Okay.  I have a lot of Thoughts, but I'm thinking about making a thoroughly public journal that my family and everyone can read and find that's in no way attached to RP.  Must save thoughts for that!  What I want to relate is my adventure today.

Since moving to Takoma Park, I have had several adventures.  Walking where there are people (novel!) makes things happen.  I've also noticed that I'm more inclined to talk to people here than I am at home; I have no idea why that is.  Some of it, I think, is how willing people are to talk here.  In the Midwest, we usually keep to ourselves and talk when necessary.  It's a thing.

Anyway.  Today, I was suffering from that odd restlessness that makes me terribly discontent and virtually incapable of staying in one place.  I didn't want to do anything, I didn't want to eat the food available, I just... you know what I mean.  This is something that happens to almost everyone, I think, but I'm not used to being in a situation where I can actually get up and GO.  Realizing that I have freedom now, I left the apartment.

I wandered.  My mother wouldn't believe this, but I have a decent sense of direction--decent enough to find my way home, at least.  Some things were noteworthy (the flowers blooming that we don't have in Nebraska, the strange butterflies I've never seen before, the beautiful way the plants around here grow out of their designated areas and twist around fences and sidewalks), but I'll be brief for the sake of sleeping before... er, a slightly more unreasonable hour.  

I ended up at a CVS where I bought a hoagie, a fountain soda, and a twelve-pack of Coke.  I'm sure I was quite the sight when I left--purse across my chest, my bag with dollar store purchases on one shoulder, the twelve-pack in my arms, a hoagie in one hand and a drink in the other.  But I managed, and I walked toward home while eating my hoagie.

While waiting for a light to change so I could cross the street, a man asked me if I was going to a party (I had to ask him to repeat this several times as he was very difficult to understand).  I told him no, I was just on my way home, and we talked about where I live (not specifically) and how close his mother is to Hudson street.  He introduced himself as Jose; I had to say my name several times over, which is completely understandable.  Crossing the street was a bit of an ordeal.  Jose had a cane and didn't walk well.  The traffic light changed while we were still in the intersection (I couldn't just ditch him!) and everyone was kind enough to not run us over.  After reaching the other side safely, Jose told me a bit about New York, his original home.  I told him a little about Nebraska.  

Realizing that the Coke wasn't getting any lighter and that my hoagie was only half-eaten, I politely excused myself, telling him what a pleasure it had been to talk to him.  He was very sweet and thanked me for talking to him. 

Really, it was nice.  I'm shy--very shy, typically--but I genuinely enjoyed meeting Jose and just getting to know a little bit about him.  He seemed genuinely pleased to talk, too, so win all around!

I finished my hoagie, which made my balancing act slightly easier.  I smiled at two black gentlemen who were sitting on some pavers outside of an apartment as I walked by.  (Please note that I didn't just smile at them.  People are so receptive to smiles here that I've taken to smiling at everyone I pass.)  The younger of the two seemed amused by me--as was his right, because I know I looked ridiculous and waved me over.  Being the wide-eyed ingenue that I am, I backtracked to see what he wanted. 

He asked me if I would please sell him a can of Coke, and I just had to name my price.  A smart person would have determined the cost of each can and asked for approximately $0.40.  I sat the twelve-pack down, opened it, handed him a can, and told him he didn't need to bother paying me. 

The look of joy on this man's face, I swear!  If I knew that handing a man a can of Coke was the key to making others happy, I would've started doing that eons ago.  He asked me if I was sure, thanked me profusely, asked me where I was heading, asked if he could help me carry something... it was sweet. 

The older man with him was laughing throughout this exchange and, once his friend was done being adorable, informed me that he lived in the apartment they were sitting in front of.  He asked me what my name was (and said it was pretty, thank you) and said I'm welcome to stop him if I need help with anything and I'm in the area.  I then told him that I'm frequently in need of help, being from Nebraska.  That got the usual reaction--surprise, followed by oh-you-poor-misplaced-thing--and he reiterated his offer to help me out. 

I thanked them both profusely for their offers and we exchanged our mutual desires to run into each other again sometime (although, now that I think about it, I forgot to ask them what their names were).  I only managed to get a few feet before the younger man asked me what city I was from.  Although I'll insist that I'm from Ralston to friends, I usually tell people who aren't familiar with me or Omaha's various suburbs that I'm from Omaha.  I did.  He said he liked it, and then:

"See you around, Omaha."

I just smiled--a real smile, mind, and I don't do that a lot--offered a see-you-later, and walked the rest of the way home.

Maybe this is all very dull for those of you who are used to living in places where people talk to each other, but this is all very new to me.  I made three friends in one walk!  One of them gave me a nickname!  No one ever gives me nicknames!

It was good.  I sort of felt worthwhile, you know?  I made sure no one ran Jose over and listened to him, which was, I think, all he really wanted--someone to listen.  I gave away a Coke and gained a nickname.  And the feeling I got from these encounters... I don't know.  I felt like I was truly a part of the human race and not some neurotic recluse who wants to help and doesn't know how.  I was talking to people!  People whose lives were improved, however slightly, by my existence!

For a few minutes, I felt like a real person.

And Takoma Park is remarkable to me in other ways.  The racial diversity floors me.  I'm from a white-white-white town--not by design, but Omaha and its suburbs are definitely divided as far as race is concerned.  Here, I see all colors of people.  And what's fantastic is that we're equals.  I'm not this white kid from a nice part of town; I'm from the same part of town as everyone else.  We live in the same apartments and go to the same stores.  People of color are willing to talk to me.

That's not to say anything against folks of color at home!  It's just different there.  If you're white, it's just assumed that you're at the top of the food chain (although, frankly, white people didn't talk to me much, either; my family is pretty poor for the area we live in).  If I'm at a thrift store in the Latino part of Omaha, I know I don't belong.  I feel... awful, really, for being white, and for being better off in some ways just by virtue of my skin color.  I think my self-consciousness in those situations alienates me from anyone who would otherwise talk to me.

But here!  I won't say it's perfect, but I love fitting in in a community that's not white.  I love being able to interact with people who aren't the same color as me, who don't live the same life as me, who don't talk the same way as me.  I want to take a notebook and just walk around the area and listen to anyone who will talk to me.  I want to take pictures of them so I'll remember them--make a scrapbook that's full of strangers who reach out to other people, including timid little white Midwesterners like me. 

And I want to help.  My life has never had much of a sense of direction--in part because I never intended to live so long, in part because I know writing and painting won't pay bills--but now I just want to help and be a part of as many lives as possible.

Strange, coming from a hermit.