People and Purpose

I don’t know about religion, I don’t know about God, but I am discovering that people (or at least I) need two things in life. People need other people and people need a purpose. This is why I have always needed team sports in my life, and it is also why I am—back in the States, that is—what some people consider a “workaholic.”

Right now, I am back from Spain with six days remaining until the Summer term of classes begins at Uni. All of the Americans are either still traveling or have their families visiting, and all of the Brits and other Europeans are still on holiday at home, so the building is virtually empty. All of my American friends, meanwhile, are either experiencing end-of-semester panic attacks or are too cheap to buy an international calling card. Or both. So correspondence with them has been sporadic at best, lately. Thus, in the absence of all friends and with few pressing assignments, I am left with boredom as my sole companion. Only, I am finding boredom to be more a synonym for loneliness.

Boredom, when I was young, was trailing after my mother, whining about how there was nothing to do. I knew full well that I could clean my room or swing on the swing set outside—as my mother wisely pointed out—but none of these options appealed to me. At the time, I never acknowledged why they did not appeal to me, but now I know: they all involved being alone. What I wanted was to go over Emily and Kelly’s house and play Barbies. What I wanted was for my mom to stop her daily chores and play Jin Rummy with me on the patio. But only now, as I sit in my tiny room trying to enjoy reading a book for pleasure—something I am desperate to do during any normal semester at Rochester—all I continue to do is look at the clock and wonder if anyone will come back and knock on my door. I check my phone constantly. Maybe I missed someone’s call?

Today was my first day to volunteer at Shelter, a used clothing store. It is run by volunteers, and all proceeds go to a particular children’s poverty charity. I met a British girl Juliana who helped to “train” me, and she probably didn’t stop talking during the few hours I was there except to swallow tea and (occasionally) to breath. I honestly have never met any American—never mind a British person—who talks as much as her. Ordinarily, this would irritate me a bit. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise, and nothing she had to say was of much substance, anyway. However, I was just so thankful to have someone be friendly to me and to be filling my time with a useful activity (sorting and tagging clothing that had been donated in the basement of the shop) that I more or less decided not to mind and just let her chat away.

I think now I understand why I actually like working at Java City back at Rochester. Sure, the work is not terribly fun, and the management has proven to be…not my favorite aspect of the job. But working there gives me purpose, and it keeps me around people whose company—ordinarily—I grow to enjoy.