Whereupon I Found Kindness in a Surprising Place

by Rebecca Zeines (United States of America)

A leap into the unknown USA

I'd never hitchhiked in the US before, and it had been a few years since I last stuck my thumb out and hoped for the best on a remote Greek Island where I'd missed my stop on the last bus of the day. I was nervous, but I was also coming out of one of the most powerful spiritual experiences I'd ever had—a 10-day Vipassana meditation course. It left me feeling light as air and hopeful for what the world has to offer. [subtitle]Early morning, Baton Rouge, LA. My ride and host from Dallas, TX to Baton Rouge dropped me off a few hundred feet away from the entrance of the I-10, headed towards New Orleans. An hour's drive, it felt like a good starting point on my 5-day journey to Miami. That's when I heard it—a yell. "Hey! What're you doin'?" I was confused, unsure of what was going on. "Yer skippin' the line. Dontcha know 'bout hobo etiquette?!" A leather-faced man, somewhere in his thirties, wheeled and kicked his way over to me, grousing over my disrespect of how things work. It took me a few seconds of his ranting for me to grasp my mistake. I apologized. "Please sir, if you just tell me where I can stand, I'm more than happy to go there." A little bit more grousing, but he gave in, and waved me over to the street corner he was using, midway between where I stood and the I-10, before pointing me to the next street corner, no more than 50 feet from the interstate entrance. But before I headed to my designated hitchhiking spot, Wheelchair Man's friend started chatting with me. "You don't have a sign. Here, grab some cardboard and this marker. Gotta write it down fer them drivers." I meticulously marked down "NOLA" on my makeshift sign, thanking him. [subtitle]Making Friends in Strange Places "Ya know, I've been travelin' since I was 13." Brian, Brain, or Louisiana, as he told me he was called depending on the place, had left a physically abusive home as a child. For the last 35 years, he'd hopped cars and trains, exploring the four corners of the United States. We chatted for a while, even after I went to stand at my corner. He came out of the gas station behind me, holding a bottle of beer in a paper bag. "I'm an alcoholic, you know." Curiously, I asked him if he'd ever stop. He shrugged. "I'm too far gone by now. I need it to be okay, and that's never gonna change." Somehow, on one of the most random adventures I've ever been on, in all my years exploring the world and its people, I'd found a stranger who believed in and actively practiced unconditional kindness. Even as an alcoholic drug addict with a life story filled with hardships, Louisiana was a giver. It took two hours before I got picked up by an Iraqi refugee battling the medical education system to make it in his chosen career (but that's a different story). In that span of time, Louisiana watched over me from afar, making sure none of the many addicts hanging in that part of Baton Rouge accosted me. He gifted me a bag of sugar cookies, that accompanied me all the way to Miami, and even the Bahamas. Louisiana gave me hope. He'd had a hard life. He was illiterate. He existed in a state of survival and self-defence, but he also believed in how good begets good. His gift of friendship, even as a single moment in time, stayed with me for days following our encounter. He motivated me to keep giving a chance to strangers. He reminded me that my gut instinct would guide me right, even if sometimes to surprising places. It's why Louisiana, even four years later, epitomizes the 'why' behind my travels. To keep hope alive.