Tuesday, May 31, 2011

One unexpected benefit of my foray into sociability, which really shouldn’t be surprising at all, when I think about it, is a better understanding of how to navigate downtown traffic. Go to the city enough times and the strange logic of the urban grid, with its checkerboard of one-way streets, begins to make sense. Now, where these streets may lead, well, that’s an entirely different matter, and you might find yourself in some destinations that raise more questions than answers.

I found myself in precisely such a place after work today for two long hours, 45th floor of a high-rise, seated around a conference table with seven other alumni in animated deliberation about the vision of a rebooted association. Let me rephrase that–they were engaged in lively discussion, while I brought absolutely nothing to the table.

It was a faithful recreation of the classroom experience, frankly. You know the cast of characters, I’m sure. There’s the Comedian. The Rambler. The Gunner. The Realist. The Sage. And, in a role I was only too happy to reprise, the Mute. I simply sat there, fascinated by how engaged everyone seemed to be and how they fed off the interaction. Did everybody truly care about by-laws, dues, venues, and a mission statement? Probably not, but they were having a grand old time talking about these things.

Meanwhile, there I was, blissfully unencumbered by obligations to participate and afflicted with the same jumble of sentiments I’ve felt in seminars about 18th century literature or Lucretia Mott’s greatest speeches, or, more recently, HOA meetings. I ask myself two questions: Why am I here? Why does this matter? And the response, usually some variant of not giving a shit, culminates in a general annoyance with that feeling of belonging people seem to crave. But I’ll be the first to admit I’m the problem here. Part of me knows I’m missing out. I have to find my people.