A couple of years ago, on a Saturday afternoon, I was watching an episode of Lost that I had Tivo’ed from the week before. I think it was the one where Michael killed Ana Lucia and Libby, because I remember that I was really into it – it was just getting good. I had been interrupted three or four times already, by my mom asking me to take my laundry upstairs or my dad showing me a newspaper article, stuff like that, so I was a bit perturbed already. It was in the last five minutes when my sister yelled “Hey, Matt! Come look at this!” I was so enraged that I couldn’t get forty-five minutes to myself that I finally just shut it off and said out loud, “Screw it, I’ll just watch it later, I guess. WHAT?” She meekly handed me a packet we had just gotten in the mail from Plan II, and we all know what a big packet instead of a dinky white envelope means. My only response was, “…oh.”
Whatever I do, I’ve noticed that I have the tendency to try to make it an experience instead of just another action, especially when it comes to media. I prefer watching movies in a dark room on my laptop with my headphones in – I can shut out the outside world, so the only thing that my senses can possibly perceive is the movie itself. I get into it more, I engage myself more fully when there are no distractions to pull me away. I think my roommate thinks that I’m antisocial because when I’m in the room, I usually have my headphones in playing music full blast instead of having a conversation for the sake of having a conversation. I do that a lot when I listen to music. I’ll lie in bed with my iPod, shut my eyes, crank it up, and just enjoy. I can’t keep one earbud in as background music while I’m having a conversation or whatever, because I usually end up getting caught up in a guitar solo and tuning out the person I’m talking to. Not a great conversational skill.
For the last couple years, I’ve tried to live by a maxim that I came up with – “Do what you’re doing.” If you’re talking with someone, then talk with him and pay attention, don’t wonder what’s for dinner. If you’re reading a book, don’t stop every couple of paragraphs to get a drink of water or look around. If you’re writing, don’t check Facebook every five minutes. It loses its flow, it doesn’t mean as much when you don’t just get into it and enjoy it for all it’s worth. I came up with this idea during the summer after my junior year of high school when our class went to Europe for three weeks. We went to Hungary, Slovakia, Croatia, and everywhere worth going to in Italy, among other places – not to be cliché, but it was the kind of trip you only get the chance to do once. All around me, though, all I heard was bitching about the food not being good enough, the rules were too strict, the bus was too cramped, etc, etc. I just wanted to tell everyone to chill the fuck out. Maybe listening to a song you’ve heard a million times isn’t an experience, but touring the Sistine Chapel sure as hell is. Pay attention, look at the murals and stuff, and stop complaining that you think someone stole one of your T-shirts. You’re here, you chose to be here, you can’t change it, so you’re only hurting yourself by not fully engaging in your surroundings.
I’ve found that the opposite of this is also true – if you don’t want to be somewhere, then don’t be there. Obviously, everyone is forced to deal with certain unpleasantness that pops up occasionally, but it’s easy enough to disengage mentally, if not physically. If I’m in a really boring class, for example, I’ll usually just halfheartedly scribble down whatever the professor is saying while I’m off in my own little world. Not paying attention makes the time go faster. This is obviously easier when the situation has a definite endpoint – a fifty-minute class period, for example, or the guy that lives across the hall that you absolutely hate deciding to sit across from you at dinner. Even if it seems like it’ll never end, it will, and you know when it will. Almost anything’s bearable for a predefined period of time.
I just seem to take more enjoyment out of life when I, as I said, do what it is that I’m doing. I take more away from it when I’m able to completely immerse myself in a movie or a TV show or a song or a conversation. It just seems like a waste of time, otherwise. Yeah, I spent three hours of my life reading this book, but I didn’t understand any of it because I wasn’t paying attention. I can either spend more time rereading it, or I can just call it a loss and move on. Neither of those options is really appealing. Hence, if you see me sprawled out in the Quad with my nose buried in book, don’t come up to me and ask me how I’m doing because you haven’t seen me for three hours. Unless your name is Tim. I always have time for you, sweetcheeks:)
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Monday, October 29, 2007
Life barrels on like a runaway train.
I went back home for my high school’s homecoming this weekend. It was an interesting experience. Three guys from our class showed up, and one of them still lives in Dallas, anyway. I didn’t talk to either of them longer than the obligatory handshake and pleasantries. It’s not that we don’t like each other, it just seems like we didn’t really have anything to say. Only a couple guys from the class of ’07, also, and nobody from ’05. Alums that I knew were few and far between. I ended up hanging out with Br. Stephen and Br. Philip the entire time. It was fun, but it made for some interesting musing once I got home.
It wasn’t that I felt out of place, exactly; after all the time I spent there, I don’t think I could ever feel like a stranger at Cistercian. I felt like an outsider. I left and went to college, I’ve been doing my own shit for the last year and a half, but things back there kept on the same way they always have. Guys that were in seventh, eighth, ninth grade while I was there are the top dogs now, and teachers treat them just like they treated us senior year – as friends more than students. It’ll eventually cycle out to where I don’t know any students at the school at all, by which point all but the most dedicated teachers will have left, too. I didn’t feel anything like this when I went to homecoming last year, but I think it’s because it was too fresh – I’d really only been gone for about a month and a half, so Cistercian still felt like home just as much as it always had. Last year, chilling in the stands and cheering for the team, I felt like I’d never really left. Not the same this year, though.
During sophomore year, it seems like I’ve been gone long enough to feel distant from everyone there, but I haven’t been gone long enough quite yet to feel nostalgic about my time there. I made a pass around campus, hit up the senior classrooms and the lunchroom and the pub, but it didn’t bring back that many memories that I don’t call up on a daily basis. That’s it – I felt distant, detached, somehow. I was watching the same shit that always happened, chatting with teachers, hitting on girls, buying popcorn, stuff that I did a million times, except it wasn’t mine anymore. I felt like there wasn’t much of a point in being there. I mean, yeah, it was good seeing everyone, but it only made me think about how much I’ve changed since I graduated and came to college. I’m a completely different person than I was in August 2006, there’s no doubt about that. It just didn’t feel like I’d had enough distance since senior year to appreciate it purely for nostalgic value. I was trying to fall back into my old role of actually being a Cistercian student, which didn’t work at all. I can’t do that anymore, and I learned that.
Before the game, I went to Ball’s Burgers to get a plate of nachos. Good shit, I can’t finish a full plate. On my way out, I ran into two kids wearing Cistercian t-shirts. I struck up a conversation, turns out they’re eighth graders this year. I told them I was a sophomore in college, pointed to my Texas sweatshirt, and their jaws dropped. I was a god, I was a friggin’ college student, and here I was, talking about E-Lab and Art tests. They were hanging on to my every word, something that hasn’t happened to me in a very long time, if ever. Somehow, thinking back on it, it only made me more depressed, though. In a few years, these kids are gonna be seniors, and after that, they’ll be the college students who happen to run into middle schoolers and shoot the shit for a few minutes. By that time, I’ll probably have left my Cistercian days far behind me. I might come back for the occasional Christmas or lunch with an old friend, but besides that, I’ll be living my own life.
It’s just weird, I guess, knowing that I had my time and finished it, and now I’m off doing my own thing, but things continue on at Cistercian like they always have and always will. I don’t have a place there anymore, there’s nothing left for me to do. I’m welcome to come visit occasionally, I’m sure, but that’s pretty much it. I’m finally at the point where, as a whole, our class of ’06 doesn’t rely on Cistercian anymore. We’re not “the class” anymore – we’re 44 independent people who may happen to drop in from time to time and remember the bond we used to share a million years ago. There’s finally enough distance between now and my time at Cistercian to realize that. I don’t belong there anymore, and to be honest, that scares the shit out of me.
It wasn’t that I felt out of place, exactly; after all the time I spent there, I don’t think I could ever feel like a stranger at Cistercian. I felt like an outsider. I left and went to college, I’ve been doing my own shit for the last year and a half, but things back there kept on the same way they always have. Guys that were in seventh, eighth, ninth grade while I was there are the top dogs now, and teachers treat them just like they treated us senior year – as friends more than students. It’ll eventually cycle out to where I don’t know any students at the school at all, by which point all but the most dedicated teachers will have left, too. I didn’t feel anything like this when I went to homecoming last year, but I think it’s because it was too fresh – I’d really only been gone for about a month and a half, so Cistercian still felt like home just as much as it always had. Last year, chilling in the stands and cheering for the team, I felt like I’d never really left. Not the same this year, though.
During sophomore year, it seems like I’ve been gone long enough to feel distant from everyone there, but I haven’t been gone long enough quite yet to feel nostalgic about my time there. I made a pass around campus, hit up the senior classrooms and the lunchroom and the pub, but it didn’t bring back that many memories that I don’t call up on a daily basis. That’s it – I felt distant, detached, somehow. I was watching the same shit that always happened, chatting with teachers, hitting on girls, buying popcorn, stuff that I did a million times, except it wasn’t mine anymore. I felt like there wasn’t much of a point in being there. I mean, yeah, it was good seeing everyone, but it only made me think about how much I’ve changed since I graduated and came to college. I’m a completely different person than I was in August 2006, there’s no doubt about that. It just didn’t feel like I’d had enough distance since senior year to appreciate it purely for nostalgic value. I was trying to fall back into my old role of actually being a Cistercian student, which didn’t work at all. I can’t do that anymore, and I learned that.
Before the game, I went to Ball’s Burgers to get a plate of nachos. Good shit, I can’t finish a full plate. On my way out, I ran into two kids wearing Cistercian t-shirts. I struck up a conversation, turns out they’re eighth graders this year. I told them I was a sophomore in college, pointed to my Texas sweatshirt, and their jaws dropped. I was a god, I was a friggin’ college student, and here I was, talking about E-Lab and Art tests. They were hanging on to my every word, something that hasn’t happened to me in a very long time, if ever. Somehow, thinking back on it, it only made me more depressed, though. In a few years, these kids are gonna be seniors, and after that, they’ll be the college students who happen to run into middle schoolers and shoot the shit for a few minutes. By that time, I’ll probably have left my Cistercian days far behind me. I might come back for the occasional Christmas or lunch with an old friend, but besides that, I’ll be living my own life.
It’s just weird, I guess, knowing that I had my time and finished it, and now I’m off doing my own thing, but things continue on at Cistercian like they always have and always will. I don’t have a place there anymore, there’s nothing left for me to do. I’m welcome to come visit occasionally, I’m sure, but that’s pretty much it. I’m finally at the point where, as a whole, our class of ’06 doesn’t rely on Cistercian anymore. We’re not “the class” anymore – we’re 44 independent people who may happen to drop in from time to time and remember the bond we used to share a million years ago. There’s finally enough distance between now and my time at Cistercian to realize that. I don’t belong there anymore, and to be honest, that scares the shit out of me.
Monday, October 15, 2007
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I’m what you might call a night person. A person’s in a totally different mindset at three, four in the morning than he’s in at lunch or even when the sun’s just gone down. There’s something about that time of night, when businesses are long closed and most sane people have gone to bed, that attracts me, that always has. I can’t find the right word to describe it. Most good conversations seem to happen at night – I don’t know how many nights in high school I stayed up late on AIM, chatting about nothing and everything with whoever happened to be online at the time. It might simply be attributed to tiredness, synapses not firing the way they do after a good night of sleep. That can’t be it, though.
The whole world has a different feel to it when the only lights are coming from streetlamps and the occasional headlights of a passing car. You’re more open and honest with people then, maybe because of the simple rapport you share through knowing that you’re the only ones awake. Rationale and logic go out the window, and you begin to say what you really feel instead of tiptoeing around it. I can’t really call it cathartic, unless you have something you happen to be getting off your chest at the time. Ethereal, maybe. Surreal. I’ve told people things during various late night chats that, thinking back the next day, I wonder, Did I really say that out loud? Thinking about it further, though, I’ll realize that nine times out of ten, the statement in question was completely and utterly honest. That’s the way all conversations should be.
Last week, after walking back from 7-11 and encountering a homeless man asking us with tears in his eyes if we could spare a little bit of change for some gas money, a friend of mine made the intriguing comment, “I think three a.m. is when people’s lives start to suck.” It’s easy to hide from your problems in the hustle and bustle of a crowd, sitting in a packed restaurant or surrounded by a hundred people taking the same test you are. It’s easier to fit in, or at least pretend that you do. At night, though, when you finally have time to sit down by yourself and think about your station in life, everything becomes real. You can’t hide from it, you can’t distract yourself, you can’t pretend they’re not there because they’re not affecting your life at that very moment. When it’s just you, sitting on a street corner in darkness when there’s not a waking soul anywhere in sight, you feel like the only person in the world. All of your problems, your worries and fears and concerns, envelop you because that’s all there is. It’s a scary thing to some people, some more than others.
I’ve decided to stop telling people about whatever girl I might or might not have/develop a crush on as our relationship develops. I had a big thing for a girl last semester, and instead of telling her about it, I talked to everyone but her. Everything I wanted to say to her, everything I was feeling, I instead vented to various friends at various times of day. The same thing’s happened this semester on a much smaller scale. I’m tired of telling people over and over, “This is the girl, I can feel it,” “We have this great connection going on,” only to watch it fizzle out and simply stop bringing it up. Saying it out loud makes me feel like I’m doing something about it, even though I’m obviously not. If there’s a girl I like, I’m not going to talk to her for half an hour and then spend another two hours hashing over every nuance of the conversation with friends. Things I should be saying to her, I’m saying to Danny or Sean. I think that when I finally sit down with the girl that’s caught my eye and lay everything down on the line, I’d like to be in that late-night mindset. When I’m there, I’m not exactly logical or rational, but why should I be? It’s easier to talk to her in a stream of consciousness than stammer over every word, trying to decide what to say next that’s going to freak her out the least. If you think about it, in a strictly biological sense, is there anything logical or rational about love?
I’m pulling an all-nighter tonight because I can’t fall asleep. I slept for eleven hours two nights in a row, so when I laid down a few hours ago, sleep just didn’t come. I’m still not tired. Around me, I hear alarms going off, people waking up and showering and heading to their eight a.m. classes. The Quad’s not deserted anymore – some people are getting back from their morning jogs, others are ambling around, half awake, with a recently-purchased cup of coffee. The “real world” has returned in full force. I don’t think I’ll be in the same mindset I’m in now in a couple hours, once I’ve fallen back into my daily routine. Like I said earlier, that particular mindset can’t just come from a lack of sleep. It won’t be like normal, though, either. I’m not refreshed enough after a night spent chatting and reading to fall back into that pattern. I think I’m okay with that.
Postscript: I carried this poem around with me in my wallet until my mom ran it through the washer. I found it during a poetry research project junior year. Seems to reflect my thoughts on the matter exactly. Enjoy it, for what it's worth.
Acquainted with the Night
Robert Frost
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
O luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
The whole world has a different feel to it when the only lights are coming from streetlamps and the occasional headlights of a passing car. You’re more open and honest with people then, maybe because of the simple rapport you share through knowing that you’re the only ones awake. Rationale and logic go out the window, and you begin to say what you really feel instead of tiptoeing around it. I can’t really call it cathartic, unless you have something you happen to be getting off your chest at the time. Ethereal, maybe. Surreal. I’ve told people things during various late night chats that, thinking back the next day, I wonder, Did I really say that out loud? Thinking about it further, though, I’ll realize that nine times out of ten, the statement in question was completely and utterly honest. That’s the way all conversations should be.
Last week, after walking back from 7-11 and encountering a homeless man asking us with tears in his eyes if we could spare a little bit of change for some gas money, a friend of mine made the intriguing comment, “I think three a.m. is when people’s lives start to suck.” It’s easy to hide from your problems in the hustle and bustle of a crowd, sitting in a packed restaurant or surrounded by a hundred people taking the same test you are. It’s easier to fit in, or at least pretend that you do. At night, though, when you finally have time to sit down by yourself and think about your station in life, everything becomes real. You can’t hide from it, you can’t distract yourself, you can’t pretend they’re not there because they’re not affecting your life at that very moment. When it’s just you, sitting on a street corner in darkness when there’s not a waking soul anywhere in sight, you feel like the only person in the world. All of your problems, your worries and fears and concerns, envelop you because that’s all there is. It’s a scary thing to some people, some more than others.
I’ve decided to stop telling people about whatever girl I might or might not have/develop a crush on as our relationship develops. I had a big thing for a girl last semester, and instead of telling her about it, I talked to everyone but her. Everything I wanted to say to her, everything I was feeling, I instead vented to various friends at various times of day. The same thing’s happened this semester on a much smaller scale. I’m tired of telling people over and over, “This is the girl, I can feel it,” “We have this great connection going on,” only to watch it fizzle out and simply stop bringing it up. Saying it out loud makes me feel like I’m doing something about it, even though I’m obviously not. If there’s a girl I like, I’m not going to talk to her for half an hour and then spend another two hours hashing over every nuance of the conversation with friends. Things I should be saying to her, I’m saying to Danny or Sean. I think that when I finally sit down with the girl that’s caught my eye and lay everything down on the line, I’d like to be in that late-night mindset. When I’m there, I’m not exactly logical or rational, but why should I be? It’s easier to talk to her in a stream of consciousness than stammer over every word, trying to decide what to say next that’s going to freak her out the least. If you think about it, in a strictly biological sense, is there anything logical or rational about love?
I’m pulling an all-nighter tonight because I can’t fall asleep. I slept for eleven hours two nights in a row, so when I laid down a few hours ago, sleep just didn’t come. I’m still not tired. Around me, I hear alarms going off, people waking up and showering and heading to their eight a.m. classes. The Quad’s not deserted anymore – some people are getting back from their morning jogs, others are ambling around, half awake, with a recently-purchased cup of coffee. The “real world” has returned in full force. I don’t think I’ll be in the same mindset I’m in now in a couple hours, once I’ve fallen back into my daily routine. Like I said earlier, that particular mindset can’t just come from a lack of sleep. It won’t be like normal, though, either. I’m not refreshed enough after a night spent chatting and reading to fall back into that pattern. I think I’m okay with that.
Postscript: I carried this poem around with me in my wallet until my mom ran it through the washer. I found it during a poetry research project junior year. Seems to reflect my thoughts on the matter exactly. Enjoy it, for what it's worth.
Acquainted with the Night
Robert Frost
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
O luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Holding your cards close to your chest.
College is a very social environment – people meet each other for the first time on a daily basis. Some of these new relationships flicker and die as quickly as they’re born. The only interaction two people may have in their entire lifetime might be, “Hey, do you have the time?” “Yeah, it’s 3:30.” “Cool, thanks.” The two then go their separate ways, completely unaware that they each vote Democrat, have the same favorite movie, attended the same concert the weekend before, or maybe even have a mutual friend. Continuing a conversation beyond this bare minimum for no particular reason is pretty out of the ordinary, if not “weird.” How often do you start up a conversation with the person in front of you at the bank just for the hell of it? If you’re standing by yourself and he’s standing by himself, what’s to stop you from alleviating your boredom with a little bit of chitchat?
I bring this up because I eat alone at the dining hall occasionally. It’s not that I’m antisocial (most of the time, anyway), but if I need to grab a bite to eat before rehearsal or between classes, I won’t make it a point to call somebody just to have someone to eat with. Lots of people eat alone for this reason, the dining hall’s full of them. When I have a full tray, though, I’m more likely to plop down by myself than across the table from some random stranger. The occasional person can pull it off with an air of extroversion and nonchalance, but most of the time, a gesture like this comes off as desperate, forced, and a little bit sad. People often assume intentions that may or not be there. Guys don’t force conversation with other guys because it seems unspoken that guys “just don’t do that.” A guy who sits next to a random girl is obviously hitting on her. A girl usually won’t sit next to a random guy for the same reason. A dining hall full of solitary eaters, each one just as willing as the next to chat a little bit, but don’t initiate it for fear of sending out the wrong signal.
The first couple weeks of any new relationship are pretty treacherous territory. Neither person wants to come on too strong for fear of becoming “that guy who won’t stop calling me,” but he still has to convey enough interest to let the other person know that he wants to pursue some sort of relationship, whether friendship or otherwise. During this building stage, people reveal carefully selected facets of their personalities to one another to give off just the right impression. If the other person responds positively to these facets, then we progressively begin to let our guard down. Often times, a person may figure something out about his new friend that clearly isn’t up for discussion yet. For example, a friend of mine was telling me about a girl he met in some parking lot. She had a huge rainbow bumper sticker on the back of her car, leading him to the logical conclusion that she was gay. He didn’t feel comfortable breaching that subject with her without her consent. A couple weeks into the relationship, she “came out” to him – he faked surprise, but later revealed that he had kind of figured it out. She asked him why he hadn’t said anything. He told her that that part of her personality clearly hadn’t been on the table up to that point.
That seems to happen a lot – we know something about someone that we’re not supposed to know quite yet. Facebook, the greatest revolution to hit college since Jell-o wrestling (I’ve already used that metaphor in a newspaper article, but I love it, so chill), usually plays a big part in that. I meet a girl in the Quad, Facebook her, and I immediately know her phone number, her room number, etc. I can’t immediately use this information, though – way too creepy. I have to coincidentally run into her again, maybe a couple times, before the right opportunity arises to ask for her number. This opportunity usually comes in the form of a specific event – “Hey, want me to let you know if I’m going to that movie later?” “Yeah, gimme a call. My number’s…” You get the idea. Even if I’ve talked to someone several times and get along with them fine, it always seems awkward to just randomly throw out there, “Hey, I don’t think I have your number.” I could call them any time I wanted, I could drop by their room to pick up that CD we’d been talking about, I could mention that my hobbies also include waterskiing and playing guitar, but I can’t – it hasn’t naturally come up. All that information, though readily available, just isn’t on the table yet.
I guess my vague, roundabout point is that we limit potential relationships because of how we fear we’re being perceived. I don’t strike up a conversation with the marginally attractive girl a couple seats down from me because she’ll think I’m just trying to sleep with her. I don’t drop by someone’s room and ask if they want to grab coffee on a lazy Saturday because I’m not supposed to know that they live in room 212. I don’t call someone and let them know, “Holy shit, our favorite movie that we talked about is playing in the Union in half an hour” because they haven’t technically given me their number yet. We’re constantly backtracking, needling someone to tell us something we already know so that we can discuss it freely. I understand that these borders exist for a reason, but it’s a shame that a little bit of common sense (and maybe some Internet savvy) comes off as nothing but creepiness.
I bring this up because I eat alone at the dining hall occasionally. It’s not that I’m antisocial (most of the time, anyway), but if I need to grab a bite to eat before rehearsal or between classes, I won’t make it a point to call somebody just to have someone to eat with. Lots of people eat alone for this reason, the dining hall’s full of them. When I have a full tray, though, I’m more likely to plop down by myself than across the table from some random stranger. The occasional person can pull it off with an air of extroversion and nonchalance, but most of the time, a gesture like this comes off as desperate, forced, and a little bit sad. People often assume intentions that may or not be there. Guys don’t force conversation with other guys because it seems unspoken that guys “just don’t do that.” A guy who sits next to a random girl is obviously hitting on her. A girl usually won’t sit next to a random guy for the same reason. A dining hall full of solitary eaters, each one just as willing as the next to chat a little bit, but don’t initiate it for fear of sending out the wrong signal.
The first couple weeks of any new relationship are pretty treacherous territory. Neither person wants to come on too strong for fear of becoming “that guy who won’t stop calling me,” but he still has to convey enough interest to let the other person know that he wants to pursue some sort of relationship, whether friendship or otherwise. During this building stage, people reveal carefully selected facets of their personalities to one another to give off just the right impression. If the other person responds positively to these facets, then we progressively begin to let our guard down. Often times, a person may figure something out about his new friend that clearly isn’t up for discussion yet. For example, a friend of mine was telling me about a girl he met in some parking lot. She had a huge rainbow bumper sticker on the back of her car, leading him to the logical conclusion that she was gay. He didn’t feel comfortable breaching that subject with her without her consent. A couple weeks into the relationship, she “came out” to him – he faked surprise, but later revealed that he had kind of figured it out. She asked him why he hadn’t said anything. He told her that that part of her personality clearly hadn’t been on the table up to that point.
That seems to happen a lot – we know something about someone that we’re not supposed to know quite yet. Facebook, the greatest revolution to hit college since Jell-o wrestling (I’ve already used that metaphor in a newspaper article, but I love it, so chill), usually plays a big part in that. I meet a girl in the Quad, Facebook her, and I immediately know her phone number, her room number, etc. I can’t immediately use this information, though – way too creepy. I have to coincidentally run into her again, maybe a couple times, before the right opportunity arises to ask for her number. This opportunity usually comes in the form of a specific event – “Hey, want me to let you know if I’m going to that movie later?” “Yeah, gimme a call. My number’s…” You get the idea. Even if I’ve talked to someone several times and get along with them fine, it always seems awkward to just randomly throw out there, “Hey, I don’t think I have your number.” I could call them any time I wanted, I could drop by their room to pick up that CD we’d been talking about, I could mention that my hobbies also include waterskiing and playing guitar, but I can’t – it hasn’t naturally come up. All that information, though readily available, just isn’t on the table yet.
I guess my vague, roundabout point is that we limit potential relationships because of how we fear we’re being perceived. I don’t strike up a conversation with the marginally attractive girl a couple seats down from me because she’ll think I’m just trying to sleep with her. I don’t drop by someone’s room and ask if they want to grab coffee on a lazy Saturday because I’m not supposed to know that they live in room 212. I don’t call someone and let them know, “Holy shit, our favorite movie that we talked about is playing in the Union in half an hour” because they haven’t technically given me their number yet. We’re constantly backtracking, needling someone to tell us something we already know so that we can discuss it freely. I understand that these borders exist for a reason, but it’s a shame that a little bit of common sense (and maybe some Internet savvy) comes off as nothing but creepiness.
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