Greetings from Connecticut.
A short while ago I returned from Whole Foods. It was mildly exciting (organic red cherries are still on sale) and relatively painless (save the parking lot construction and angry drivers). However after being in suburbia for over a week I am overwhelmed by the feeling that everyone here hates each other. It’s really bizarre. I know I tend to be overly friendly while running errands, a nervous habit I can’t shake after years of working in the service industry. (I am generally always friendly. Unless I’m in a bad mood in which case I will rip out your innards and tie them in a bow around your face with a mere glance.)
At the very least, I am always polite. I don’t expect others to go out of their way to be my bff in the bulk section, especially when they’re busy and just trying to get home in time to make dinner for the kids. But I would hope we could establish mutual respect. You know, like not mowing me down with your shopping cart. Or not letting the door you just walked through slam in my face. Or not cutting me off on the road as if the great flood is coming and only one of us is going to make it.
Now I can’t help but think that most people here resent the presence of others. It’s fascinating to watch them go out of their way to avoid contact. I don’t think this is exclusive to this area, for evidence of this can be seen around the globe. But I do feel that it is more pronounced than in the city, where people are forced to deal with each other more consistently (public transportation, public spaces, communal living, etc). For example, since moving here I’ve only really communicated with my friends and family, plus a postal clerk and a couple people at the grocery store. In New York City, I encountered more people on the walk from my front door to the corner. And I lived really close to the corner. When people drive everywhere and therefore become isolated from one another, it affects the quality of life.
Yes, I’ve been a loner most of my life, never one to champion group activity or whatnot, but looking around the parking lot today I felt sad. Sad because I saw a lot of good, hardworking people who looked rather miserable. In fact, burdened – burdened by their blessings and burdened by life itself. We all had groceries. We all had cars. We all had clothing, and places to take our groceries back to. What a joyous occasion! But everyone appeared to be alone in a struggle… for what? Happiness? The struggle itself chased that very happiness away.
The way we’ve developed this country – for cars, rather than citizens – is a damn shame. For the most part, if you interrupt someone’s struggle he or she is eager to connect like a real person instead of like a robot. But how often do we have these opportunities? I drove home, thinking all of this over, and when I got to the house there was a dude going door-to-door. I saw him soliciting across the street as I went inside, and as I was preparing my salad I heard him knock on the door. So what did I do?
I ignored him.
Yes, I carried on with my salad preparation, aware of the hypocrisy. So what’s my excuse? Do I claim allegiance to this environment after all? Is this how I want to conduct my life? I spent ten years of my life living here, as sheltered as I am blessed. In the years since high school I’ve traveled extensively, often imposing myself on others – sleeping on their floors, eating their food, and soliciting their advice. These experiences have been the most enriching, fulfilling, and inspiring of my life, for I learned to trust and rely on strangers. On people. And by doing so, I learned to trust and rely on myself. My very independence – my intuition and individual strength – is a byproduct of my dependence on others.
However today, alone in my mom’s kitchen, I was right back where I was seven years ago: afraid to open the door. I was taught not to answer the door for strangers. (Hell, until recently I wouldn’t answer the phone for unknown callers.) If some strange dude comes to my door I assume he either wants to talk to me about Jesus, sell me some magazines, or rape me, in which cases I’m gonna barricade myself inside. But I felt guilty – what if he was in trouble? I also felt nervous – he saw me walk in the house, and therefore he knew I was ignoring him… what if he comes back tonight and kills me?
Ridiculous? Yes. Honest? Yes.
But I didn’t have thoughts like these living in the city. Walking home alone at 4:30 in the morning I was less afraid than standing in my mom’s kitchen at 4:30 in the afternoon, in a very nice, “safe” town in Connecticut. Why? Probably because in New York I felt connected – there were people everywhere. There were confrontations – and connections – every moment. The dude who lived on the bench on the corner. My downstairs neighbors who smoked pot and listened to bad techno all day. My upstairs neighbor who ran the free store, lugging used wares up and down the steps every night. The drunk kids on the street in front of Cake Shop….
It seems that isolation makes people (me) less tolerant, less compassionate, and more afraid. Safety is an illusion unless the connection is real. That’s security. At least the kind of security we have control over. It’s funny that I chose to live in Connecticut this summer. Perhaps this is my time to make peace with a place I never felt particularly connected to.
I’ll leave you with this video in honor of a very special connection that was made approximately 34 years and 9 months ago. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JACK! You can ring my doorbell any time.
