the elusive "hello"
Earlier today, I ducked out of the pit of distraction I was experiencing at home to take a walk in the 40 degree afternoon.
I had a lot of thoughts in my head, and I wanted to walk along with them instead of sit underneath a cloud of them... thoughts are so restless in a cloud. The ones that are the loudest or angriest or most intense seem to gain floating electrons from the quieter ones until, like lightning, they burst through the cloud and crash into me with great force.
It was a beautiful day. Blue sky, warm sunshine, very little ice left on the sidewalks after the deep freeze that hit over the holidays. I walked quietly, with NPR's "song of the day" playing from my new iPhone through my headphones. It's a small way to feel like Tom is with me when he's at work.
I thought about the things going on in the lives of people I care about... the anticipation of new life, the challenging but exciting work of moving across the world, the prospect of a new job that changes your life, the devastating loss of normalcy after a tragic and cruel twist of fate enters your path.
As I walked, many people crossed my path. Two women chatting and pushing a stroller, Lockheed Martin employees on their endlessly revolving cigarette breaks, high-life hipsters from CPB reluctant to leave late lunches, older men getting some sunshine.
I live in a small sub-section of a low-key city... an area that people are attracted to because of the peaceful farmlands, the endless trails, and the sleepy attitude paired with easy access to the sexier rock climbing, skiing, and night life just down the road. It's hardly Manhattan... this is the kind of place, if any, that someone should be able to go next door to ask for a cup of sugar.
But as I walked, almost no one looked up at me as we passed each other.
The two women pushing the stroller actually physically turned away from me as we walked-- the one closest to me pulling her arm in close, and flinched her face as if protecting herself from a bad smell.
A man carrying a six pack of New Belgium beers half-smiled in my direction before I did, but the elderly gentleman behind him not only ignored my smile-- he seemed to glare as we passed when I nodded a friendly 'hello'.
Two 30-something men sitting behind their ad agency not only didn't smile at me-- they openly stared as I walked past them. It was a cold, empty, "she can't see us" stare.
It made me think about my dad's brother Ted, who lives in Florida, and who I've only met once. Ted is a completely withdrawn man... he sold his family up the river as a young man, acted out of self-interest through his adulthood, and always relied on others to simply give him things instead of ever working (or otherwise participating in his life). He lives in a trailer where he lived as a hoarder for years... outraged when my parents came to help him clean. He didn't want to part with the stacked dirty plates & utensils that sat in the fridge for years after he finished eating off of them... didn't want to throw away trash bags filled with pieces of paper he'd torn out of newspapers, magazines, flyers, and the like.
As I walked, I wondered-- who says hello to Ted? If they won't even look at a twenty-something woman with a happy stride and an engaging expression, who looks at the small, pale, socially anxious man who only comes outside to get food before dashing back home?
How many people talk to my uncle? How many people know his name? If he passed me on the street, would we say hello to each other?
It took me falling (madly) in love and getting married to realize the extent of my loneliness before Tom and I started dating. I was aching from loneliness... knotted in anxiety and flinging myself into every open door of opportunity I could find to fend it off. When those opportunities turned out less substantial than I'd hoped, the feeling of alone-ness intensified. It is worse to be lonely with other people than it is to simply be alone.
Over the last few years, I've noticed how odd it is that everyone seems to be home in my neighborhood... all the time. There are a few families, but mostly it's single people in their 30s and young couples. Why are we all just here, hunkered down in our sunny abodes all the time?
It makes me sad that I don't know my neighbors. It makes me sad that we, as people, make connections so much harder than they need to be. Friends treat each other harshly during bad moments of self-interest... family members take each other for granted and use their harshest words on the ones they love most. Neighbors pass on the sidewalk buried behind headphones and the day's mail.
Several years ago, I knocked on my neighbor's door to let the family who lived there know that I'd be gone for 2 weeks, just in case there was any kind of emergency... and who to contact if they needed anything. I've never seen such a confused reaction. I think they felt embarrassed, because months later one of them made a shy and awkward invitation to "maybe come by for dinner sometime," which was appreciated, but we've never talked since. In fact, I've barely seen them since that day. And for an entire complex of people who either have unemployment, freelance jobs, or enormous trust funds, I feel like we should all be like the cast of Cheers by now.
My wish for 2011 and my future, in general, is to feel more at peace with my connections. To be brave enough to say hi, and to have people in my life who are conscientious about connections. I get anxious with long-distance friendships if they 'require' a lot of sonar pings... but I deeply value the 'fewer but more substantial' check-ins.
We've been considering a dog lately, and although this isn't the right home or financial time in life to get one, I can't wait to have a irresistible pal with me on my future walks who will demand that people stop and smile.
If only we had wagging tails...
I had a lot of thoughts in my head, and I wanted to walk along with them instead of sit underneath a cloud of them... thoughts are so restless in a cloud. The ones that are the loudest or angriest or most intense seem to gain floating electrons from the quieter ones until, like lightning, they burst through the cloud and crash into me with great force.
It was a beautiful day. Blue sky, warm sunshine, very little ice left on the sidewalks after the deep freeze that hit over the holidays. I walked quietly, with NPR's "song of the day" playing from my new iPhone through my headphones. It's a small way to feel like Tom is with me when he's at work.
I thought about the things going on in the lives of people I care about... the anticipation of new life, the challenging but exciting work of moving across the world, the prospect of a new job that changes your life, the devastating loss of normalcy after a tragic and cruel twist of fate enters your path.
As I walked, many people crossed my path. Two women chatting and pushing a stroller, Lockheed Martin employees on their endlessly revolving cigarette breaks, high-life hipsters from CPB reluctant to leave late lunches, older men getting some sunshine.
I live in a small sub-section of a low-key city... an area that people are attracted to because of the peaceful farmlands, the endless trails, and the sleepy attitude paired with easy access to the sexier rock climbing, skiing, and night life just down the road. It's hardly Manhattan... this is the kind of place, if any, that someone should be able to go next door to ask for a cup of sugar.
But as I walked, almost no one looked up at me as we passed each other.
The two women pushing the stroller actually physically turned away from me as we walked-- the one closest to me pulling her arm in close, and flinched her face as if protecting herself from a bad smell.
A man carrying a six pack of New Belgium beers half-smiled in my direction before I did, but the elderly gentleman behind him not only ignored my smile-- he seemed to glare as we passed when I nodded a friendly 'hello'.
Two 30-something men sitting behind their ad agency not only didn't smile at me-- they openly stared as I walked past them. It was a cold, empty, "she can't see us" stare.
It made me think about my dad's brother Ted, who lives in Florida, and who I've only met once. Ted is a completely withdrawn man... he sold his family up the river as a young man, acted out of self-interest through his adulthood, and always relied on others to simply give him things instead of ever working (or otherwise participating in his life). He lives in a trailer where he lived as a hoarder for years... outraged when my parents came to help him clean. He didn't want to part with the stacked dirty plates & utensils that sat in the fridge for years after he finished eating off of them... didn't want to throw away trash bags filled with pieces of paper he'd torn out of newspapers, magazines, flyers, and the like.
As I walked, I wondered-- who says hello to Ted? If they won't even look at a twenty-something woman with a happy stride and an engaging expression, who looks at the small, pale, socially anxious man who only comes outside to get food before dashing back home?
How many people talk to my uncle? How many people know his name? If he passed me on the street, would we say hello to each other?
It took me falling (madly) in love and getting married to realize the extent of my loneliness before Tom and I started dating. I was aching from loneliness... knotted in anxiety and flinging myself into every open door of opportunity I could find to fend it off. When those opportunities turned out less substantial than I'd hoped, the feeling of alone-ness intensified. It is worse to be lonely with other people than it is to simply be alone.
Over the last few years, I've noticed how odd it is that everyone seems to be home in my neighborhood... all the time. There are a few families, but mostly it's single people in their 30s and young couples. Why are we all just here, hunkered down in our sunny abodes all the time?
It makes me sad that I don't know my neighbors. It makes me sad that we, as people, make connections so much harder than they need to be. Friends treat each other harshly during bad moments of self-interest... family members take each other for granted and use their harshest words on the ones they love most. Neighbors pass on the sidewalk buried behind headphones and the day's mail.
Several years ago, I knocked on my neighbor's door to let the family who lived there know that I'd be gone for 2 weeks, just in case there was any kind of emergency... and who to contact if they needed anything. I've never seen such a confused reaction. I think they felt embarrassed, because months later one of them made a shy and awkward invitation to "maybe come by for dinner sometime," which was appreciated, but we've never talked since. In fact, I've barely seen them since that day. And for an entire complex of people who either have unemployment, freelance jobs, or enormous trust funds, I feel like we should all be like the cast of Cheers by now.
My wish for 2011 and my future, in general, is to feel more at peace with my connections. To be brave enough to say hi, and to have people in my life who are conscientious about connections. I get anxious with long-distance friendships if they 'require' a lot of sonar pings... but I deeply value the 'fewer but more substantial' check-ins.
We've been considering a dog lately, and although this isn't the right home or financial time in life to get one, I can't wait to have a irresistible pal with me on my future walks who will demand that people stop and smile.
If only we had wagging tails...
posted by JustJane at
4:16 PM
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