I’ve been thinking a lot about connection lately.
I don’t do well with beginnings. The awkward, stifled, bland part of the relationship, where you’re both searching out your commonalities, weighing the other person to see if your own heart and soul reflects back a bit when you hear them speak.
Being 27 is hard. You’re half a decade out of college, and everyone you know is in a different place—they’re changing careers, longing for a new job, looking for a spouse, skipping the dating scene altogether, announcing their pregnancy online, walking down the aisle, waiting for a sign to get up and move halfway across the country.
They’re doing different things. All of them. And you’re trying to figure out who has friendships on their mind—who wants to grow their community, who wants to have a real, meaningful relationship with the person sitting across from them sipping on iced tea and talking about their week. Someone who wants to skip all the small talk and get down to it.
I haven’t figured it out. Tell me if you do. I’m an introverted, emotional, deep person. I don’t do well with happy hours and bar hopping. I don’t do well with groups of people in loud rooms at midnight. I’m good at one-on-one, let-me-solve-your-problem, let-me-cheer-you-up, let-me-be-your-sounding-board. I’m good at caring. I’m good at listening.
My senior year of high school, a few weeks into the cross country season, I went to this Saturday invitational a few counties over.
We were stretching, touching our toes and hopping around before the start of the race, when a sharp pain shot up my leg. Whenever I started up again, it would inevitably come back after a few minutes. I didn’t run for months. I couldn’t figure it out.
I spent every Wednesday standing on the edge of the grass, face red from yelling, learning every girl and boy’s name as they crossed past me, up the slow hill and around the corner, headed into the cemetery for the second leg of their 3-mile race. It was all I could do. Learning the names of the freshmen, learning what made everyone tick, that’s what got me going.
It still does, even if I don’t have to stand on the sidelines. I’m better that way, face flush from fighting for them, for wanting them to be better, for wanting them to be whoever they so desire. I’m better wishing and hoping and cheering.
Life doesn’t work that way though. You don’t always fall into a purpose. Sometimes, you have to seek it out, ask questions, offer to be there for somebody and run the risk that they tell you to go away. Sometimes, you have to take a tiny step in a scary direction and see what happens.
So here’s to being brave, offering a hand or your heart, or an hour of your time. And here’s to cheering, whether the person on the receiving end knows it or not. There are so many of you out there that I root for, every single day.