Elevators are a source of amusement to me. It’s the very definition of proximity and distance being tossed in a warped blender. You are crammed to the point of your privates being scrunched to someone else’s body parts and yet you carry on like those body parts do not exist. Maybe Leo Buscaglia is right. It would be fun to freak people out when getting in the lift and brightly announce, “Hello! My name is Ken and I want to know you!” They’d be so agitated and scramble out of the doggone box screaming, “There’s a psycho in there and he wants to know me!” The thought of someone knowing us well threatens us. We yearn for closeness and opt for detachment. To reword another brilliant writer: it’s like giving a handshake while wishing our arms are way longer. No wonder we are sad.
June 10, 2009
No wonder we are sad.