Friday, May 09, 2003

I don’t know what kind

I don’t know what kind of cruel joke is being played but things are not as they usually are.  I’m used to being fate’s plaything, a victim of circumstance and ineptitude, looked upon either with pity or derision by all those whom I encounter.  I’ve gotten comfortable with this.  Not exactly happy, but comfortable.  When things change, I wonder whether it’s good or not.  But these days it seems I should just keep my head down and try to ride the wave. 

The wave?  This is one of my favorite metaphors, one that comes from surfing - letting an indifferent and overwhelming natural order move me forward, cooperating with forces that are too powerful to fight, until my body tumbles and drags against the roiling sands of reality.  The gouges and scars I receive in such pummellings are badges of honor, my proof to myself that I have confronted my world and lived through the conflict once again.

But this time the wave means something more: people being friendly, hands extended in fellowship and acceptance.  I’m having trouble dealing with it.  I keep looking around for a camera crew or a “kick me” sign on my back.  There has to be some reason for all the smiles and bonhomie. 

This has all been pretty theoretical so far.  Let’s nail down a few details:

AT WORK: People have been expressing deep joy and appreciation over minor details of my work.  When things have gone wrong which I have had some way of anticipating or preventing, others have been bending over backwards to assume total responsibility and to absolve me of any blame.  Highly placed and respected individuals in and out of the organization have been complimentary about things that seemed to me unworthy of notice, much less comment.  My colleagues have been asking for my help in tones of hushed awe at my prowess and wisdom, and expressing interest and concern over my personal life. As I pull out my directory to call people to follow up on some items they owe me, my finger actually hovering over their phone numbers, my phone rings and it’s them, anticipating my request and meeing it and then some. And the crabby IT manager in the cube across from me is asking me what I’d like him to bring back from Australia.  (Any ideas?  I’d hate to let such an offer go to waste, but all I can think of is one of those hats with the dangling balls around the brim from the University of Wallamaloo, and that’s too hard to pack.)

AT CLASS: I just started a short series of classes this week at the main library.  On my way, out of the blue, a very pretty stranger asked for directions to the library and we accompanied each other there, during which time she was effusive in her gratitude and enthusiasm for both her destination and my assistance.  The class is a lot more fun and more interesting than I’d expected and the other students are a fascinating mixed bag of smart and funny people, who seem to me to be going out of their way to ask my opinion, to confirm and bolster my ideas.  The leaders of the class have us brainstorm in “break-out” groups and then, when they’re listing our ideas on the big board, attributed some really smart ideas to me that I don’t think I ever said, much less thought.  After class several of the other students came up to wish me a “good weekend.” These are total strangers with a lot on the ball, people among whom I would hope, at best, to be quietly unnoticed.  I walked out of the session positively glowing with the good vibes. 

ON THE BUS: I took a different line home from class, a “tough” line that runs through the tenderloin and sketchy parts of the Western Addition - a line on which I usually get some hairy eyeballs and scowls.  Last night people were grinning openly at me, nodding acknowledgments, apologizing unnecessarily for their proximity.  The sweet-looking young woman across from me seemed to be looking at me every time I raised my eyes from my book; when I smiled at her she dropped her eyes to her lap and blushed.  The bus driver wished me “good evening” as I disembarked - he hadn’t been saying that to the other passengers.  And on my ordinary commute this morning, I was offered my favorite “to work” seat right off the bat.  I put on headphones to listen to a new disk with excellent syncopated beats and wound up doing a bit of head-nodding to the tunes; others smiled, nodding along with me, and I even got a “thumbs up” from a total stranger.  Nobody smelled too strongly, either of b.o. or perfume.  I got to work on time.  Short of finding money, it doesn’t get much better than this on the bus.

Tonight is Happy Hour, and a friend I met a year ago wants to stop by and renew our acquaintence; he’s cool and funny and it will be nice to see him again.  Kel will be coming along as well, making what is usually a good time even better.  It looks like I’ll get to meet some “imaginary friends” for a festive supper next week, which makes me feel honored and gratified to be part of a select fraternity.  I think I’ve kicked my cold and it’s not raining any more, but the streets still smell pretty fresh.  I don’t want to rock the boat when it’s chugging along so cheerfully - but I do think I ought to be waving back to everybody.  Hey everybody - here’s a thumbs-up back atcha.  In fact, take two - they’re small, but they can make a big difference when properly applied.  Have an ecstatic weekend, my friends!