My Lyft driver is lost

“Oh, wow, 2:00 A.M.,” I mumbled to nobody in particular amongst the chatter, fits of laughter, and loud music of this spontaneous house party. 

“Time to call my Lyft.”

My driver, Faizon, would be arriving nine minutes from now in a black Chevrolet Suburban. 

I made my round of goodbyes. A myriad of fistbumps, bro hugs, and long embraces accordingly, then headed out into the neighborhood to wait. 

There was a biting chill in the breeze making its way off the Gulf just a few blocks west. Nothing compared to the fierce, frozen wisps from Lake Michigan that tear through your clothes, your skin, and your very soul… but enough to warrant a snug pull and buttoning up of my corduroy jacket.  

A block away were headlights from a large SUV. Likely my guy. 

So I started towards it, keeping to the middle of the quiet street on the off-chance that I was about to interrupt strangers doing something they didn’t want seen. 

I was buzzed, but not drunk, on a sampling of the party host’s own blends from his days of operating a small winery in Washington state. “I’ve got 50 pallets stored at a friend’s house here in town. Pretty good stuff. No way I was leaving it behind.”

Close enough now to the SUV to make out the driver, the hollow glow of screenlight revealing his face. No other headlike shadows seemed to be present. 

“Faizon?” I called, and gave a friendly waive. 

The window glass slid down, Faizon began apologizing for the wonky mapping that led him three houses away. 

“Probably my fault,” I told him as I slid into the seat behind him. “I didn’t know the exact address. We can blame the satellites.”

In the time it took to weave our way through the neighborhood and reach the main road, Faizon was confessing to me his lack of direction – in life. 

“My family wants me to go back to New York,” he said, pausing under the weight of the idea. “But, I don’t know. I like being here.”

Faizon is 30. His family are his parents. No partner or spawn “Yet.”

He’s searching for his “thing.” 

(rubbing hands together) My specialty. 

Once I had a clear enough picture of his scenario, I shifted seats to where we could lock eyes in his rearview mirror. 

“Faizon,” I said, relieved to hear that I was a glass or two shy of slurred speech (always the first to go on me)…

“We live in the most incredible time in history…” I went on. His eyes intensifying in the mirror. 

“You can take full college courses online – for free.”

“You can develop skills around anything you like doing and sell those skills from anywhere in the world.”

“You’re young. You’re smart. And, right now, you’re responsible only for yourself.”

“That is an incredible set of gifts,” I told him, leaning forward.

“Yes, yes,” he said.

“The only thing you need to do now…” I said. “Is find the thing that gives you purpose.”  

“That is the next gift waiting on you,” I told him. “But, you’ll have to seek it.”

“Your family loves you and wants you to be safe. Probably find a proven path. But, that might not be your path.”

I knew Faizon was relating because he subtly closed the back windows tight to reduce the wind noise.

“Listen… They likely didn’t have the choices and opportunities you have now,” I continued. “So, you’ll have to show them what is possible.”

“Not tell them because you heard it,” I said. “But show them, because you see it.”

“They can only believe when you believe.” 

“Yes. I can see that,” he said, as we exited the highway. “Very true.”

This would be the part of an actual coaching session where I would begin asking questions about what that purpose might be, and begin to explore the options. 

But now the ride was over. 

“It was very good to meet you,” Faizon said as we stopped in front of my house. “I’m very glad you got into my car.”

“I’m glad, too, Faizon. You’re a good dude.”

I reached over to shake his hand, “You’ve got big things to do. Go do ‘em.”