I haven’t felt very inspired to write lately. I’m still looking for a serious job that I want to really put myself into, and its getting hard to look at the positive things in everyday life. I’ve known a great deal of people who have graduated recently and found themselves in similar situations: well trained, ready to go and fighting depression.
Last week, however, I had one of those days where everything goes not only well, but so well it makes you wonder what it all means. I was traveling (four flights in one day) to Washington D.C. for a job interview. I was nervous, since I was basically spending a few hundred dollars on a chance at a job I may not even get. I’m still waiting for them to get back to me.
But in this trip, I had a few good signs, met some amazing people who helped me see what I keep losing so much: the joy in everyday life.
None of my flights were spectacular. On one of them I talked to the man next to me about Cormac McCarthy for about 20 minutes, then spoke no more. On another, I sat beside a sweet Muslim couple, and saw how tender and loving they were to one another, all the while noticing a few stray eyes lingering in their direction.
It was not until I actually began my travel to the interview in D.C. that I met the people who would inspire me to positivity. On the crowded metro, I moved my bag for an older gentleman to sit down. He immediately struck up a conversation, asking me about my business there and wishing me luck on my interview. He was kind, unassuming. He told me about visiting his only grandchildren in D.C. every few weeks, about his retirement from the airlines and his life back in sunny Tucson. In short, he distracted me. He never made me tell more than I wanted to, and instead let me share in his own personal joy for our 15 minute shared ride. I do believe he did this intentionally. When I would stare off or seem distracted, he changed the subject or asked me random questions. He shared his own son’s fears of finding a new job, he helped me relax.
When he got off the metro, I was smiling, relaxed and inspired to keep the positivity going. I found my stop and my building not much later, with an hour and a half left for lunch. I stopped at the only place close: a crowded restaurant/bar with a Mexican theme. I was stuck at the bar, and began voraciously pouring through my prepared material. I was questioning my preparedness, fearing that I had wasted my time and money. Then I met Max.
Max came into the restaurant and immediately went to the bar. The bartender knew his order, so I knew he had to be local. I started judging him immediately. What kind of guy comes to a bar at lunch so often the waiter knows his drink? Then, he broke my thought by talking to me. He asked what my business was, and told me he worked at the Library of Congress. After a short discussion on his job, my potential job and the Library’s acquisition of the Twitter archives, our conversation turned towards the bigger picture. In his discussion of the Library he mentioned a study of oral history, of the Library’s attempt to record true American stories from everyday people. He insisted it was a brilliant plan, and upon thinking of some of the more interesting people I know (my father, for one) I agreed. We spent the rest of the hour agreeing that everyone has a story worth hearing, and that we each should strive to find those stories, to help them live in a new mind.
I hated to part ways with him. I have since fought the belief that creeps into my mind that fate put him there for a reason. To calm me down, to inspire me or to give me something to write about again. I try to tell myself, even as of this writing that he was just there for his daily screwdriver, but I just don’t believe that. Sometimes we are destined to meet certain people, to learn from them or to teach them. My assurance of came on my way home.
In Reagan Airport, after my interview (which I still think went pretty well, if not spectacularly) I sat at my gate thinking about the man from Tucson, and about Max. I watched a bird hop around on the floor, and smiled. I’ve always found humor at birds indoors, something about perseverance and hope maybe. My thoughts were broken by a man’s approach, a man looking for a seat. He stood there, in full Army fatigues, not looking directly at anyone, and obviously expecting to be ignored. I called to him as he walked away, and offered him the seat my bag was in.
I am a radical anti-war, hippie child. I come from a family of intense military men that often walk the line between hero and Great Santini, but I’ve never seen the use in shunning a soldier. I don’t agree with what they do, but god do I respect what they are willing to do for what they believe. I won’t share our conversation, I feel that was intended solely for me. I’ll share that he was returning home from his second tour of duty to his wife and two year old son. He had been in Northern Afghanistan, near the Pakistani border. He was obviously nervous, tired of traveling and weird looks. I thought of Max, and of my chance to do for this soldier what he had done for me. I distracted him, I got his story, and I shared mine. I nearly floored him when I reminded him that his son, who he remembered as a tiny baby, would now be able to walk to greet him.
We discussed life, parenting and family. We talked of war, media and the fall of Rome. We talked of everything and nothing, but when we got up to board the plane, I looked back at him. He was smiling, ready for his final flight to go home. And I was smiling too, ready to go home, good news or bad, and try to approach everyday as a thing of potential beauty.
Since then I’ve been constantly sick, back to working too much and haven’t had any advancement in the job search. But I’ve been more positive, more hopeful and more happy with myself where I am and as I am. Hopefully, if all else fails, these lessons will remain.
