If only my heart turned like the seasons

It’s 6:16pm on a beautiful Saturday evening. I am looking out my dorm room window at people laying the grass, blaring the Rascal Flatts, and unleashing their blazing white legs for the first time in months (except for the girls from California, who go to tanning booths). Seventy eight degrees right now.

I wish it were raining so bad.

I guess it is, in my little dorm room. The ceiling is a grayish white, and the rain hasn’t yet dried.

I was talking to Andrew today about loneliness, and how the problem with loneliness isn’t actually being alone. I love being alone much of the time. Just last night I went on a great bike ride, got coffee, sat on a dock at Greenlake, and later looked at the stars at Gasworks park. All alone, it was great. The problem

wasn’t being alone, it was returning back to the dorms.

Rob Whittaker last year said that a university, with thousands of people around you, can be the loneliest place in the world (though I suppose being stranded on the moon could get rather lonely, but that isn’t really in the world). The very thing that makes it lonely however, is the people. If I couldn’t see the volleyball being bumped around right night with pretty girls in summer skirts and guys in shorts and T-Shirts, I probably wouldn’t feel too lonely. At least I am in the safety of my room though. The cafeteria is even worse.

Countless times have I sat down at a table trying to meet new people, only to find the second after I sit down they are all of the sudden done and gone. Leaving me with my spinach salad, and without a book to make it look like I am ‘studying’ and don’t have time for friends. Luckily I don’t have terrible self esteem (though it is sinking like the Sonics chances of staying in Seattle), so this still isn’t terrible. I don’t mind being spotted alone in the cafeteria, sometimes I like it.

It is when I sit with people and actually have conversations that hurts the most. It kills me for two main reasons, one being that I usually know nothing will come of our shallow conversation about Gwinns new cereal dispenser. The other is that I don’t even want to get to know them. I could claim to be super spiritual, and many plains above these white kids with their wealthy backgrounds here at SPU, but who am I kidding… I grew up in the suburbs too (hopefully never to return). It just seems that many of the people I have met here aren’t interested in the same things I am interested in. By that I mean that my favorite subject of discussion isn’t my penis, girls vagina’s (though they usually don’t call it that), last weeks South Park episode, or the combination of my penis with a girls vagina while watching South Park. Of course this isn’t all anyone talks about, but it seems like anyone who I would like to be friends with already has a booked schedule.

(Their volleyball just rolled all the way down the hill, suckers)

My question if this: If God wants me to learn to listen to Him, how can I do that when I can hardly remember what it is like to listen to real people? If God wants me to speak to Him, maybe it would be good for me to have some people that I could have a somewhat meaningful conversation with in the face to face realm of the world.

I know I will get through this rough season in my heart, but I only wish my rain would dry with the sun.

~ by mwalcher on April 12, 2008.