I really liked Anna. So much.

I usually don’t think about whether or not I like people. I’m not here to like people; I’m here to love them. And more specifically to this summer’s project, I’m here to learn from them. Although I often end up liking people without making a decision about it, because once you empathetically listen to someone, it’s hard to hate them.

But even in my first few hours with Anna, my mind (or heart or whatever) told me that I really liked her. “Interesting,” I replied to myself, then dismissed it and kept listening or showering or whatever I was doing.

On Monday, Anna and I walked the four blocks from her Queens apartment to the yellow line metro stop. I sat opposite her on the train—her short, curly hair hugs her face, and her red cat-eye glasses frame generous eyes and mirror her bright red pants. The car filled up as we worked our way into Manhattan, and I was peeking through the legs of commuters at each stop to check for the flash of red pants assuring me that I hadn’t missed our stop. Eventually the space was too overrun for my kiddish trick to work, and I sat alone, not making eye contact and thus looking very local. Eventually someone tapped me—I looked up to a flick of a smile and a tilt of the cat-eye glasses. It was time: we climbed the subway stairs, crossed Wall Street, and went into work.

Anna is the financial aid director for a small college in Manhattan. From nine to five on Monday and Tuesday, we sat in her office and answered emails and made phone calls. Well, she did that, and I sat behind her catching up on blogging and emails and such. Apparently I take the term “shadow” very literally. I’m sure that since I’ve left, her office feels much bigger.

Last summer, I had an internship in an office from nine to five, so I know what it’s like to have long work days. But my work days with Anna didn’t seem long. There were small things: her office was lit with lamps rather than fluorescent lights. A shelf lines one wall, stacked neatly with books and topped by small glass bottles. The walls have a corkboard of cards, old posters about NYC, and an old-school pennant that reads “votes for women!” The days didn’t seem long, and I think it’s because they were productive, productivity punctuated by conversations with Anna.

Anna has an aura of subtle camaraderie with the world around her. When we met, she hopped into my car to help me find a parking spot on the darkening summer streets. Once at work, I got to hear her call students and tell them they’d won a significant scholarship for the upcoming year. But even when she was on phone calls (I would say “difficult” phone calls, but I think all phone calls are difficult, so that’s projecting), she was just as helpful as on the scholarship calls. Her roommate Laura has been working at the same college as Anna but is about to switch jobs, and for the going-away surprise party at work, Anna was delightfully particular about her contribution, acquiring swanky cake balls from a famous bakery and Laura’s favorite coffee in bulk. Not because Anna loves buying sugary foods she’ll let everyone else eat, but because Anna loves Laura.  

But the reason I liked Anna, I realized, is because I’m like Anna. Or, actually, I hope I’m like Anna. She’s introverted yet (more appropriately, and) a strong leader. Her apartment is darling—colorful, cozy, homey. She is equally competent in financial aid and fashion and fitness and fun. Her roommates Laura and Jill were delightful—fun and funny and kind and kind of adorable. Anna has made conscious decisions to live well and now acts on these decisions out of habit. 

If that’s adulting, I’m so down.