On Eye Contact.

I sometimes compare my spin class to a subway ... except with more sweat, less clothes and an abundance of water bottles. The level of awkwardness is about the same. The level of eye contact-or lack there of--is equally disturbing. The other day my water bottle fell out of those little metal clingers that attach to the side of the stationary bikes (or those who may not be familiar, spin is a form cardiovascular torture that is pleasurable to those who enjoy the dark, lots of mirrors and a big endorphine hit. There's also music involved by everyone from Sting to CCR to CC Peneston ... on good days). So my water bottle falls and I am clipped into the bike with my spinning shoes fastened to the pedals, so I don't really want to unclip myself and move because its kind of a pain in the ass to get situated in the first place ... and I noticed the female spinner warming up next to me isn't wearing clipped shoes. She could easily scoot off the bike and grab my bottle. Instead, she diverts her head the other way and I am left feeling bashful about asking her to grab the bottle eventhough she watched it roll. She never even made eye contact with me.

I wonder what motivated her fear not to look ... or was it not fear, but the mere inadequacies we have in public places among strangers. We are forced to sit next to one another not by choice, but because we are putting ourselves in this place as a means to end. We are losing weight, impressing a mate, looking for the next high in a high-free zone. Yet, we can't seem to strike that balance of basic humaness (or ideal humaness?) I am baffled.

Then there is the opposite effect of eye contact. Tonight, I worked behind the bar with the lovely Ms. Veronica for a singles, icebreaker party. There were slews of 20- 30- somethings drink Diet Sprite and wearing name tags with celebrities typed on them. One woman had Matt Damon scrawled on her back. Another guy's shoulder read Marilyn Monoroe. He was talking to a woman who boar the name Joe Dimaggio. The point of the ice breaker of course was to find the celebrity you matched with on the "couple level" and then strike up a chat. As square as the crowd was, I was getting a kick out of a small man with no chin talk to a rosy tinted lady who was pratically busting out of this vile tangerine tank top. It was charming in a comic book sort of way. But then there was this older man who appeared out of now where wearing a cornflower oxford. He had googly eyes, may have been Hispanic and drank Red Bull and vodkas with cherries in them. All the while he kept shifting corners of the bar, staring at Veronica and I and sipping his drink. I didn't see a celebrity name tag on him. I didn't see him talk to anybody.

The very fact that he couldn't take our eyes off of us made me uncomfortable, but also sad in a way, because I have this knack of feeling very sad for lonely people. I , myself, have been very lonely in various stages of my life, so maybe I fast forward mentally, and see someone carrying all of this loneliness that built on years and years of loneliness--that's got to have some sting. At the same time I felt very angry that he was violating all of us in the bar with a glare that seethed sadness but was too insulting to befriend.

I'm talking about balance here. Where does it begin and end? Hmmm ... perhaps we all have to close our eyes for a moment and regroup.