Twenty years ago,
while I was sitting in the chair getting a mani/pedi, I did what came naturally
to me -- I observed the people around me: men and women, young and old, white,
black and brown, ranging across the socioeconomic spectrum. They were ordinary people, though
some may have been extraordinary, I didn't know. All I could say about them was
what I saw -- how some used the time in the spa as their quiet time, even
sleeping. Others were oblivious to everything around them as they flipped
through magazines and books. Then there were the talkative ones -- some
friendly, and some, unfortunately, rude.
Week after
week, I returned to the salon. Once, as I sat in that chair, I realized that I hardly
noticed the technicians. It was almost as if my eyes didn't see them, as if
they weren't in the room, completely invisible to my mind.
Why had I done
that?
Looking around
again, I noticed that I wasn't the only one practically ignoring these women
who were providing some of the most intimate of services for us. Even in many
faiths, the washing of someone's feet is considered an act of pure love. Yet,
as these women washed and cared for my feet and hands, I had ignored them. Not
on purpose, but the result was still the same.
That's when my
focus and attention shifted to the technicians. Now, I wanted to know who these
women were? Where had they come from? Of course, I knew they were Vietnamese,
but I wanted to really know where they came from? What had they been
through? Why did they leave their homes to come here? Why were they in America?
All kinds of
questions swirled through my mind as I became determined to excavate the
stories of their lives.
So, I opened a
dialogue with them in the way that many therapists do: “So… tell me about your
childhood.”
At first, the
women were timid, as if they weren't sure they should speak or trust me. One
woman said to me, “You are the first person to ever ask me about my life.”
With the
passage of time, the floodgates opened. Soon, they began to tell me so much,
the words pouring out almost faster than their thoughts. It was as if their
stories had been dormant inside of them, waiting for a time such as this. As if
with their release, they could relieve themselves of some of the sadness and
burdens that they'd carried with them from their homeland.
The more these women shared, the more I began to see
the totality of who they were, the depth of the challenges that they'd been
through and as women who influenced the nail industry across the country. And
while their stories were so similar, I discovered that the technicians were as
unique and varied as the many colors of nail polish on display.
Somewhere
along the line I decided that I wanted to tell their stories; I wanted to give
others a chance to “see” them. It was during the initial stages of preparing
the book proposal that I fully grasped the enormity of the task. My “research” took me beyond my neighborhood
salon of 20 years to a chance meeting with Charlie Vo. It was then that I
decided to tell the collective stories of the “boat people” primarily through
the complete story of one – Charlie, who arrived in this country in 1981, and
two years later was a millionaire.
In the process of
meeting and talking to these incredible women, I also discovered the
fascinating history of the nail industry.
Going back 3000 years, nail color has been integral to many ancient
societies and in modern times, it still is.
What other
“luxury” is shared by just about everyone we come in contact with? I’ve talked
to men and women who have experienced a mani/pedi at some point in their lifetime. “Raise your hand if you’ve ever had a
mani/pedi?” Have you ever wondered about the women who are cutting your
cuticles and scrubbing your feet?
My secret hope
was that this book would change people on a cellular level; that they would
take the time to truly “see” people, that they’d be interested in these
immigrant women and be inspired by their stories. I had no idea that I would be
so dramatically changed in the process of writing this book.
***
You’d think as the CEO of a nonprofit, where much of my
job is public speaking, asking for contributions and leading a staff, that I
would be an extrovert. I’m not. I’m painfully shy and a classic introvert. I
write grants and academic papers. I don’t write novels. I’ve never written
anything like this. So, at the start of this project, I was insecure and
doubtful about my ability to pull it off.
It was on the third interview with Charlie and her
business partner, Olivett that I realized the impact these two women had on me.
We were sitting around Olivett’s kitchen table and I was watching them (because
that’s what I do) and I was immersed in their laughter; just letting it wash
over me. I remember having the conscious realization that their joy was rising
up within me and healing every broken piece of me. Broken pieces I didn’t even
know I had. In that moment, I believed I could do anything. My insecurities
slipped into the crevices and cracks of my brokenness and the light of their
laughter warmed me from the inside.
I asked Charlie, “When did you know that you were
going to be successful”? Without missing a beat, she tossed her thumb toward
Olivett and said, “When I met her”. This duo, one Vietnamese refugee and the
other African American, in Los Angles in the early 1980’s... How did that even
work? A time and place that was riddled with racial tension and America was
still grappling with the Vietnam war and categorically rejected these
immigrants. These two women never saw skin color. They only saw a friend. They
only saw an opportunity to lift each other up and not just themselves, they
lifted the lives of every woman that worked in their salons and every customer
that sat in their chairs. And here’s what I learned about myself through these
women.
1.
To
not be afraid to ask for what I need and want. The worst you can say is no.
Every step of this project, I had to be bold and ask people for help, advise,
direction and connection.
2.
To
be strong in my convictions. At one point in this process, it was suggested
that I veer away from the women’s stories and focus on the story of the
industry. That was a “non-negotiable” and I would not waver. I lost a writing
partner and editor as a result and that’s okay.
3.
To
not be afraid to move forward. I had to move myself from a place of insecurity
and doubt to a place of confidence and fearlessness. Charlie took a risk when
she decided to flee her war torn country and get on a dinky little boat and
cast her hope for a better life in America.
4.
To
trust. This was epic for me. I don’t trust easily. Look around your life. If
you don’t have a single person you can trust, you need new friends.
5.
Be
the person others would want to be around. Charlie and Olivett worked hard and
laughed often. People gravitated to their salon because it was a joyful place
to be. I want to be that person that others want to be around.
I found my voice while writing ManTrap.
