Alone in Eugene
Long before the full blossoming of social media, I knew a young man who would post things online wherever he was. “I’m in the lounge. Wish the waitress would hurry up with my drink.” Or, “I’m still in line. Jeez, they’re slow!”
My husband and I thought our friend’s pronouncements silly at best: A sad sign of a need to be the center of attention even when he was alone.
But now I find myself companionless, sitting in an airport far from anybody I know, and I have an inclination to pick up my smart phone and text somebody. Anybody. To tell them where I am, and that I must endure a three hour wait before I can board my plane. That I am stuck with suitcases because the ticketing counter isn’t open. So I don’t know how to go to the restaurant to eat. I’m starving.
You get the idea. Why do I feel this way?
I think it has to do with feeling unbearably isolated. Alone in the universe. And, consequently, like I don’t matter.
I did text my daughter yesterday to tell her which seedy hotel I was spending the night in to be close to the airport. Why? Just so somebody would know how to identify the body if I got bumped off? Just to feel like I had company for the moment it took me to send the text? Hoping that she would text me back, and for an instant I wouldn’t be alone?
I suppose it’s all of the above. Being alone in a place where nobody knows you, hence nobody cares about you in particular, has the potential to produce a colossal anxiety attack.
And yet, I flew out to Oregon alone, to explore the west coast. I rented a car at the Eugene airport and drove to several beach towns where I didn’t know anybody. I was a little nervous. How will I find my way? Will the people think I’m weird?
But I met people who smiled. Who were helpful when I was lost. And I even made a friend with whom I walked the beach, ate lunch, and toured the farmers’ market.
Together, my new friend and I went to a local concert, and made the acquaintance of yet another woman, who sat with us, and chatted about music and living on the coast.
These folks were alone. Like me. But we found each other. And then we weren’t weighted by our solitariness.
Having people eases fears—fear of making a fool of oneself. Fear of being lost. Fear of being invisible.
Here in the Eugene airport, we’re all in the same boat. Waiting for the ticket counter to open. Wondering where the bathroom is and how we’ll manage it with all our luggage. We smile and nod at each other, in solidarity. Sometimes we even speak, “Hi. How are you?”
Maybe my young friend who filled the Internet with his short-tempered comments about waitstaff just couldn’t bear being alone, and posting his whereabouts gave him a feeling of belonging. Right or wrong, our smart phones can ease the discomfort of unwanted solitude.
Now I get it.
But wait—a gentleman sat next to me and made a comment about our common predicament. I responded in kind. And a conversation was born. A unity that will sustain us until we board our flight.
Had I been glued to my smart phone I might have missed this opportunity. I hope the ubiquity of online access doesn’t short out our ability to interact with people sitting live at our elbows.