Heading to the company cafeteria today I had every intention of being reclusive. Go in, load up my tray with day’s fare, find a seat, and stuff my face for 30 minutes. I made it to step three before I noticed that my plan might be compromised.
After settling down to begin my meal I spied a co-worker from my department making her way through the food line. I shuttered at the prospect of awkward conversation interspersed between even more awkward bites of food, so I positioned myself for minimum visibility. To further disguise my presence, I focused intently on my food. I worked the contents of my tray like a sculptor in throes of hewing stone, or metal, or wood into art. Chicken cacciatore, mixed veggies, soup, and salad were my medium and I was not to be disturbed.
“Do you mind if I sit with you?” she said as she took a seat directly across from me. “Of course not!” I chirped, while dying a small inner death. The psychic barrier that I had so meticulously constructed seemed to have had no effect whatsoever. I briefly toyed with the idea of using indiscreet non-verbal communiqués to signal my desire for solitude, but I quickly checked the impulse. Resigned to sociability, I launched into a stream of small talk. Utilizing tactical open-ended questions, I thought that I would at least maximize the amount of time that I had to listen (i.e. eat).
There was a point, where I realized my foolishness; it was also the point where she said something that was genuinely funny and I couldn’t help but laugh. My defenses began to come down and we started to have a real conversation. This person, whom I had written off as less important than my collection of cafeteria eats, turned out to be quite likable.
The flow of the conversation meandered among topics such as the day’s dessert (“Is it a pie? A cookie? A tart?) and international travel. The allotted 30 minutes of break time quickly passed and we said our goodbyes. I was surprised at the feeling of wellbeing that I had, but I also wasn’t. Why would picking the brown bits out of a salad, spooning flavorless soup into my gullet, or quickly downing a bowl of pie/cookie/tart and soft-serve ice cream be more satisfying than experiencing a quality interaction with another human being?
This experience to me is a clear example of how wants and needs are different. I want a lot of things, and most of those things, if acquired, achieved, or experienced would leave me feeling pretty empty inside. I don’t exactly know what my needs are, but I know them when I see them, and I seem to be given ample opportunities to fulfill them.
It’s food for thought.
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