This Is a Trip
Thoughts on Silence
One of the things that I appreciate about a good friendship is the space for silence. It is a telling thing to know the comfort of someone and letting there be being with no pressure to perform or contribute. It is a state of shared rest; it is mutual care.
Noise is easy
I once took the train down from Fullerton to San Diego to visit a friend for the weekend. It was a beautiful weekend, and I still cherish the memory. I remember the rush of a simple train ride. I was leaving the area to take a break and finally get away (see previous post about scheduling).
I was seated near a group of three friends. They were older than me, something on the “adult” side of the scale if I was on the “early-adult” side of it at that time. And they were pumped for their train ride. All of them. We all were. This was going to an awesome train down one of the most beautiful places on Earth (I said it).
I remember his beer belly and baseball cap. In this scene, he was the total picture of what people mean when they say “...and then some random guy” in their stories.
So, I’m sitting there near this group of friends, and then this random guy takes advantage of the pause in their conversation (instead of politely letting it breathe) to declare: “this is a trip.” As he looks around the cabin and out the window with a bobbing headnod of affirmation, he actually said, “this is a trip.”
This random guy would do this possibly twenty more times. As their conversation slowed down and the natural charge of a topic ran out and the change into a new one began, he would interrupt the downtime and announce “this is a trip” right in the middle of my trip!
I don’t blame him really. We were in fact on a trip. It was what it was. It was a trip to be on a train and moving all fast without having to give attention to the road but also be able to just relax, and it was in fact a trip south. I cannot deny either aspect.
This random guy comes to mind sometimes when I need a good chuckle, but I also think of him sometimes when I recognize that the company I’m with actually lets there be silence.
It was what it was
Recently, I had friends from California visit me. I loved it. I was thrilled they were able to make the time, heave the cost, and wanted to spend time with me (being someone’s intent for their used vacation time has been an acute awareness since entering adulthood). I was excited to share my new home with them and take them around places that I love or have never seen yet.
We went to the old post office and took the side-lift up the clock tower. I showed them this so we would have a view of the places that we would visit later. (Also, and this will be a later essay at some point, it is the best view of the best view of the city in the city: the Washington Monument).
We saw it all.
(This was a trip.)
We went to the Smithsonian Natural History Museum and learned about dinosaurs then went to get Ethiopian food.
(This was a trip.)
We saw the early bloom of the cherry blossoms and the Jefferson Memorial.
(This was a trip.)
We went to the Kreeger Museum and then to a comedy show after rooftop drinks.
(This was a trip.)
We went to the Hirshhorn Museum and then a pub.
(This was a trip.)
The entire trip was a trip, but it did not require announcing that it was a trip.
In writing, it is often a measurement of a writer’s skill to know when not to say something more than how to add and add and add onto a main point.
Life and friendships are similar.
Trevor
Now reading:
