It’s been five years already—five years since they told us we had to stay indoors to help flatten the curve. I had just moved to Ecuador, my wife had barely unpacked her bags, when the world decided to completely halt.
When I think about those days, a mix of emotions runs through me. Frustration, anger, nostalgia, shock—to name a few. It was as if everything I thought I knew about how the world worked collapsed right before my eyes.
Among the chaos and frustration, though, came opportunities for growth—time for deep introspection.
A couple weeks after they closed all the roads, my mother got a special phone call. The government had rolled out strict rules for us mortals to move around—restrictions on plate numbers, curfews enforced by the military. A dystopia of sorts, if I’m being honest.
The voice on the line was Debbie, a young girl my mother had met once when she was passing through town. To make sense of this story, you need to know that Debbie and her husband were part of a tribe of impromptu explorers—thousands of them traveling across South America in humble vans, Combis to be exact. Their adventures were captured in social media posts. But for Debbie, that adventure was starting to turn gray.
Travelers like her don’t have a set plan or a savings account to fall back on. They figure out each day as it comes. Calling it an adventure isn’t an exaggeration. Selling cookies, dancing on the streets, cleaning windshields—anything to make a coin is fair game for these brave souls. But what could she do to get by when she wasn’t even allowed to step out of her van, the only "house" she had?
My mother didn’t hesitate for a minute. She invited Debbie to move onto the farm with us. How we’d make room for everyone? Still to be figured out.
I remember learning about Debbie’s lifestyle and feeling anxiety creep in. Not knowing where your next meal will come from isn’t new to me, but those are days I never want to revisit.
Debbie became part of the family right away. It took her a few days to find where she could pitch in, where she was needed. Her attitude was always contagious, always welcome. Not a single day went by when she wasn’t smiling ear to ear, no matter what she was doing.
My cousin found in Debbie not just a friend, but a sister. Debbie would help with Bella, a two-year-old with no sense of danger and endless energy.
Debbie stayed with us for a full year—a year of lockdowns, all of us "trapped" in what we called our improvised kibbutz. She became so valuable to us that when she left, we all cried. We knew how much we’d miss her and how much she’d done for us.
The girl we thought we were helping—saving because she had nothing—gave us more than we ever imagined. Talk about a twist of fate.
I find this lesson so valuable, so powerful. In life, we spend countless hours trying to figure out why we’re valuable, if we deserve things. Do we deserve love? Kindness? A helping hand?
You see, Debbie taught me about a type of wealth we almost never talk about, one that’s maybe ten times more precious than anything you can count with numbers. Social Wealth—the best kind of riches there is.
MenO
Indeed! a social wealth which is full of unconditional and unexpected love, kindness, gratitude, retribution and the willingness to lend a hand when someone needs it, is one of those lovely things that pleasantly surprises us from time to time.
Im glad in the end he showed me what he was doing because it was destroying my brain!
lol
Hahahaha, yeah, exactly. Although the real moral of the story I wanted to convey here was: "It always takes two to tango."
I heard your story about Debbie in the podcast yesterday. I've always found it intriguing that people go on an adventure like that.
Funny to see that you can become so close with strangers in a short time.
It reminds me on a lkvelynphrase from a popular song that goes: "strangers are strangers until they meet".
So true. We need to pay more attention to paying attention to people. Both to strangers as the ones close to use.
One of the most valuable thing you can give someone is time.
the one thing you can never get back- very true.