Connection
Trinity College, Dublin
By Erin Deborah Waks
I’ve felt so disconnected from everything for months. From my friends, my work, my passions, my hobbies - my writing. One central facet in my life was in such disarray it seemed to emanate to all things around it, pulling out wires from plug sockets everywhere I went. I’d sit with my friends and barely let out a chuckle, read a book and lose track of each sentence, stroll around an art gallery while checking my phone and head to the gym with music so loud I was trying to drown out my thoughts.
When a connection is severed, it appears likely that everything else will go with it. But that’s not quite what happened.
On Friday morning, as I walked through my eclectic North London neighbourhood, I passed a homeless woman crying out desperately for a drink. I walked past, in my typical city girl bubble, until I realised I had an unopened coconut water in my bag. I walked back 100 metres, gave her my drink with a smile, and watched as she gazed back at me gratefully. I’ll never know if she even likes coconut water. But God knows she needed it more than I did. And I, truthfully, needed the human connection more than I did a bottle of overpriced, millennial health rubbish.
On Saturday, I went to the Barbie exhibition with two of my friends. And as we walked around with so many other women, from our generation and older, I realised we were all there reminiscing. The air of nostalgia that clouded the Design Museum felt equal parts pink, hazy and feminine. As we all squealed over Malibu Barbie, the impressive Dream House and, my personal favourite, the pink fluffy high heels we all coveted as little girls, it dawned on me that we were all reliving a shared childhood experience.
On Sunday, I went shopping on Oxford Street. Waiting at the bus stop, my arms laden with bags, a woman smiled and shook her head as we both realised we were waiting for the same (very delayed) bus. We chatted for a bit, and I commented on her beautiful pearl hair clip. We walked off in separate ways, finding alternate routes home, but in those few minutes we shared more than just a momentary impatience.
On Monday, while doing my makeup at the gym after my Pilates class, I overheard the two (very beautiful, very intimidating) girls next to me talking candidly about dating. I smiled, relating to their musings, and was about to continue with my eyeliner when I had the urge to join in. I was anxious they’d resent my intrusion. But they looked at me with such understanding, such agreement, such connection. We shared some compliments (they loved my watch, I liked their lululemon sets) and life lessons, and my normal two-minute makeup routine took 15.
Sometimes I feel so disconnected that I seek that moment, that spark, in something special. But when I look up for a moment, take a break from what I think I need, I often find the solution in the ordinary.
