And I have the time to get to know someone…

I can’t help but look for how deep they are, how they think, how they approach lives.

But I also notice how I am pushed toward certain subjects or pulled away from certain subjects. I notice how well the conversation flows. I notice their sense of risktaking, their anxiety, their agreeability.

I notice how they push me into confession, how they let me put a wall up, how my levels of generosity fluctuate. I notice all of this.

Most of all, I notice whether they judge or accept me. And vice versa.

Once, I was told that it was a dance. The friendship dance. To let a little in to see if the other person will play well. But I have this horrible habit of opening the door quickly. To anyone. I let people in. Then if they prod too deep, I shut them. I am a tester. Secretly.

I am incapable of knowing whether I will enjoy something. Most of the time, I see adventure! fun for all! and I think…yes! i will have fun too! i am in!

So I imagine myself in the situation. Smiling. Laughing. Enjoying myself.

This is what happened for the Inca Trail. I listened to my friends rave about the hikes, the natural beauty and the camping. And the you feel different when you’re so close to nature. I ignored the one friend who said that it wasn’t what she expected. Yes, the food was amazing but I did not enjoy it. It wasn’t because I wasn’t prepared enough or that I had too much equipment. Unlike many, I don’t see nature and sense awe. Instead, I look and see just trees, leaves, hills. I am often in anguish when others describe their awe and say that all humans must know it. I don’t. I didn’t enjoy the Inca Trail.

So I think that I put myself in situations in hopes that I will be like everyone else. Constantly. I say, why yes, let’s do that public speaking event. Let’s organize that huge event. That sounds like fun!

Tonight, I decided that I wanted to go on the bike ride to see the lighting of The Bay Lights. Rain! someone cautioned. With people that I knew that I didn’t vibe with. So I went anyway. But 5 minutes in, I knew that it wasn’t for me.

I do that sometimes. When I am perfectly happy (but itching) sitting at home and writing.

“Do you want a ride from 22nd?” I asked my friend as she got up to leave at Millbrae.

She put her bag down and smiled, “Oh really? Ok!”

Then a few minutes later, the train suddenly slowed down and the lights slowly dimmed. To darkness and the emergency lights went on. The train came to a stop.

I breathed deeply. Just a moment, right. But instead, it turned into something more.

After riding caltrain for more than 4 years, I knew the deal. An accident, incident…tragedy…malfunction…whatever…can last up to…3 hours. 1 hour if lucky. But ever since committing to a contract in Palo Alto, I took the train nearly every day, hoping to never experience such a thing.

Well, time had come.

A shaky female voice came over the loudspeaker, “The train has struck a vehicle and the authorities are coming. I apologize for the inconvenience. However, this is now a crime scene so you cannot leave the train. We are working our best to get you to your final destination.”

Oh crap.

My friend repeated FML FML FML as I apologized profusely for convincing her to stay to save three dollars and get back home 10 minutes earlier. She assured me that it wasn’t my fault.

So we sat in the back row of the last car in the train as we waited…for 90 minutes until whatever was cleared. An empty vehicle. Fortunately nobody was hurt except all the time sensitive issues that the commuters possibly had. My friend worked on her stuff while I attempted on my laptop to edit an essay that I wrote for Modern Love but was so lost on its theme. Then when the lights finally came back on, I looked over the pages that I needed to review before this Thursday’s workshop. Then I fell asleep. Announcements every 15 minutes.

Then the train backtracked to San Bruno where we crossed the tracks to another Northbound train which made every single stop (fortunately only 3 stops). My friend and I shivered out into the train while she was complaining about something unrelated to trains. At the track crossing, someone got all feisty, yelling.

We got on the train on the opposite side and headed back up.

I got home at 9 pm. Two hours later than expected.

The ones that capture people’s attention is almost the buzz worthy kinds. The one that seemingly are black and white wrong. The ones involving drugs, sex, and crime.

But how about relationships that consist of just miscommunication, pain and sorrow? The kind where someone lets the other person down by not showing up. The kind where words sputter out with intentions to harm. The kind where everyone separates in sorrow wondering if the friendship will still continue.

The media is not interested in those. They are not sensationalist. It’s not wrong. It’s not right. It doesn’t prove that someone is a good person or bad person. Those are just the scars we allowed to carry into high profile positions.

So what is there to hide?