A Puzzle of Connections

My first week of work left me with much to consider. Above all else I became aware of my strong desire to connect. I feel it growing. I long to connect. I want to interact.

I began to think I was strange.

I was withering away like a plant without sun while the business world around me seemed to nourish itself on excel spreadsheets, florescent lights, and cubicles. How was I such an anomaly? 

I felt strange until I realized I wasn’t.

One morning as I rode the train, I noticed the driver interacting with his radio the way many men interact with their televisions during football games. He yelled, gestured, complained, and at times nodded in agreement. A desire to connect. When he realized I was paying attention, I became the new radio. He complained to me about delays on the tracks, shared his wisdom of the T system, and emphasized the duty he felt to the passengers of his train.

Before work, I bought fruit from a uniquely clothed vendor. He wore a suit made from fabric filled with prints of watermelons. He joyfully chatted with each customer and displayed his new vendor’s license with pride. A desire to connect.

At dinner on Thursday night I overheard a conversation at the next table. The waitress refilled water glasses and without any prompting began to tell the table about her three kids. A desire to connect.

I began to see it everywhere, a desire to connect.

It’s like a puzzle.

I spend the better part of every day thinking about my own piece. I’ve memorized my own shape; I’m aware of all the ways I am different. I take pride in my individuality.

But, when I am truly engaged and interacting with someone, there is energy. I am shaken from my self-created isolation and forced to remember that I am human, and that is a shared experience.

Connecting with people is like connecting pieces of a puzzle. The pieces are still unique, but they aren’t alone.

I think each of us, in varying degrees, craves connection. As much as we want to feel unique, we also want to feel a part of something. We should. If we fail to recognize all the ways we are similar, we leave too much room to mediate on and build resentment for all the ways we differ.

It’s like the puzzle. What if we only valued the uniqueness of individual puzzle pieces? What if we never spent time recognizing the relations of the pieces? Sure, we still have 1,000 beautiful pieces, but still one shattered whole.

I have a desire to connect and I have decided that that is neither strange nor bad. In fact, I choose to devote more time to truly and wholeheartedly listening. Only then am I immersed in similarities rather than begrudging differences.    

The Ethan Lesson

There was much excitement at my house on Sunday night; everyone was anxiously anticipating the first day of work. Personally, I had packed my lunch, prepared my work bag, googled my train transfers, and enlisted a panel of housemates to approve my first-day-of-work outfit.

At 8:06AM the next morning I squeezed on to the train full of business people. Almost immediately, I was less proud of the blouse and pencil skirt I had painstakingly picked out. I felt cold and stiff; I was just another dressed up someone ignoring the world with the help of my headphones. What were we all doing? Acting as if our separate soundtracks made each other invisible?

I arrived at work too early and had to kill time with a few laps around the block. After my disheartening train ride, I was ready to begin the heartfelt work of a nonprofit. My supervisor was kind enough to treat me to coffee and conversation for the first hour of my day. Following the initial hour, most of my day consisted of reading introductory materials, setting up accounts, and performing clerical duties. During the drowsy hour after lunch, I was jealous of my computer as it periodically fell asleep.

Everyone was incredibly nice and the day was neither boring nor overwhelming, but I still had a stiff and cold feeling from the train. Yes, the nonprofit I work for does great things, but I felt my day had been mainly shuffling papers. I wanted to serve coffee, drive a train, or feed the homeless. I craved tangible action. I craved the energy of relationships.

As I left work I concluded that I was ill fit for employment. I felt my day was too stiff and corporate yet I would likely find the action I craved too disorderly and draining. I simply wanted to spend all day of everyday interacting and connecting. I wanted to be the commander of my schedule. Yes, definitely ill fit for employment.

When it came time to transfer trains I noticed a blind man attempting to exit the packed train car. A few people were helping to clear a path, but in general it was a sardine can. I lingered near the blind man neither wanting to watch him face a crowded subway alone nor wanting to insult his intelligence by offering help.

A few steps from the train he asked a woman for directions to the green line. He quickly became flustered and communication seemed cross, so I took this as my cue. I told him I was headed to the green line and he was welcome to walk with me. He took my arm. We walked; he talked.

He had the entire metro system memorized and notified me as we passed each platform. I was still feeling protective, so I boarded a train I didn’t really need to make sure he wouldn’t encounter more unexpected complications.

His name was Ethan and he had lived in Boston his whole life. Our conversation centered mainly on public transportation systems and the statistics course he was taking. His knowledge amazed me. He had every bus route in Boston memorized. To Ethan Boston was, “the best”.

Once we parted I started to think, who am I to spend so much energy on the negative? I have spent years of my life worrying about things I can not change and obsessing over unsavory details. I have only one current situation and it’s “the best”.

Saturday

Today was one of hills and valleys, especially in the sense of intentional community. I struggled today because I didn’t feel wholly understood, admired, or needed. I noticed myself both wanting to be sought after and invited by everyone and simultaneously wanting to be free of obligations to anyone. I caught myself thinking, “If I can just survive this year, I’ll really start my life when the program ends.” This thought startled me.

Survive this year? Surviving is the last adjective I want to use to describe this year. I thought back to the day I learned of my acceptance into the Life Together program. I literally jumped and danced around my room with pure joy. I know this is where I am meant to be and I know I am not meant to merely survive.

My thoughts shifted to all my previous goals and aspirations for the year. I want to grow spiritually; I want to read and learn about anything and everything; I want to experience culture; I want to travel; I want to appreciate the wisdom of my housemates; I want to meet new people; I want to reflect on my own passions.

This is not a year to survive, but rather one to come alive.

After these thoughts, something happened; I saw each of my housemates in a light of love. Their strengths, faults, habits, and perspectives remained the same, but I began to cherish them. Suddenly there was more beauty in smiles, wisdom in differences, and humor in habits. Caught up in my blind love for my house I marched downstairs and washed dishes that weren’t mine.

I have fallen in love with being in love. I don’t mean this in a sappy or romantic sense. Instead, I have fallen in love with the idea of looking for the lovable; the decision to be what is love. I have fallen in love with the idea of caring to the extent that I become a much smaller part of the equation.

I am devoting this year to loving, to questioning, and to wondering. I wish to challenge my instincts, to care when I would rather give up, to learn when I would rather judge, and to open myself to amazement when I’m blinded by mundane. I want to learn and find everything this year and this community have to offer, but I need to become more humble to do it. 


P.S. These photos are from our first community dinner. They have nothing to do with the blog post, but they're still nice :)