I still have to write a conclusion...any ideas?
Becoming completely engrossed in my rendezvous with Mr. Jay Gatsby, I barely heard the man next to me casually mutter, "great book". Reluctantly, and somewhat awkwardly, I gave in to the next few minutes of small talk about our favorite and not-so-favorite novels. He continued to ramble on about the weather and God knows what, while I became lost in my own mind. I looked around the coffee shop, taking notice of the beautiful silks of reds and oranges and the familiar smell of warm apple cider. Glancing down at my peppermint tea, I realized that the steam had ceased to rise and it was the perfect luke-warm temperature by now. Bringing myself back to my stranger, I watched his small mouth form unknown words and his hands play with his corny looking glasses.
"I come to Koffee Klatch all the time because I'm in a rehab center a couple blocks away", he said, now gaining my full attention. I was taken aback and confused as to why this man would tell me this. I was raised by a family of introverts, where giving out personal information, especially to strangers, was a rarity. I'm easily the most outgoing family member, but even a conversation like this would have usually made me uncomfortable. Now recognizing that I was wholly listening, he dove deeper into his life story. I watched as he revealed his break up with his ex fiancé, his rebound relationship with alcohol, and his feelings of hatred towards all women. I was hooked. Listening to him was like reading that book that is absolutely impossible to put down. I memorized his every detail, expressive hand movement, and all-telling facial expression. I was on a high of curiosity, grasping every word and devouring it. I saw the loneliness that plagued every part of his body, and began to feel his hurt, his pain, his suffering. By the end of his story, I felt like I had experienced heat break, substance abuse issues, and isolation. This one conversation gave me the ability to mentally travel through, what seemed like, another world.
He used his story to gently lift my chin and open my eyes to see all that I could learn from my surroundings. I have realized that we all tend to resort back to our unfortunate childhood habit of not sharing. Every person has at least one spout of wisdom in them, gathered from a personal experience or two, which is kept as a secret from the world. Since my "coffee shop epiphany" I have stopped relying on books to teach me, and started to use the people of our world as a resource. I've learned about taxes from a man who only writes with blue pens. I've learned about the 50's from a homeless man who mentally still lives there. I've learned about how our minds tick from a psychiatrist eager to tell. I've read incredible books recommended by a local boy who only reads others' favorite novels. I've learned about love from a newlywed Argentinean woman. I've learned to discover.
Becoming completely engrossed in my rendezvous with Mr. Jay Gatsby, I barely heard the man next to me casually mutter, "great book". Reluctantly, and somewhat awkwardly, I gave in to the next few minutes of small talk about our favorite and not-so-favorite novels. He continued to ramble on about the weather and God knows what, while I became lost in my own mind. I looked around the coffee shop, taking notice of the beautiful silks of reds and oranges and the familiar smell of warm apple cider. Glancing down at my peppermint tea, I realized that the steam had ceased to rise and it was the perfect luke-warm temperature by now. Bringing myself back to my stranger, I watched his small mouth form unknown words and his hands play with his corny looking glasses.
"I come to Koffee Klatch all the time because I'm in a rehab center a couple blocks away", he said, now gaining my full attention. I was taken aback and confused as to why this man would tell me this. I was raised by a family of introverts, where giving out personal information, especially to strangers, was a rarity. I'm easily the most outgoing family member, but even a conversation like this would have usually made me uncomfortable. Now recognizing that I was wholly listening, he dove deeper into his life story. I watched as he revealed his break up with his ex fiancé, his rebound relationship with alcohol, and his feelings of hatred towards all women. I was hooked. Listening to him was like reading that book that is absolutely impossible to put down. I memorized his every detail, expressive hand movement, and all-telling facial expression. I was on a high of curiosity, grasping every word and devouring it. I saw the loneliness that plagued every part of his body, and began to feel his hurt, his pain, his suffering. By the end of his story, I felt like I had experienced heat break, substance abuse issues, and isolation. This one conversation gave me the ability to mentally travel through, what seemed like, another world.
He used his story to gently lift my chin and open my eyes to see all that I could learn from my surroundings. I have realized that we all tend to resort back to our unfortunate childhood habit of not sharing. Every person has at least one spout of wisdom in them, gathered from a personal experience or two, which is kept as a secret from the world. Since my "coffee shop epiphany" I have stopped relying on books to teach me, and started to use the people of our world as a resource. I've learned about taxes from a man who only writes with blue pens. I've learned about the 50's from a homeless man who mentally still lives there. I've learned about how our minds tick from a psychiatrist eager to tell. I've read incredible books recommended by a local boy who only reads others' favorite novels. I've learned about love from a newlywed Argentinean woman. I've learned to discover.
Do You Need