At about 5:00 this morning, I picked up a young man named Edward and ubered him home. He was clearly in at least his mid-to-late twenties, but he was inordinately concerned about his parents’ opinion of him getting home so late. It was about a 15-minute drive, so we had a little time to talk.
Now I talk to all kinds of interesting people everyday. It’s my favorite part of driving for Uber and Lyft. Naturally, topics vary, and the quality of a conversation can range from the deeply philosophical to the irrefutably shallow. Sometimes I have a great deal to contribute, particularly when we touch upon a topic in which I have a great interest or personal experience; sometimes I have a passenger who wants to engage in religious or political discussions with a clear bias that would drive me nuts if I indulged. Not to mention possibly alienate an otherwise friendly enough client.
But upon occasion, a conversation ranges into more personal territory. I’ve actually had a conversation with a bartender who suggested that aspects of our job were very similar, and was quick to suggest that my psychology degree was hardly wasted on my current paradigm. Yet somehow, perhaps because of my own stressors in recent weeks, I was wholly unprepared for this morning’s conversation with Edward.
Edward needs help. It wasn’t lost on me that our destination was a very rich neighborhood and that I dropped him off at a very big house, but he was still a young man struggling to get his life in order in the face of addiction and parents he couldn’t communicate with. I got the strong impression that our conversation, such as it was, meant a great deal to him. I listened, which he doesn’t seem to get a lot. I didn’t judge, which he seemed to find a little confusing.
But most importantly, Edward talked about his addiction in very plain terms, and wanted help. My heart went out to him, and I felt woefully unprepared. I’m going to spend some time today looking for phone numbers or something I can offer people who need that kind of help. I advised him on what to look for, what kind of person to talk to, and he seemed genuinely invested in the idea… But I have no idea what will happen to Edward.
Ultimately, of course, it’s his life to live. Like many people from every walk of life, he struggles with depression, and he continuously turns back to drugs and alcohol to find solace. He’s surrounded by people who help support his habit, rather than provide any real friendship. I discussed the situation with him very frankly, and urged him to take action, but I have no choice now but to put him in my rearview mirror and hope he find some answers.
I like to think I’m a better person for it, but I dread the idea that I fail to make a difference, that I don’t try hard enough. That it’s somehow harder to reach a hand out to those in need when you bury yourself beneath your own struggles in life.
Next time, I hope I do better.