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Tables


I went to a bookclub meeting this past week. Our read for the month was a memoir about how the author had lived in the same place her whole life, and then in her 40s she moved away to a different place, and all the things that were hard (and all the things that were good) about it. I was somewhat underwhelmed by how overwhelmed she was, as someone who has moved around enough to always be the transplant, but some of the other bookclub members have lived here their whole lives and had more empathy.

Something that came up in the meeting was how, just as we collect stuff the longer we live in the same home, we can also collect people from school, work, place of worship, etc. And those people may not, at this point, be actively contributing to our lives nor we to theirs, but we've got them now so then what. It was an illuminating discussion for me, because it clarified something. When we first moved here nine years ago, I was told (and found) the locals to be cliquish and unfriendly. But those descriptors never felt quite right. Now I would say that they have filled all the available seats at their tables, and there simply isn't room for anyone else. They already have a Trivia Night Friend, a Friend Who Is Good At Planning, a Bookish Friend, a Friend Who Pushes Them Outside Their Comfort Zone, a Queer Friend, a Friend Who Hypes Them Up, etc... and they don't need me. They're not currently hiring; the vacancies are filled.

On a cognitive level, that makes sense. But I do not understand it. Even when I lived in the place my family was from, I still went about with friendly curiosity, eager to hear peoples' stories and to share my own experiences with them. I have less of a desire to fill an imaginary table than I do to walk from fire to fire, sharing the warmth of flame and tale. I do want to have deep friendships, people I know well who know me well, but I'm not possessive about it. And I also have a high capacity.

Having gained that knowledge, I'm not sure what to do with it now. Perhaps redirect my efforts toward other transplants, people whose tables aren't already full and with whom I already have at least one shared experience: that we are all in the overflow seating on the front step, while the party goes on inside.
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