What A Moroccan Uber Driver Can Teach Us About Living
Life is simple, but we insist on complicating it
I’m not a fiction writer.
I prefer writing stories that happened to me - or someone else - than coming up with fictional ones.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to dunk on fiction writers. In fact, I hold those writers in high regard and have great admiration for them — often collecting their sentences and drooling over their elegant words. But my writing muse comes from living life and then writing about it. I don’t know if this feeling will persist, but for now, it is what it is.
I’m sure at some point I will get sick of excavating my past. But currently, I see the world brimming with possibility and opportunity, waiting for me to notice and grab hold of them.
I love to write. But I also hate sitting at my desk, tapping away at my laptop, when I’d much rather go out and experience the world.
I’d rather see, experience and feel things. And then, only then, try to put pen to paper. Not the other way around.
Last week I said I felt stuck in writing. My thoughts felt jumbled, and my pen felt heavier than usual as I tried to scratch out words.
To break the rut, I dragged myself away from my desk in Birmingham and spent a few days in London.
On Saturday afternoon, I headed out to celebrate a friend’s 30th birthday. As I reached St John’s Wood Station, the Transport for London staff told me there was no Jubilee line service running. The nearest station, Baker Street, was about twenty minutes walk away. If I walked there, I would arrive at least 45 minutes late for the party. And I hate being late. So, I booked an Uber to ferry me across London.
7 minutes later, a black Ford people carrier pulled up, and a 60-year-old Moroccan man named Driss greeted me. He asked me how my day was going. I told him how I was feeling frustrated by the Jubilee line closure and that I was now running late.
“Ah yes, I wonder why it’s shut. Well, there’s nothing you can do about it now. It is what it is. You cannot control what has happened. You’ve done all you can by booking an Uber. And don’t worry, I’ll do my best to get you there on time.”
Driss’s response surprised me. It was such a stoic response and served as a good reminder for me to focus on things within my control and let go of the things I can’t.
I asked how long he had been doing Uber, and he said about ten years, but before that, he was the head chef at a French restaurant.
Big career transitions intrigue me. I suppose it stems from my own experience of transitioning from poker player to writer.
So I asked him what spurred the transition from chef to Uber driver. Driss explained how the last restaurant he worked at fired him. Knowing he had done nothing wrong, he took the restaurant to court. He then looked at me through the rearview mirror with watered eyes and said, “It’s one of the proudest things I’ve ever done. I researched and prepared a 120-page document, represented myself in court and won.”
Driss refused to return to the restaurant industry after the court battle. He jumped ship to Uber because, after 3 decades of grinding out 12 hour days, it allowed him to focus on what mattered to him - spending time with his loved ones.
I learned all about Driss’s past. How he left Morocco and came to London for better opportunities. How he slept on the benches in Victoria Station whilst he searched for work. How he met his wife, who is Moroccan too, in London. How one of his daughters recently graduated as a kinesiologist. How he doesn’t see himself as an Uber driver, but as someone who drives a car and meets new people every day. And how he keeps a tiny little black notebook to write down the lessons he learned from the strangers he drives around.
“There are no strangers here; Only friends you haven’t yet met.” — William Butler Yeats
As Driss zoomed down the road running alongside the River Thames towards London Bridge, I asked him, “To you, what is the meaning of life?”
“It’s great having all this money, yet I’ve met many people on these Uber rides who have financial freedom but don’t have anything else. I think we sometimes forget that we start with nothing and we die with nothing. I have everything I want in life. I have a home and food to eat. I have a wife who loves me, and two daughters who are healthy and making their way through the world. I have friends who deeply care for me. And that is enough. What matters is how we spend our short time on this earth. Keep it simple. Be polite. Be responsible. Be kind. Work hard but not too hard that we lose ourselves. Stand up for what is right. Improve the lives of those around us and remember to live.”
I needed that. I often think about the Frank Sinatra line, “when you're smilin' the whole world smiles with you.” Meeting Driss and hearing his words echo my internal thoughts felt like the world was smiling back at me. After speaking to him, the anxiety I had been feeling over the last few weeks melted away.
They say, “old habits die hard.”
It’s true. Even as a former poker player, I still think a lot about luck. Because of that, ‘serendipity’ is my favourite word.
Had I not gone down to London. Had I left my aunt’s house earlier. Had St John’s Wood Station not been shut. Had I walked to Baker Street. Or had I called the Uber 30 seconds later, I would have missed out on Driss’ company and wisdom.
These unplanned chance encounters remind me of how often Lady Luck smiles at us. But only if we pay attention.
I had been obsessing over finding more copywriting work, and it was getting me nowhere. But for the sake of my soul and writing, I needed to go out into the world and live. I needed to take a risk. Put myself out there. Talk to strangers. Ask questions.
And although I find writing hard, I know when I live from purpose, curiosity and experience, the pen feels lighter in my hand.
