People Who Need People

As much as I treasure my solitude, people fascinate me.  I had to chew on that idea a while, because it seems to be an oxymoron.  

It’s crowds of people that bother me.  Even among friends I know and love, I feel easier with one or two at a time than I do with a large crowd.  That fits, because it is a sense of overload that sends me running for cover, and trying to keep up with everything going on around me in a crowd could easily contribute to that.  

Crowds of strangers—forget it!  I think one of the hardest things I ever made myself do was to go to a party that hosted by my German professor and her husband.  First off, it was in Country Club Estates, which by definition was out of my league.  I told myself also that that was nonsense; everyone there were people who wanted to learn and who were essentially the same.  My German prof and her husband were very down-to-earth people, they sincerely enjoyed having this once-a-year thing for the students taking German—all levels.  And it was good for extra credit.  In other words it was one of those college “experiences” that is supposed to enrich and enlarge your world.  The kind of thing my gregarious eldest thrives upon.  Where did I get these children?  

But I digress….

I arrived.  Of course everyone was speaking German.  I’m quiet when I speak English.  I held my own when I needed to, but mostly I wanted to do what I do best: observe.  The entire house was white—carpet, sofa, chairs—despite the fact that these two had two children, both under nine.  Now that I’m married to a German, I understand that the kids were probably under the threat of death if they dared come into the living room with anything that could possibly spill. There were other more comfortable places within the walls of this HUGE house that the kids probably found more welcoming.  They were sweet kids.  I wish I could remember names, but the fact that I can’t goes toward how uncomfortable I was with the situation.  I do remember the punch was divine.  I kept a clutch on a glass at all times.

That is about the extent of my enriching experience.  There was no place to find any comfort, because just about everyone there was a stranger.  I don’t think I stayed long.  

I enjoy people more either from a distance (watching them at the airport or train terminal) or one-on-one.  

I am currently getting to know a woman in her early 60s.  She lost her husband close to 20 years ago and still misses him every day.  I can tell by her eagerness to show pictures of their vacations together, as if by explaining all that they saw and did, I will come to appreciate him as she did.  I find a joy in that, in understanding her love for him and how it lives on.  We have traded stories about aches and pains and injuries to ourselves and to our children.  She spent a week in Mexico with her husband and a group that included Diane Sawyer.  The Diane Sawyer who happens to be on a current cover of Good Housekeeping, I believe.  “My” Diane held the magazine up beside her which fluttered just a bit with the tremor that is always present in her hand and said, “She’s sixty, I’m sixty-three.  No comparison!”  But there was no self-denigration there.  Just a simple statement of fact.  There was a distinct physical difference. I replied that we had no idea how many layers of makeup were on D.S., to which my Diane responded, “She’s a beautiful woman, inside.”  And isn’t that all that really matters?  Both Dianes are the same in that regard.

My Diane is always asking questions.  I hope that when I’m 63, I still ask questions, still search for answers, remain eager to learn, and continue holding the faith that the answers are out there, if we just pause long enough and are humble enough to be led instead of insisting that we lead ourselves.  

What a ramble, but it’s a write.  Got to get back in the swing of things.