combine western culture’s constant offensive towards inconvenience, a tendency towards shy and a
slight fierce romance with caffeine and you have the perfect recipe for driving through.
i am not in a hurry. the wait is often longer. i am just sometimes more comfortable with alone.
i love people. but i am continually baffled by the tendency we have to stand in near proximity of each other and not speak. not connect.
the silence makes my skin itch. i desperately want to say something. anything.
to acknowledge each other–a commonality:
- that we are all here searching for the same unburied treasure. shots of espresso mixed with some sort of sugar and creaminess…to feel good, to keep us moving forward a few more hours
- that we are all on our way to somewhere…
- that if we opened up our backpacks and compared the contents, the similarities might surprise and encourage….
yet no one speaks….
and i am sure that if i open my mouth, some sort of incomprehensible phrase will dribble down my chin and i will be left with the embarrassment of wiping it away while the other person tries to pretend they didn’t see.
so i drive through. where i am safe from the awkwardness of my flat words or no response…safe from the discomfort of a connection i am not used to.
but sometimes i park. i grip my phone a little tighter and i look around the room with false bravado and smile a little too big when i make eye contact.
and i say something. a compliment. a question. even a cliched isn’t it hot today.
and i connect.
i leave with a feeling that i am certain does not come from two shots of espresso. and i would like to think someone else is feeling it too.