I Walk the City Streets Alone

Some days I walk the city streets alone. Step by step I learn to release my insecurity and need for companionship. Enjoying the fresh air, I take my solitude in stride. And on days like this, it is a shorter stride. For once, I can relax. There is no one to see and nothing pressing that requires my attention.

I think about where I am. The very place I never thought I would reach. Vibrant and new, the sights, people, and customs. A world that I understand about as well as I understood the television that at one time provided all these sights straight to my home. With my shallow understanding, I could press the power button, turn up the volume, and enjoy. A simple scratch on the surface, these pictures and sounds gave insight into a whole other world. Never before was there a need to understand the inner workings of how the flashes of light and soundbites all worked together to bring me entertainment. From the safety of my armchair, there was never a need to understand how or why the people here do things the way they do, it was enough to know that they were different.

In college, my car broke down one February. I read and read about what to do and how to do it. Within a week I had gathered all the necessary tools and new parts. I spent an entire day taking apart the section of my engine that housed the alternator. After carefully setting the new alternator and returning all the belts to their proper places, I happily drove my car around town. If I had been given a brand new mustang like the rich kid in the next dorm over, my satisfaction could not have compared. I didn't want a new car. I only wanted to drive my little white '97 hundai elantra with the large dent above the rear passenger side tire and damaged front bumper with the remaining paint smear from a blue pickup truck. Despite the limited miles that remained, it ran now because I had used my own hands to fix it.

I used to think that if I read a book, or a couple books, I could figure anything out. If I could just google something, I would be the expert. As I walk the city streets alone, I realize that not everything is that simple. If I had, for one moment, opened my eyes, I could have deduced that I really didn't understand how the electrical current flowed into the television to create light that was ordered in such a way as to carry information to the neurons in my brain.

It is easy to make rash judgments about surface level understanding, but real, objective knowledge is elusive. Knowledge requires time. The feeling of accomplishment I enjoyed driving around town lasted all but a week before I discovered my error by means of another broken alternator. They tell me there is a breaking point coming. This is the rock bottom of culture shock. Yet what if brokenness comes, but knowledge and understanding don't?

And why am I continually handed the excuse of culture shock? There is other knowledge in this world that seems equally elusive to me. Similar to cultural understanding, love has evaded me as well. Sometimes I can't help but wonder what I'm doing with my life. Did I miss a step somewhere along the way? Did I miss the memo senior year when my friends moved off campus to acclimate to real life while I dove deeper into the freshman bubble of Dorm 26? When my friends started getting married, was it wisdom or stubborness that caused me to ignore the fact that there was an alternate gender out there somewhere?

I am here now, so there must be some purpose. Perhaps, I am on the verge. Walking the main boulevard, I envision the next street corner being that proverbial breakthrough. To my right stands a cafe. At the height of the afternoon ciesta, every table is empty. That is, except one. Facing the street sits a tall, olive-skinned man. His arms rest on the table as he leans forward. Eyes waiting expectantly, in like fashion to the beggar I just passed. Eyes that eagerly pine for even a small portion of what could potentially be offered. He gazes into the face hidden to me by a veil.

I don't understand. I have no reference point for the love of which I have only heard. No feelings that tug at me when I see this man's joy. No true concept of what he experiences when he gazes deeply into eyes reserved only for him. For me, to love a woman is equal to culture shock. Perhaps, in time, I will understand love. Perhaps, in time, I will understand this city and these people. Perhaps, this understanding is just around the proverbial corner.

Passing the cafe, I arrive at the street corner for which I had hoped. Standing there, observing what had before been hidden by the cafe, I realize this next street looks no different than the last. I suppose life is the same. From each corner, every street looks the same. Unless I walk the street, I will never know what surprises await. New cafes. New alleys. New friends. Perhaps, something on this street will lead to my breakthrough. Until then, I walk the city streets alone.