stop was about 5 minutes outside of town along the coast. We raced down to the jagged stone beach and snapped a few photos before resuming our 7 km trip to the next town. There we parked the car and explored a picturesque little village with a quiet harbor. There were very few people around and no other tourists. The town itself was pristine. Surrounded by olive groves, vineyards, and orange trees it was nestled in a small valley. The harbor was framed by palm treas and the entire village was covered in pomegranate trees, kiwi trees and grape vines…all interlaced with beautiful red and sandy-colored blossoms on large bougainvillea type vines. Everything was in bloom and I was reminded of the old movies and sailors tales of island paradises where you could roam around picking fruit right off the vine while the waves gently rolled in. We walked about and I had the epiphany that kiwis actually grow on vine-like trees. Not really sure where else I thought they would grow, but…well…sometimes its the little details that get you.
We piled back into the car and started inland. The roads were narrow and wound through the countryside. The island itself is incredibly rocky and once you get away from the water only suitable for vineyards on terraced mountainsides and rugged olive groves. We wound up to a small village that the map said had a museum and an old castle. Upon arriving we found the old monastery locked and paid the admittance fee for the small museum. There a younger Croatian woman, who spoke incredible English, shared the island’s history with us…from its early greco-roman residents…to the Napoleonic wars when a Croatian commander sank several English war ships. Her eyes positively shone with love of country and history.
We left the old converted house and then realized that one of the buildings we had walked by – thinking it was another (though larger) house – was in fact the remains of the old castle. Most of it had fallen or been incorporated into other things but once you knew what you were looking at its original pedigree was unmistakable. As we took it in, an old Croatian lady that didn’t speak any English, came in and beckoned for us to join her. The castle as it turns out was her home and after walking us around it briefly (it was a tiny thing, no larger than a normal home in the states) she led us to a cellar-barn area full of large vats and with a small table set up. On the table there was an odd assortment of water bottles and old plastic coke bottles filled with two different substances. One of the substances was homemade olive oil. She poured us a spoonful to sample and the rich taste was fantastic. Then with a playful gleam in her eye she poured a sampling of the other – it was clear and in bottles with rosemary in it. Elegantly displayed despite being housed in an odd assortment of old water bottles. The first girl took a sip and immediately her eyes bulged and she began to cough. The bottles contained a local alcohol. I forget the exact name but its something like Rakleon. It tastes like rubbing alcohol (with a taste of rosemary) and definitely had a bit of a kick. We all tried both, then decided we could not/did not want to purchase the two. Only slightly disappointed she then asked if we wanted to try vino.
More manageable and eager to try a bit she walked over to a huge glass vase and poured a sample. The wine was a deep red. If you held it up to the light the sunlight would be hard pressed to make its way through. Deeply tasting of grapes but not overly bitter – or sweet it had a sound taste. The price for a 2 liter bottle was $4. As much because I wanted to repay her kindness (and salesmanship) as out of eagerness to try the homemade wine, the girls and I each picked up a two liter. The old lady was delighted, pouring from the huge vase into a funnel that filled the old plastic bottles. She then threw in a few ripe pomegranates for us to enjoy with the wine. Delighted we said thank you and left, piling back into the car and on a mission to find food. We wandered to the next village down which was the 2nd largest we had seen we parked the car again and found one of the only open food places we had seen. A small pizza place by the old harbor. We ate, then explored the town a bit. It was gorgeous and closely resembled the other, except that it had a soccer field and there were more people out and about.
We made our way out and about once again winding up to a tiny town on a hillside with a small chapel. There we took a few quick photos, had a brief conversation with a mule, and then decided to head back towards town to eat our pomegranates and drink our wine. We found a spot, sheltered from the cold wind, on the protected side of the breakwater and dove into our pomegranates. Before long we were all sporting blood-red noses, hands, and stained mouths. The pomegranates and wine tasted great. With about an hour and a half left to kill we decided to explore the northern end of the island. Driving in a huge loop we wound up and toward the center of the island on tiny streets. Some were on the edge of small cliffs. At times it was a pretty exhilarating experience as the roads were tiny, the locals drove incredibly fast, there were no lines and the edge of the road ended with an immediate drop off the side of the cliff. In many places there were no guard rails and others lacked even so much as a 1 inch shoulder. The island was beautiful.
Eventually we found our way back to the port safe and sound, put in a little gas and returned the car. We piled onto the ferry and headed back to Split. That night we all went out, watched the England-South Africa rugby cup then contented ourselves enjoying the evening.
The next day I spent relaxing, napping, hiding from the rain and exploring the city. My brunch was a rotisserie chicken and an apple purchased at the local outdoor market. The market itself was a fun mix of butcher shops, produce tables and florists. While most of the butcher shops were actually shops I did see one merchant with two halves of a sheep or goat laid out in the bisque morning air on a folding table. It’s definitely a wonderfully different world than back home. I hiked to the high point and overlooked the city, then meandered through the inner city a bit more. That night a good group of us got together and did the hostel thing.
As I talked to a few of the guys at the hostel we all discovered that we were heading to Dubrovnik at about the same time. We formed a small group (there were 4 of us) and made our way to the bus, then struggled through the 6 hour bus ride to Dubrovnik in the very south of Croatia.
I heard a lot of people compare Dubrovnik to Split but I found it to be very different. Surrounded by an intact old city wall, the old city itself was beautiful but more organized, cleaner, and I would say touristy. That said, time is up and my fingers are tired. I’ll tell Dubrovnik’s tale as soon as I get the chance to write another update.