From the District: On a crowded train of isolation

WASHINGTON - Three weeks ago, I moved to Washington, D.C. As the airplane taxied through the runway and I captured a glimpse of the beautiful Washington Monument, I was ecstatic. I recognized that three months in my favorite city could hold life-changing moments.

I was going to have opportunities and experiences that I could never get in Omaha (indeed this is true - this week alone I will dine with Vice President Dick Cheney and meet Supreme Court Chief Justice Antonin Scalia).

Starting my internship at the National Journalism Center within a day of unpacking my clothes, I began to see that some things are different in Washington, unlike any other cities in the nation and especially unlike good ol' Omaha.

While walking to the metro from my condo (yes, I live in a condo) and waiting for the train to arrive, something jumped out to me among those commuting into the District: isolation.

The commuters buried themselves into their newspapers, magazines and, even worse, the work they took home with them to isolate themselves. Everyone seemed so caught up into themselves, it is as if they're trying to cut off the outside world around them.

It was almost as if these people were looking for answers to life problems by reading a newspaper or listening to blaring iPods. Perhaps they were looking for something bigger and better than themselves and searching for it through their careers.

Instead, they're losing themselves. I've been there, done that. Don't plan on that happening again.

A speaker from Concerned Women for America came and spoke to myself and 39 other interns with the program about Washington life. She warned us young professionals to make sure we knew what we were getting into and to prioritize our lives, aware of the sacrifices we could be making in the long run. She pointed out that most of the professionals are single, yet married . only to their careers.

It made sense. That's why the men and women never make eye contact on the train, refuse to practice patience and always seem in a hurry to get to their next destination, wherever that may be.

My Washington friends and I joke that you'll always know the tourists apart from the locals: they look in your eyes, generally hold maps to guide their traveling and are just plain polite. Politeness is a bit uncommon in the District.

A lack of politeness definitely wasn't the lifestyle I imagined, nor plan on succumbing to. (I'm also determined to not become that person staying late at work, only to go home and work some more; I will not be that person!)

We also joke that people here won't care about you unless you will get them somewhere or help them out in some way. Introductions of "Hello, my name is so-and-so, and I work with so-and-so" are not uncommon. It's all about who you know.

The people of DC are not what I thought they'd be. They definitely don't know how to maintain great personal relationships. Yes, they excel at professional relationships, but make up for it by lacking in their private lives.

I imagined a suave and blossoming social life, with the opportunity to meet smooth and motivated men. And I have. But, well, let's just say their motives are what are questionable.

The second weekend, I went out to a club for a friend's 21st birthday in the young and college student bubbling Georgetown and enjoyed the night life. Or tried to at least. Within less than an hour of watching my friends dance in the throng of dance bar attendees, a man offered me drinks, his lips and his bed. After fleeing to the other side of the bar, another man offered me a drink and proceeded to brag about his car and house.

The next day, I went to my beloved D.C. United soccer game in my lonesome and a very wealthy, good-looking young man bought me a beer, gave me his number and informed me I should fly down with him to his current home in Miami to visit him.

These materialistic and shallow people do not appeal to me, yet something holds me here.

It's no surprise, after situations such that I've experienced, as well as the narcissistic attitudes and the lack of warmth in this city, yield higher average ages of marriage - 25 for women and 27 for men.

Don't get me wrong: I absolutely love it here. I'm surprisingly content in this place. Maybe I won't find my husband here - I'm OK with that. Looks like I'll just have to look elsewhere, even if I do end up "settling down" in the District for a while.

Besides, even if I don't find him here, there are bigger and better things; things I wish more people would realize that are more valuable than money or pretty possessions.

Do these material things really bring happiness? Perhaps in the short term.

Every city has its downfall and loss of self isn't unusual in a place as high speed as this. I guess that is one risk those daring to enter Washington take. I know I'm taking it and I'm doing just fine.

Who knows - maybe in five or ten years, I'll be the Washington woman cautioning new and young professionals to choose wisely.

One thing I do know: I won't be taking work home with me on the train.