I'm on the train into London. 18:01. The indian man across from me eating tic-tacs for dinner. One after the other every minute or so. Can't blame him. I do the same sometimes. The well-dressed men all over the train give me new ideas on what accessories I'm lacking at the moment. Chatter in different languages. The 15 different conversations hitting my ears simultaneously, all at different pitches, different tempos, intensities and volumes. It's like putting ten different tapes on at once and the whole confusing buzz forms its own synthetic melody; like grasshoppers or birds all chirping forms a cacophony that is pleasant in its own right. But I notice more the silence of people not talking to each other. There are a lot of us on this train. Not enought seats for everyone. Some young boys sit on the luggage racks. Some passengers read, some sleep, some sit, blankly staring ahead or out the window. Some are in conversation. They all look different. We're all different but all together in the same hurtling tube going to one of the world's great metropolises. I'm thinking a lot about difference lately. All these people have different backgrounds, stories, values, hopes, beliefs, etc. I guess we all have a lot in common as well. We all must value practicality, efficiency, and order--getting along in order to make sure we can follow our different paths to the good life. But beyond that, we don't seem to want much to do with each other. We keep to ourselves. Train conversations with strangers are by no means rare, but they aren't exactly common either. I think this is because difference is uncomfortable and when forced to face it, we sit quietly or do our own thing until the train arrives. My brother calls me to tell me which restaurant I need to go to when I arrive in London...It's really rather just a coincidence that there are other people on the train with us. We tend to think of traveling as more about just getting to a destination than what the actual journey involves. Fair enough, but aren't we always kind of traveling from one place ot the next? Wouldn't it make sense to see the journey--and our fellow passengers as having more meaning than the buildings that wizz by the train?
I guess I'm people watching. It's rather fun. Well, I'm not doing a very good job of shaking this preoccupation with difference. I was thinking earlier today how silly my idealism upon coming to Oxford was. I was going to be friends with everyone. everyone. We were all going to be best friends and have very deep relationships. Ha! I've met a lot of nice people and had some very good conversations and with two people I felt a connection. We even set up lunch or dinner appointments to initiate our friendships. I was very excited. Then neither of them showed up! But it is just orientation week and that is understandable. I still felt really down though. I think I am really needing friendship at the moment. It's tough.
Another thing is tough. I noticed that without even dong anything I had become a curiosity for some people. "Are you really a mormon?" Their interest belied the fact that with the admission I had automatically become more of a joke--someone who believed in "gold plates" and "angels"--than someone to connect with or take seriously. The conversation was frustrating. They kept on asking "where did the gold plates go?" and "what about these magic underpants" in a very patronizing manner. That hurt. I think it hurt because I usually think of myself as a thinking, feeling, aware individual with a very thought-out relationship to his faith. Dismissal and being looked at askance is the worst. It is even worse because I know I do that sometime to others as well. Well, what I'm thinking now is that I may just have to accept that difference and other people's attitudes and even my own shortcomings (not to mention the constraints of space and time) may mean that I won't become friends with everyone. The train is coming into London. People are starting to get off at the stops. But now more people are getting on. It's gotten dark on the way in.
Come to think of it, I could very well comment on the uniformity of the people I see. All the guys basically wear the same thing: Jeans. Button-up shirt with a collar. And some type of jacket or blazer. Most have watches and there are about three types of cell-phones. I've been thinking about commonalities--and uniformity-- a lot lately as well. I feel an irresistible urge to look like everyone else in Oxford. I'm slowly being assimilated. I now just need a blazer, a scarf, and these boot-like shoes with fur around the top I keep seeing. Heaven forbid. What was Hayek saying again about the inability of central planning to figure out disparate tastes in a society...? I suppose uniformity is a also a necessary component of social life. I suppose as well that uniformity fits well with the idea of being uncomfortable with difference. As much as we can, we try to eliminate it. That's not really true. We try to be different as well. Why should difference be so scary or unbearable? I'm sure there are lots of reasons--our own way of being could feel threatened or because we depend so much on other people we need to be able to understand them. Would some of these barriers dissolve if I started talking to these people or would they become even more incomprehensible? Maybe it would work if we found some common interests and experiences. But there is a great chance that we would end up talking in generalities and things common to all humans--like the weather. Oh goodness no. The ultimate indicator of an impasse. Talking about the weather. But I've noticed old couples who know everything about each other also talk about the weather.
Arrived at Paddington. We all get off together. In a few minutes I'll be with some friends and feel at home for a little while.

oh, and I've posted some pictures of my new home and college.