Elephants

In the long history of humankind (and animal kind, too) those who learned 
to collaborate and improvise most effectively have prevailed. 
Charles Darwin

There’s a French expression that my friend taught me: you can’t eat a whole elephant in one bite.  I felt like this was appropriate to apply to removing two feet of snow that surrounded my car.  I kept my expectations low by reasoning that women's bodies weren't meant to lift shovels and shovels of snow anyway, right?  Therefore, it was fine if it took me all day to remove all the snow surrounding my car.  It was just me and my (landlord’s) shovel to lock down this job.  

My breath grew deeper after the first five scoops of snow were lifted and tossed across the street.  My knitted hat was filling with sweat but within half an hour the driver's side was clear. What a miracle!  I took a coffee break.

As I started up again, I couldn't help but amuse myself with the ridiculous metaphor from The Dictator,  “I love it when women go to school. It's like seeing a monkey on roller skates -- it means nothing to them, but it's so adorable for us...".  This crossed my mind due to how pathetic I imagined I looked as I lifted the snow up and threw it over the fence.  It was then that my humor was abruptly interrupted.

“You can’t put that snow there.” said a man coming out of the house nearby.

I looked up and acknowledged him, smiling in the way that someone does when they hear what was said but are going to ignore it anyway. 

“I don’t think you understand," he continued, "Really, it’s too much.  The pile is too big.”

What he was telling me, was that I had to remove all the snow from the passenger side of my car to the other side of the street.  This includes not only lifting the snow, but walking it as well.  Moving it was strenuous enough on its own but - are you trying to KILL me?  I had to retaliate. 

“Why can’t I put it here?!  It’s not blocking anything – the door, the walkway!“  I cried out, staring at him and then back at the mountain of snow in his front yard. 

“It’s blocking the window." he said.  "You need to move it over there.  You need to move it off the sidewalk, too.  I paid someone to shovel that yesterday.”

“It's not possible for me to move it over there!”

“I had to do it and you have to try.”  He said as he started to shovel around his own van in front of the house.  Another man had entered the street and I turned my head to him for support. 

“You can’t put it there.” He told me.

“But it’s not possible.” I told him, my arms hanging down with the shovel glancing from the snow in front of me to the other side of the street.  “I’m not CAPABLE.”

Ice cube tears of frustration were trying to pop out of my eyes and big sad gulps were moving in my throat.  I blamed New England.  I blamed all the stereotypes connected with it: cold, efficient, high achieving, neurotic and less caring.  In the simple lyrics of Regina Spektor in Ode to Divorce, “Why don’t you help a brother out?  Out?  Ouuuuuuuut.”

However, this man then began to shovel with me - redeeming some of my more negative thoughts. 

“Thank you.  This is such a big help….” I said a few times.

He pitied me and continued.  He helped shovel around the back of my car, asked if it was good, and mumbled something as he walked back inside his house.  I began to seriously question why I live here.  Why not California?

Yet, since I had been helped, I could feel a different energy in the air.  Though I had gotten off to a poor start with the first man, it didn't matter.  He was many years older than me and could use a hand, despite how inept my hand might be.  Soon we found ourselves working at the front of my car and the back of his.  There was another guy with him now who was helping enthusiastically.

“Thank you!  That’s such a big help.” I told him.

“Oh, I’m just happy to help!  Are you from around here?” he asked me. 

“Yeah, I live across the street.”  I told him, thinking of how that should be obvious.  Then I realized his mind was different from mine.  “Are you from around here?” I asked.

“No, I’m from Medford.  I live near a restaurant, so I’m all set.” He said, beaming from ear to ear.

Turns out he was getting paid to help for a bit and he left not much later.  It was now down to me and the first man, who I was now high-fiving with my shovel every time we were able to clear more of the snow.  I helped him clear out underneath his car.  He then suggested I move my car so we could clear out underneath it and said that if we fully cleared out all the walls of snow between the vehicles, he could park his other car there.  Now that my muscles had gotten used to the motions and the endorphins were working their magic, I felt better. 

His name was Donald and he had already shoveled out his driveway yesterday.  He was decades older than me and I couldn't imagine shoveling such an amount of snow.  I gained more respect for him and began to feel more comfortable than I had when he first told me to stop piling snow in his front yard.  This felt better. 

Darwin apparently wrote more about compassion, love and collaboration in Origin of Species than competition and survival of the fittest.  He wrote, “In the long history of humankind (and animal kind, too) those who learned to collaborate and improvise most effectively have prevailed.”   This makes sense, despite us often being more suspicious of than gracious towards people.  But once collaboration begins, we get excited about working together even more.

Three hours later, my car was in the clear and looking good.  The sun was shining and this caused it to actually shimmer, making up for the soreness in my back.  I said goodbye to Donald, wished him luck with some of his other shoveling and tumbled back into my house.  I looked down towards my roommate’s car still held captive underneath all the snow.  I hoped the sun and rain would clean it up before she comes back from France because I did NOT want to start biting off pieces of that elephant.