Lonely Planet

I spent my first two years of college at Georgetown University in Washington, D.C. Getting accepted and having the opportunity to go to Georgetown was my dream. Those two years, though, were very difficult. For many reasons, I did not end up staying at Georgetown.

Washington, D.C., is a peculiar sort of place. It's huge, and yet very, very tiny. There are a great many people packed into a very small space, and most of those people see themselves as wildly different from the other inhabitants of the city. There are three reasons that one lives in D.C.: you were born and raised there, you work for a government (American or foreign), or you work for a non-profit organization. The college students in the city (and there are a lot of them) are there usually because they want to go into politics. In fact, politics shape every aspect of life in the District. I remember walking down the street and being amazed by the people I saw. The Americans - at least the Americans that weren't tourists - did everything with purpose. There were meetings to go to, rallies to attend, people to call, metro trains to catch, opinions to disseminate. There was never, I quickly realized, time for, well, life. Being in D.C. means being of D.C. Being of D.C. usually means interacting with a plethora of people, but never really knowing them or caring to know them. A political constituent is a faceless American whose vote can be won or lost depending upon the way a campaign is run. A neighbor is someone who is probably just as busy as you are and wants to get to know you about as little as you want to get to know him. The cashier at the grocery store is someone working a minimum-wage job, someone who needs, not a friend, but a political representative. This is how D.C. operates.

It is the loneliest place I have ever been.

During my two years in the nation's capitol, I longed for every smile, every handshake that I received. They were few and far between, but they had the power to change my attitude for the rest of the week. I strove to make conversation with anyone that I could. Most people found that to be very strange. I'm not a terribly social person; I love being able to relax by myself and read, play video games, write letters, or what have you. Yet, being in Washington taught me that I need people. Not just my family and friends, but people. My experience in D.C., coupled with my growing conviction that Christ calls me to love every single person with whom I come into contact, has changed the way I look at the other people walking around this lonely planet.

We are lonely. People are lonely. And it's only getting worse. We send a Facebook message when we could send an email. We send an email when we could call. We call when we could take an hour out of our weeks to have lunch with a friend. We take an hour for lunch when we should be pouring all of our time into developing relationships with people. The Christian life is not a solitary one.

I still have trouble with this, of course. Some days, I don't want to look at people, much less love them. But we're not really given that choice, are we? Jesus died for us to live, and we must - must - tell others about His amazing sacrifice.

In case you haven't figured it out by now, I love poetry. It moves me in a way that few other art forms do. Today, I came across a Walt Whitman poem called "To You." If you've not read Whitman, you really ought to try. He is certainly the most accessible poet I've ever read, and he knows how to use words in an incredible way. But here's my discovery from today:

Stranger, if you passing meet me and desire to speak to me, why
    should you not speak to me?
And why should I not speak to you?

That's it. It's so simple, but so relevant. I must not isolate myself. I must speak. This is my challenge to myself.