Important disclaimer - I can’t speak for all Bodegas - but this one was off Amsterdam Ave in Harlem. I should also note with this in mind, that I fired my first bodega. Let’s just say the first one had some friends (rats and roaches) visit while I was waiting for my breakfast sandwich one morning. IT WAS HORRIBLE…unfortunately because I was young and borderline poor, I still ate the sandwich that day, since I had already paid for it…no regrets, just trauma.

As an aspiring New Yorker would, I persevered and started walking a bit further to another place, which became my bodega. The guy at the register was probably in his 20s or early 30s but was so full of life. He played music occasionally, had an amazing sense of humor, and was consistent with the banter with neighborhood locals. The patrons were a melting pot made up of neighborhood veterans, young people, and elders. Thinking back on these interactions, there are 5 major things that I learned from my bodega man.

1. ‘You’ll be alright’ I’m convinced that people who manage/ work in bodegas are therapists who sell plantain chips. They see so many people day in and day out and I believe that they can quickly tell someone’s vibe, mood, and even if the guy you’re currently dating is a dud or not just by a once over. If I ever needed a laugh or if I was going through a tough time I could always, though I never expected it, count on my bodega man to make me smile or crack up when I went in. I remember times when I would go there stale-faced, determined not to laugh or smile, in my own world and he would say some random funny sentence before handing me my bag. I would have no choice but to give in and laugh. Instant smiles. Day saved. It really taught me to take life as it comes.

2. Respect everyone, but take no mess. Everyone (well unless you got on his bad side) was welcome and was treated well. There weren’t too many times that I saw him angry, but he definitely had a switch. I’ll never forget his curt reaction to a patron who lived in the building above the bodega and would frequent. He told the patron to get out immediately (with more colorful language) and didn’t care that they didn’t purchase anything. I suppose another lesson here is that money doesn’t make you richer if you have to sacrifice your self-worth or integrity to earn it.

3. Keep the lights on. This place was always open. Even during blizzards and storms, the lights would be on and there would always be food behind the counter ready to be prepared or served. When everything else was closed, he was open. It reminded me of my sports days and how powerful consistency is. Bigger than this - in these moments - he became an anchor. A person that our neighborhood could rely on.

4. Humor just makes everything better. Bad hair day - humor. Breakup - humor. Stepped in dog crap on your way to work - humor. I think New Yorkers in general are great at this, but for my bodega man - humor was an entry point for communication and a way to break tension in five seconds or less. When writing this, I did my best to remember one particular funny thing he said - but I can’t. Maybe because everything was pretty funny…

5. Community is currency. This past summer at EY I created a presentation about different types of wealth/ currencies. I was inspired by a presentation given at a United Way mentor session, but I had learned this before from none other than my bodega man. When I was living in NYC I had a very interesting life (once again - stories for another time) but there were seasons when I had some cash and seasons/ days when I was basically…well, I was just BROKE. So there would be days when I had to crack open my change jar to pay for my sandwich. He never judged me for paying with quarters, dimes, or even - yes - pennies on an odd day or week. I’m not talking a few pennies - I mean like a counter full of pennies to pay for my sandwich. He politely counted every one - no judgment.

   I’ll never forget one special moment. One day when I was waiting for my sandwich, he looked up at me and said - ‘My friend, you got money you eat. You don’t got money - you eat’. Now I would never think to go there and order food that I couldn’t pay for (hence the pennies) but the look in his eyes said ‘I got you’. For me - a NYC transplant from Texas who had lived in different places for college and my early adulthood, that meant everything. To me it meant family.

There were other people in that community who made me feel like family - stories that deserve their own blog, but man do I miss my bodega. So much so that on one of my trips back to NYC - I made my husband come with me to all my local spots in Harlem and yes - the bodega was on the list. I didn’t ask if he remembered me. It was enough that I remembered him.

When I was in elementary and middle school I loved playing soccer and it was 'my sport'. I played and would (thanks to my parents) spend the weeknights and weekends running from practices to games in Texas, where I grew up. One weekend - my parents split responsibilities, and my dad took me to a soccer tournament while my mother planned to take my brothers to a football game.

During one of my games - I slid in for a goal and landed under the goalie. Now if you know me IRL, you might know that I'm not very tall and when I was in middle school, I was small in frame compared to other kids (side-thought: BUT I WAS FAST!!!!). When I slid for the goal - the goalie fell on top of me…I got up to finish the goal since the ball stopped just short of the goal line. In that moment, I yanked my leg out and shattered my ankle. The feeling was so incredibly painful that I went in and out of blacking out for the next hours. Worse, I had to ride in an ambulance by myself with what felt like my ankle dangling from my body. This led to two years of surgeries and recoveries (at one point on both ankles due to my growth plate being shattered in the incident). Recovery was TOUGH and in middle school, when you're already awkward, being in a wheelchair with your legs in two casts was somewhat embarrassing… Definitely didn’t help with any potential crushes I had. The years after this is when resilience comes into play - my parents felt strongly that I should try a different sport due to the injury and recovery, and so basketball and track were two they encouraged.

I LOVED playing basketball. LOVED it, but let me tell you the truth - I wasn’t even decently good until about 9th grade. Like I couldn't make a layup, made the 'b' team, and my skill wasn't up to snuff with my speed (think bricked layups, leaving the ball behind when dribbling, tripping from dribbling too fast…you get the point). Until...8th grade summer I spent every day for many hours at a time at a gym in my hometown. To be honest - my parents would drop me off on their way to work and would pick me up after work. I worked on my shot, layups, and ball handling for HOURS. I got with a skills trainer and told myself that 'if I wasn't working hard, that someone else was'.

I hesitate to write this, but it’s the truth…Growing up in Texas in the 90s- I also faced a lot of adversity and politics related to my race. It's simply a fact (stories for another time), but the cool thing about sports was always if you were the fastest, shot the highest percentage, jumped the farthest, or could get past any defender - at some point that's hard to deny [and it was]. But I wasn’t good enough to make varsity or junior varsity as a freshman. I knew that no one would ever ‘give’ me anything. In fact, even at that young age experience taught me the opposite – so I had to find a way…

Through hard work, finding additional support, and taking every opportunity to shoot around and play against guys twice my size I did improve. I asked the men’s basketball coach at my school to open the gym for me at 5:00 AM during the school year so that I could workout before school. My sophomore year, I showed up to the first days of practice/ tryouts as a much better player and was able to compete. I had high hopes but when the rosters came out, I still didn’t make varsity. So I did the only thing I knew – I worked even harder. I also learned for the first time how to advocate for myself (mostly because I didn’t want my parents to intercede on my behalf). I wanted to EARN that spot. So every day after practice I’d shoot 300-500+ extra shots, I played more against guys twice my size, learned how to play with contact, and I found select (AAU) teams that challenged me. Playing and practicing against some of the best talent in the country (some of my favorite memories).

At the end of my sophomore summer, exhausted from skills, AAU games and practices, traveling across the country, and still getting extra reps in outside of this…I got my first 2 college letters at once. One from a top 25 program and one from a smaller program in Texas. All before I even made the varsity team. The adversity, challenges, and lessons DEFINITELY don’t stop there (more stories and lessons for another time) but it was enough to teach me an important life lesson.

Sometimes we don’t know if the hard work we’re putting in will pay off, BUT in my opinion the only way to be when you have a vision for something is to go after it to the best of your ability. There’s more to this story and mine, but if you’ve been on the grindstone and haven’t seen the results just yet, keep going. I remember these feelings of overcoming adversity (again there’s more!!) many times when faced with challenges. Especially remembering these times since becoming a first-time mom. There is ALWAYS a way…

No matter what – the hard work will pay off OR it will develop something inside of you that no one can stop.

Resilience.

<3

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