Same Same But Different

Colorado Springs, Colorado— In my line of work, I encounter people with backgrounds very different than mine, especially when I’m on construction jobsites which are typically comprised mostly of men. I could easily be intimidated or feel uber uncomfortable with the scene, especially given what I do for work—marketing and communications, that I report to the president, as well as the color of my skin (brown), my gender (female), and my life story (global nomad). Instead I just work harder at building relationships. First, because having the relationship is crucial to getting my work done (I write stories about construction and environmental projects). And second, because I have this thing about wanting to know that it’s possible to get along and have positive relationships with just about anybody.

Thing is, I already know this. But in the current climate of our 21st century national politics, it’s become a sort of purpose in life, because I had learned at an early age while living overseas that we are all cut from the same cloth of humankind. In earnest, I’ve felt that if I could contribute anything to this ailing society of ours, it’s that I wish to show others what’s possible. That we can lower the temperature of hate and anger towards those who don’t agree 100% with each of our belief systems and dispel the fear of those who don’t look like us or share our culture and traditions. And then maybe, just maybe, we could together, strive for a better world.

I’ve been bridging the divide for more years that I tend to remember. I suppose it started when I became a proposal writer in 2005, which took me out of the liberal bubble of nonprofit do-gooders that had largely been my world since my first year of graduate school in 1994. In its place, I was thrust face forward into defense contracting where I have encountered so many new kinds of people with diverse values, life experiences, and worldviews.

When I first started, I loved that I was finally in a writing job. But I felt a bit uncomfortable being part of the American war machine. With the exception of my paternal grandfather who was an army man during World War II in the Philippines, whom I had never met before he passed, I had no connection to the military. It was simply and altogether unfamiliar to me. Plus, I was still in a post-9/11 confused state of mind over the wars we had launched in Afghanistan and Iraq.

But over time, I came to love my work because of the constant opportunity to get to know all kinds of people and learn about their work, and in turn, share their success stories. Eventually, it just became natural to me to talk with just about anyone. I had honed my ability to listen and pepper in enough questions that eventually let things evolve into simply a pleasant conversation. And I just love that.

*

One year I was sent to a jobsite in Colorado, where I found myself intrigued with one fella who had come out of retirement to do the project. He was one of a trio of guys who, way back in the day, had developed the patented process being applied to this particular project, a trio I affectionately referred to as the Three Amigos. I was already buds with the other two guys, so I was determined to get to know the third.

Sporting an unkempt, graying beard, wire-rimmed glasses, a bulky flannel or sweatshirt, and a pair of Wrangler jeans, he often sat pensively, with a cigarette in one hand and either a coffee or Dr. Pepper in the other. His voice was deep and scratchy, his words spoken with a notable Texas accent. He was a superstar in the trades – mechanic, electrician, welder, and more. He also lived on a large ranch in western Texas for most of his life. There could not have been more things different about the two of us—at least on the surface.

When I’m on a construction jobsite, I can’t say the guys are initially all that interested in knowing me. But I am always interested in them. Without the excuse of my job, it might be easy to mutually dismiss the possibility of connecting in any way. But I’d come to know that it takes just one conversation to establish a bit of rapport. Luckily, my number one strength is learning. Being curious and asking questions is my jam. And as explained in the book, How to Win Friends and Influence People, being curious and a good listener are what it takes to open the door and build trust.

So, on the day I arrived at the equipment yard where the team was prepping to mobilize the following month to the project site, I opened that door. I had been briefed about who comprised the team and was excited to see both old pals from other project sites I had visited, and to meet the ones I didn’t yet know. After a quick tour of the place by one of my higher ups, I stopped to chat with this one fella. I asked about the fact that he had been in retirement before being roped back in to do this special project.

“Well, my wife took care of me all my years working, and it was time for me to stop and take care of her for the rest of our lives. I’m 69 and we’ve been together since 7th grade...she’s the only woman I’ve ever been with,” he said.

My jaw nearly dropped. I couldn’t believe my ears. “The only woman I’ve ever been with” kept repeating in my head. He also told me that they had actually known each other since first grade. It was easy to see the honor and pride he had for his own story.

How often do we come across this kind of life-long love and commitment, and from such an early age? It was a backstory I could not relate to given that I had little memory of my first-grade classmates since I had moved many times in my life, not to mention, my single-never-married status. I was so blown away by this story that it became all the more compelling to get to know more about him. He was clearly a person full of life wisdom.

*

A month later, I flew back to Colorado to meet up with the team at the project site in Colorado Springs. I had plans to stay for at least three weeks and was excited for all that I was going to learn about the work and about the guys on the job. The team was there to pilot test the remediation of PFAS-contaminated soil using a patented process.

The days were busy. The guys ran back and forth across the site all day long. It was easy to pepper them with questions about the project, and they were happy to help me learn. But I saved the chit chat for the moments that would not disrupt their flow like during coffee breaks.

When the first weekend rolled around, the team got together for a BBQ and some karaoke fun. The fella had told me earlier in the week that he had been spending his time in retirement singing every weekend in Texas bars. Huh! It was his absolute passion and a way to make some cash. Rumor had it that he had brought along his setup. And by golly he did! I arrived at the campsite where a few of the guys were living in their RVs instead of a hotel room. Set up by the wall of the gazebo were large speakers, a laptop, a monitor from which to read the lyrics, and a mixer. He was serious about this karaoke business!

The fella picked up the mic and started to sing a country tune. Suddenly, I felt like I was seeing a completely different person than the poker-faced man he was on the jobsite, always seated, pensive, and reserved. A man of few words unless he had something solid to contribute to the conversation.

But with a mic in his hand and the tunes at once cranking, his face lit up, his voice full throttle, and there he went, rollicking his way around the space as if he were stepping off a stage and into the aisles of a performance theater to engage with his audience. Amused and charmed, I got into the spirit and started dancing myself. I even took a turn to sing karaoke—which is pretty much out of character for me. I love to sing, but it’s usually in the privacy of my home or my car.

That night, I didn't care. I even hammed it up a bit. It was a fun night of bonding with the team.

*

One day the following week or so, I was walking the jobsite photographing the work, when I caught the fella out of the side of my eye, singing away, while manning the equipment. I smiled to myself and decided to sidle up and say hello. At that point, things had gotten chummier with the guys, and I was less worried about interrupting their flow while working.

I leaned in so he could hear me over the whir of the machine.“That night was just about one of the only times I’ve done karaoke in public.”

“You did a fine job!” he said all sweet and supportive. I went on to explain that it was hard to sing without the actual singers to prompt me."Well now you just have to do it all the time. You know, the Good Lord said, singing is good for your soul,” he said, with his face all lit up, just as it had while singing. There was nothing but utter joy in his words.

I smiled and nodded. "Yes, it is. Music can change your mood in a second. It really is good for the soul." He smiled back. BIG. And I thought to myself, yeah, we are different in many ways but does it really matter?

Over the remaining days I was on the jobsite, we talked a lot about the teamwork needed to have a successful project. Naturally, our conversations evolved to other subjects, and I eventually learned that we had both worked on Wake Island, and that he had traveled quite a bit in Southeast Asia just as I had. In short, the more we talked about regular stuff, the more I realized we had much in common. Plus, this fella was a person, who like the rest of us, had invested years into his craft as a master tradesman and a singer. And there was nothing to feel but honor and respect for that.

Still, I knew we had differences. Given the basics about this fella, there was a strong likelihood that we differed politically. For some people, that would be enough to send them running in the opposite direction. But I never asked nor did I need to or care to know.

Rather, I relished in relating as two people who like to sing—he publicly, me privately. As two people working on the same project—he with a wrench, me with a camera. As two people staying hydrated and fueled every day--he with Keurig coffee and Dr. Pepper, me with Starbucks coffee and seltzer water. And finally, as two people simply living and experiencing the human condition.

#1world1people

Post-script: I had posted a shortened version of this story on my social media when I was still in Colorado Springs. Later, a friend of mine shared this observation: “I think you have a gift for connecting with people who are very different from you, whether we're talking about a different culture or different political views…It's one thing to have conversations with people who are different from us, but it's another thing entirely to build rapport and mutual respect and see our shared humanity.” 

I felt validated, even though I often wonder if my stories are overly simplistic and naive. But then I think, no, they aren’t. I am a brown-skinned, female, child of immigrants. Characteristics that are often the target of hate and anger in political discourse. Yet, I’ve been lucky not to experience that hate and anger personally. Instead, I’ve developed great relationships of mutual respect, admiration, and fun with so many people who are seemingly quite different than me, especially politically. It is this story, my story, that keeps me hopeful in the face of the constant barrage of outrage. And is why I have come to know that people are not and should not be defined by their votes or their politics.