What I See

It is Saturday morning.
I could have slept in, maybe I should have. But instead I went to the bank. I put some gas in my car. And I went downtown.
Magees Bakery.
Parking was ridiculous.
Getting through the line and then finding a chair, even more so.
Beautiful chaos, really.
(The thing I love about Magees is the owner--he looks like he should have a northern accent, and just might have a really bad temper. He's jumped right in the middle of "rush hour"; he's involved. I really love the black guy who works in the back; a baker with a nose and lip ring. He peers out every now and then, dusted in flour. I also love the mural on the back wall.)
I bought a cream cheese danish and some very hot coffee, which I mixed with milk and honey.
The only table I could find was the one right beside the microwave.
A table with a newspaper folded up under one of the legs so it wouldn't rock.
A table underneath the bulletin board, tacked with business cards. One business card was for a man named Michael. He was a writer. That's all it said.
So I warmed up my pastry, sat down, stirred my coffee, and opened my book.
People kept coming by and heating things up. Why? I mean, besides me, who really needs a hot donut?
The way I was sitting, they--these Saturday morning hot donut eaters--completely invade my personal space. I kept reading (a book called Girl Meets God about a Messianic Jew who uses a lot of bad words and has two nose rings--my kind of girl).
Secretly, I'd love to talk to all of them--those people with a taste for warm sugar.
To have one of them say something to me during the ten seconds they stand there.
But they ignore me.
So I move on.

Farmers Market.
I rolled out of bed this morning, brushed my teeth, and was out the door; wearing last night's clothes, unbrushed hair... my legs haven't been shaved. I tell myself I don't care what these people think about me (they'll just think I'm a hippie, completely comfortable in my unwashed skin).
I tell myself that.
But I wear sunglasses.
These shades are magical.
They make me invisible.
So I walk through the chaotic, coloroful market, and see at least four people I know (who don't see me because I'm wearing these smudged, Jackie-O glasses).

I notice a lot of things.
I'm a people-watcher.
Really, I should get paid to do it.
I always notice the little things (it is, after all, the little things that are important, that are unique). I notice wedding rings and tattoos. I notice the shoes that people wear (a shoe can tell you so much about the person who wears it). I notice which men reach out for their partner's hand, and which ones reach for the small of her back. I notice people who are by themselves, mostly. I like those people who sit in their fold-out camping chairs and play their music with a container at their feet for loose change.
I never give them change.
But I like these people.

Then I came to Triangle Park.
I usually only come here at night--when the lights bounce off the spouting water, where couples make out on benches and college students smoke hookah on the steps. I've seen a few proposals here. I've had my own share of dates take place in this park.
I think when I'm forty, and thinking about where my youth took place, I will remember this park.
It is here, at Triangle Park that I realize (save a voicemail I left you this morning, the bank drive-thru, and ordering at Magees) I haven't said a word.
The fountains are deafening this morning. They drown out even the weekend traffic. I think they are trying to speak to me, especially to me, so I don't feel lonely.

You see, I've told myself I needed to learn how to be alone.
I'm a borderline extrovert/introvert (which, can be a shitty place to be if you don't know how to manage it). I like being by myself in a room, listening to Ray LaMontagne with the shades closed and candles lit.
Odd? Hmph.
But, then again, I hate being in a big crowd and feeling all alone. I want eye contact and "hello's"--a quick, casual conversation never hurt anybody either.
Wednesday was the first time I had ever eaten in a restaurant by myself. Usually if I have to eat alone, I run through the drive-thru at Taco Bell and bring it home and watch the news in my living room. But Wednesday I got out of the office at 4 and had to be at the gym at 5, so I headed to Hamburg; pulled into the Culvert's parking lot (deciding that if I was going to do this... I might as well try some new food), ordered a salad, sat at a table and read my book.
All by myself. For about thirty minutes.
Hey, it's a start.
(Last week, I went to church all by myself and sat in the cafe for half an hour drinking coffee, writing in my journal. And then went and sat in the service by myself. I guess, really, that was step #1.)
I've told myself I need to learn to be alone, because to be alone you have to like yourself. Or, at least you ought to. Liking yourself makes the experience a whole lot more tolerable (perhaps, even enjoyable). I'm kind of going through a phase where I'm not my favorite person. I kind of bore myself. I do not see myself as one of those colorful, cultural, bold, mysterious people I am attracted to.
So I figured... it was about time to change.
Bring what is inside, out.
Because I am a pretty interesting person on the inside.
(Ha. If I said everything I thought, did everything I planned... I'd like to think it would be revolutionary.)
About time to be the right person. Take advantage of my borderline social personality. Be okay with who I am. Be okay with other people not being okay with who I am. Attracting people who will be okay with who I am.
It's a process.

It is Saturday morning, my windows are rolled down (James Morrison should be playing on the radio... but Fergie won't shut up), sweat is beading on my forehead, and as I drive home I realized I still hadn't spoken a word.
This is what I see.