Streets Full of Strangers

I'm accustomed to walking around the village of Watkins Glen by myself. The sights, sounds, and silhouettes are all familiar to me. I feel as if it is my very own town, it accepts me and I accept it. We're friends, Watkins Glen and I. A majority of that feeling has come from working there all Summer long. Seeing the streets early in the morning while the village inhabitants still slumber, seeing the streets at night as I would walk back from a long shift--all of that had a part in creating my sense of belonging to the friendly village.

Watkins is also a very safe town. Apparently the last murder was 100 years ago, or so I've heard. I've never felt afraid or vulnerable. If I could give Watkins Glen a hug, I would.

Now that I've sufficiently gotten the point across, it is time to introduce The City of Corning.

Centerway Park on Christmas Eve

Juxtaposed together, Watkins and Corning have vast differences. In Watkins, everyone knows everyone. In Corning, there's The Elite (usually Corning Inc. employees), there's the Market St. group, the Centerway Park hippie-wanna-be subgroup, the various church denomination's personal circles, the "I drink coffee at Walker Cake Co." peeps, and the "I drink coffee at Soul Full Cup" peeps", the East high-schoolers and the West high-schoolers, and last but not least, the Bridge St. people. All of these numerous circles create an atmosphere that is quite loving and accepting if you're part of one of those groups, but otherwise, you might as well be the scum of the earth, the Jean ValJean of America, the...well, you get the point. (Note, there might be some *slight* exaggeration within that last sentence, I should mention that it's usually very easy to enter into one of those circles, just go and start regularly drinking coffee outside of Soul Full).

"Why all the hubbub about Corning's circles, Maryah?" you may be asking. And rightly so, for Corning is a wonderful city full of wonderful people, associations and coffee shops. Corning has a Wegmans (the envy of every southerner), the Little Joe tower (it's cute to take pictures of), and it was rated the most fun small town in America in 2013. All that, and it also boasts the Corning Museum of Glass, which isn't your ordinary museum field trip, that's for sure.

My answer: I went for a walk in Corning. I don't think I've every actually walked around Corning by myself, but today it just so happened that I was. What I experienced came almost as a shock to me. Whereas in Watkins I could quite comfortably walk around and greet the people I walked past with a smile, I found myself on Market St. simply trying to avoid eye contact and look as if I actually had a purpose for my walk besides enjoying the lovely day. I felt vulnerable and insecure. Every time I safely walked past a group of guys was a reason to thank God.

I hated it, because I felt cold and mean and introverted. I disliked the contrast between my walking around Corning and my walking around Columbus, where, along with my good friends of course, we traversed the city and walked up to strangers imploring if they needed prayer. I understand a large part of it has to do with being with friends and feeling safe with them, yet I have hopes to believe that my self-confidence is founded on things other than the people I'm around. Maybe? Hopefully? Or maybe Watkins and Corning really are just that different. Perhaps it's because I've grown up walking around Market with my family and friends, so to be alone all of the sudden is a shock to my system and comfort zone. We'll see, perhaps a few more walks on Market St. all by my lonesome will vanquish these silly thoughts of vulnerability and insecurity.

Columbus, Ohio

As I made my way across the street I suddenly realized that the song playing through my head was "On My Own" from Les Miserables. And guess what part I was singing to myself? 

"The trees are bare and everywhere the streets are full of strangers." 

I thought it crazy that my subconscious had suddenly begun singing a song to accompany my feelings of loneliness. Yet when I got back home and the familiarities welcomed me, I no longer felt those things and was, in some respects, a little ashamed of myself. I mean, come on, I'm not a little child anymore! But perhaps in some ways I still am, and that's okay, it's never a bad thing to need the safety of another or several others. Vulnerability is good in that it makes us depend more on each other, and if you ask me, we could all use a little more vulnerability from time to time.