“Organic Growth: 5 Plant Inspired Insights"
March 23rd, 2022 (Originally posted October 11th, 2021)
I met Benny today.
A 40 something year old man with greying hair and a warm heart that contrasts his rugged exterior he presents to the world.
I ask Benny how long he’s been doing this, working this kind of job.
“Oh, idk about 6 or 7 years” he replies, never turning his attention away from the task at hand.
“And how many floors do you average a day,” I ask.
“Ha, no idea.”
“You’ve never counted?”
“Not once. If I had to guess, I’d reckon close to 200.”
I think about the elevator doors opening and closing 200 times. About the 200 faces that walk on, needing to get from this floor to that floor. think about the 200 conversations he overhears, about lunch or what weekend plans may be.
I think about Benny, an elevator operator that spends ten hours of his day in this stainless steel box with no windows, no music, and no chairs, pushing those 200 buttons a day.
I wonder how he feels in other elevators. Does he compare them to his or does he simply avoid them? I wonder if he’s the type of New Yorker that goes to a bar after a long day of work or home to his family where he’s able to sit and do as he pleases. I wonder what he was like as a kid. Did he ever see himself there, on his 4x6’ cushioned pad, suspended only by metal wire, spending more time in between floors than on them.
As the elevator was nearing the top floor it began to rattle. I, like any sensible person who’s a hundred feet above ground, looked nervously at the other passengers. One even went as far to say “That don’t feel right, you don’t feel that man?”
Benny, without even turning let out a chuckle.
“Don’t even feel it anymore, been doing this so long,” he paused to let riders from a new floor tell him what floor they’re headed to. “The challenge ain’t the elevator falling, its getting the clock to keep moving. Eight hours here feels like twenty.”
I got off the elevator. I was as fascinated by Benny as I was relieved that a falling elevator hadn’t forced me to start believing in Jesus and thanked Benny for his work. I was too afraid to ask if he was happy but I could see that he was content.
There, hidden in that windowless elevator in Midtown is a man who stands all day on his feet and pushes elevator buttons. A man who, had it not been for today I would have never known. A man who taught me, just by existing, that I can afford to be more patient, more resilient, and more present.
I wonder if tomorrow, he’ll count the floors.
A 40 something year old man with greying hair and a warm heart that contrasts his rugged exterior he presents to the world.
I ask Benny how long he’s been doing this, working this kind of job.
“Oh, idk about 6 or 7 years” he replies, never turning his attention away from the task at hand.
“And how many floors do you average a day,” I ask.
“Ha, no idea.”
“You’ve never counted?”
“Not once. If I had to guess, I’d reckon close to 200.”
I think about the elevator doors opening and closing 200 times. About the 200 faces that walk on, needing to get from this floor to that floor. think about the 200 conversations he overhears, about lunch or what weekend plans may be.
I think about Benny, an elevator operator that spends ten hours of his day in this stainless steel box with no windows, no music, and no chairs, pushing those 200 buttons a day.
I wonder how he feels in other elevators. Does he compare them to his or does he simply avoid them? I wonder if he’s the type of New Yorker that goes to a bar after a long day of work or home to his family where he’s able to sit and do as he pleases. I wonder what he was like as a kid. Did he ever see himself there, on his 4x6’ cushioned pad, suspended only by metal wire, spending more time in between floors than on them.
As the elevator was nearing the top floor it began to rattle. I, like any sensible person who’s a hundred feet above ground, looked nervously at the other passengers. One even went as far to say “That don’t feel right, you don’t feel that man?”
Benny, without even turning let out a chuckle.
“Don’t even feel it anymore, been doing this so long,” he paused to let riders from a new floor tell him what floor they’re headed to. “The challenge ain’t the elevator falling, its getting the clock to keep moving. Eight hours here feels like twenty.”
I got off the elevator. I was as fascinated by Benny as I was relieved that a falling elevator hadn’t forced me to start believing in Jesus and thanked Benny for his work. I was too afraid to ask if he was happy but I could see that he was content.
There, hidden in that windowless elevator in Midtown is a man who stands all day on his feet and pushes elevator buttons. A man who, had it not been for today I would have never known. A man who taught me, just by existing, that I can afford to be more patient, more resilient, and more present.
I wonder if tomorrow, he’ll count the floors.
I met Benny today.
A 40 something year old man with greying hair and a warm heart that contrasts his rugged exterior he presents to the world.
I ask Benny how long he’s been doing this, working this kind of job.
“Oh, idk about 6 or 7 years” he replies, never turning his attention away from the task at hand.
“And how many floors do you average a day,” I ask.
“Ha, no idea.”
“You’ve never counted?”
“Not once. If I had to guess, I’d reckon close to 200.”
I think about the elevator doors opening and closing 200 times. About the 200 faces that walk on, needing to get from this floor to that floor. think about the 200 conversations he overhears, about lunch or what weekend plans may be.
I think about Benny, an elevator operator that spends ten hours of his day in this stainless steel box with no windows, no music, and no chairs, pushing those 200 buttons a day.
I wonder how he feels in other elevators. Does he compare them to his or does he simply avoid them? I wonder if he’s the type of New Yorker that goes to a bar after a long day of work or home to his family where he’s able to sit and do as he pleases. I wonder what he was like as a kid. Did he ever see himself there, on his 4x6’ cushioned pad, suspended only by metal wire, spending more time in between floors than on them.
As the elevator was nearing the top floor it began to rattle. I, like any sensible person who’s a hundred feet above ground, looked nervously at the other passengers. One even went as far to say “That don’t feel right, you don’t feel that man?”
Benny, without even turning let out a chuckle.
“Don’t even feel it anymore, been doing this so long,” he paused to let riders from a new floor tell him what floor they’re headed to. “The challenge ain’t the elevator falling, its getting the clock to keep moving. Eight hours here feels like twenty.”
I got off the elevator. I was as fascinated by Benny as I was relieved that a falling elevator hadn’t forced me to start believing in Jesus and thanked Benny for his work. I was too afraid to ask if he was happy but I could see that he was content.
There, hidden in that windowless elevator in Midtown is a man who stands all day on his feet and pushes elevator buttons. A man who, had it not been for today I would have never known. A man who taught me, just by existing, that I can afford to be more patient, more resilient, and more present.
I wonder if tomorrow, he’ll count the floors.
A 40 something year old man with greying hair and a warm heart that contrasts his rugged exterior he presents to the world.
I ask Benny how long he’s been doing this, working this kind of job.
“Oh, idk about 6 or 7 years” he replies, never turning his attention away from the task at hand.
“And how many floors do you average a day,” I ask.
“Ha, no idea.”
“You’ve never counted?”
“Not once. If I had to guess, I’d reckon close to 200.”
I think about the elevator doors opening and closing 200 times. About the 200 faces that walk on, needing to get from this floor to that floor. think about the 200 conversations he overhears, about lunch or what weekend plans may be.
I think about Benny, an elevator operator that spends ten hours of his day in this stainless steel box with no windows, no music, and no chairs, pushing those 200 buttons a day.
I wonder how he feels in other elevators. Does he compare them to his or does he simply avoid them? I wonder if he’s the type of New Yorker that goes to a bar after a long day of work or home to his family where he’s able to sit and do as he pleases. I wonder what he was like as a kid. Did he ever see himself there, on his 4x6’ cushioned pad, suspended only by metal wire, spending more time in between floors than on them.
As the elevator was nearing the top floor it began to rattle. I, like any sensible person who’s a hundred feet above ground, looked nervously at the other passengers. One even went as far to say “That don’t feel right, you don’t feel that man?”
Benny, without even turning let out a chuckle.
“Don’t even feel it anymore, been doing this so long,” he paused to let riders from a new floor tell him what floor they’re headed to. “The challenge ain’t the elevator falling, its getting the clock to keep moving. Eight hours here feels like twenty.”
I got off the elevator. I was as fascinated by Benny as I was relieved that a falling elevator hadn’t forced me to start believing in Jesus and thanked Benny for his work. I was too afraid to ask if he was happy but I could see that he was content.
There, hidden in that windowless elevator in Midtown is a man who stands all day on his feet and pushes elevator buttons. A man who, had it not been for today I would have never known. A man who taught me, just by existing, that I can afford to be more patient, more resilient, and more present.
I wonder if tomorrow, he’ll count the floors.
.svg){kind=small}
