So I was sitting in class today, not really in the mood for any interaction...just people watching. That is really my best hobby anyways; I can watch the same person for months if they are interesting enough before gaining any real desire to actually meet them. Well, someone had the nerve to come into class and sit down in the seat RIGHT next to me. One thing that really annoys me more than almost anything else at school is when there are only about thirty empty seats in the class and someone feels that they just HAVE to sit next to me. Unless it’s a friend, then they are quite welcome to.
I would have let it go this time, since this particular lady seems very kind, cute, and is expecting a baby in a few months. I guess I sort of pitied her, and at the same time found her pretty likable. But today, I was just annoyed. She happens to be the type of person that is completely incapable of keeping her mouth shut for more than five seconds. Maybe it’s the pregnancy. Maybe not. All I know is that I was personally not in the mood to listen to someone babble out their entire life story in the course of three hours. Sometimes I’ve found I can get away with not really listening. Some folks don’t expect you to anyways; I think they like the sound of their own voices. But she is one of those interactive over-talkers. She actually required me to pay attention in order to give feedback which was probably what was irking me the most.
The whole morning made me think back to my old hometown though. I hope to find the time to write out ALL my thoughts and mini-rants on this topic one day as right now they are made up of a billion scrambled egg ideas and emotions, but till then here is one contrast that I have always found interesting.
I grew up in the city. Concrete, asphalt, and tall white corporation buildings is how I best like to describe my hometown. The majority of the folks there are about as cold as the city itself. They cannot really help it I guess; it becomes part of who they are after awhile: thousands of fast-paced, overworked, affected little drones brainwashed into believing they have the ideal American lifestyle. Praise God, my family escaped when we did.
Folks down there are altogether a different breed from where I live now and I must admit it was a bit of a culture shock the first year or two I lived here. Trips to the grocery store of all things were the strangest for me at first. Where I come from everyone lives with a hurried mentality. I think their brains must work something like this all the time, “Hurry-hurry-faster-faster-in-and-out-I’m-late-I’m-late-wasting-time-wasting-money-wasting-gas-wasting-money-wasting-energy-wasting-money-money-MONEY.” At least, that is how I always interpreted those pathetic White Rabbit expressions on their faces, especially as a kid. One of them is likely to rip your head off, or simply just ignore you (if you are lucky) when you try to ask a question or make any kind of friendly small talk in a supermarket.
Around here, that mentality seems completely opposite. Everything is in slow motion. Strangers on the street talk to you for no apparent reason at all. Store owners (or most at least) treat you as if you matter, ask you about your life and actually expect and respond to an answer rather than simply taking your money and getting you out the door in as short a time as possible. I’ll never forget the first time I really experienced this weird friendly atmosphere. My family had recently moved and had almost no food in the house, so my dad and I made a market run to get just enough supplies for dinner. In the checkout line in front of us stood a short little man with long white hair and a rough past written all over his face. We had not been standing there for more than three minutes before he had given us a detailed account of his past twenty years. I remember staring in complete disbelief; my jaw must have dropped clear down to the floor. Certainly this kind of behavior was not normal? In the city he probably would have been assumed to be on a freakishly high level of drugs and had the police called on him for talking like that in public to a stranger. It does not phase me anymore though.
I love it here with all my heart. I had never felt such a sense of home and belonging until the first morning I woke up in the desert. I guess a small part of me sometimes continues to live in that hurried and unfriendly mindset however. Perhaps that explains mornings like this one where I just want to do what needs to be done and get on my way again. I really wish that I could learn how to break free from this mentality altogether and truly enjoy every aspect of my amusing little life and the beautiful people in it. I am so much more blessed than I remember sometimes.
Queen of the Cats
I would have let it go this time, since this particular lady seems very kind, cute, and is expecting a baby in a few months. I guess I sort of pitied her, and at the same time found her pretty likable. But today, I was just annoyed. She happens to be the type of person that is completely incapable of keeping her mouth shut for more than five seconds. Maybe it’s the pregnancy. Maybe not. All I know is that I was personally not in the mood to listen to someone babble out their entire life story in the course of three hours. Sometimes I’ve found I can get away with not really listening. Some folks don’t expect you to anyways; I think they like the sound of their own voices. But she is one of those interactive over-talkers. She actually required me to pay attention in order to give feedback which was probably what was irking me the most.
The whole morning made me think back to my old hometown though. I hope to find the time to write out ALL my thoughts and mini-rants on this topic one day as right now they are made up of a billion scrambled egg ideas and emotions, but till then here is one contrast that I have always found interesting.
I grew up in the city. Concrete, asphalt, and tall white corporation buildings is how I best like to describe my hometown. The majority of the folks there are about as cold as the city itself. They cannot really help it I guess; it becomes part of who they are after awhile: thousands of fast-paced, overworked, affected little drones brainwashed into believing they have the ideal American lifestyle. Praise God, my family escaped when we did.
Folks down there are altogether a different breed from where I live now and I must admit it was a bit of a culture shock the first year or two I lived here. Trips to the grocery store of all things were the strangest for me at first. Where I come from everyone lives with a hurried mentality. I think their brains must work something like this all the time, “Hurry-hurry-faster-faster-in-and-out-I’m-late-I’m-late-wasting-time-wasting-money-wasting-gas-wasting-money-wasting-energy-wasting-money-money-MONEY.” At least, that is how I always interpreted those pathetic White Rabbit expressions on their faces, especially as a kid. One of them is likely to rip your head off, or simply just ignore you (if you are lucky) when you try to ask a question or make any kind of friendly small talk in a supermarket.
Around here, that mentality seems completely opposite. Everything is in slow motion. Strangers on the street talk to you for no apparent reason at all. Store owners (or most at least) treat you as if you matter, ask you about your life and actually expect and respond to an answer rather than simply taking your money and getting you out the door in as short a time as possible. I’ll never forget the first time I really experienced this weird friendly atmosphere. My family had recently moved and had almost no food in the house, so my dad and I made a market run to get just enough supplies for dinner. In the checkout line in front of us stood a short little man with long white hair and a rough past written all over his face. We had not been standing there for more than three minutes before he had given us a detailed account of his past twenty years. I remember staring in complete disbelief; my jaw must have dropped clear down to the floor. Certainly this kind of behavior was not normal? In the city he probably would have been assumed to be on a freakishly high level of drugs and had the police called on him for talking like that in public to a stranger. It does not phase me anymore though.
I love it here with all my heart. I had never felt such a sense of home and belonging until the first morning I woke up in the desert. I guess a small part of me sometimes continues to live in that hurried and unfriendly mindset however. Perhaps that explains mornings like this one where I just want to do what needs to be done and get on my way again. I really wish that I could learn how to break free from this mentality altogether and truly enjoy every aspect of my amusing little life and the beautiful people in it. I am so much more blessed than I remember sometimes.
Queen of the Cats
1 comment:
Interesting. I know a lot of people who live out here are originally from somewhere more urban, but I've never really thought about how much of a culture shock that might be. Someday I'll have to tell you the story of the week I spent living out of a hotel room in Hollywood.
It's weird, really - I was born and raised out here, but I've developed a very city mentality out of a combination of paranoia and a strong desire for efficiency. Nonetheless, I'm probably one of the biggest advocates you'll meet for everyone slowing the heck down and stopping to smell the roses once in a while. Right now, I want to get away from this town for various reasons, but I can't think of a place I'd rather spend my retirement years.
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