I went out to Austin last week (the West-side neighborhood, that is–not the Texas city) to do a feature story for Austin Talks about the new principal at Austin Business and Entrepreneurship Academy.

Long name for an even longer school.

Austin Business is part of a large conglomerate of schools, including a high school called VOISE Academy and another school called Austin Polytechnical Academy. All three are separate schools, but all coexist under the same giant roof.

I took the brown line from Southport (my stop) to Merchandise Mart. Then, as is my wont, I hopped off and ran down the stairs and up the street to Clark and Lake, avoiding the dreaded loop around the city. At Clark and Lake I hopped on the old green line and took it to Central, a mere several block walk from Austin Business.

View of Austin from the Central platform

Race is an interesting thing, because it is very theoretical until you are actually experiencing it, and then it becomes tangible—a real feel your heart moving around in your chest kind of moment.

I like to consider myself an “open to all experiences and peoples of this world” kind of human being. Stepping off the train in Austin, I perceived myself to be the only white person on the platform. In my head I thought, “god you must stick out like a sore thumb.”

(Always so sore, those thumbs. Never “stick out like an abnormally large thumb,” but, anyway…)

And then I thought, “What am I doing here? Why is this only my first time in this part of the city? Like I’m some from on high student come to take a look at aliens in her off time.”

I was experiencing what I think the outsider experiences and, as such, I went through several emotions as I walked those blocks to Austin Business.

I felt out of place, then I became defensive, then offensive, then protective of myself, then only wanted to appear as nonchalant and indifferent to the whole situation as possible.

I wanted to fit in.

What ended up happening was that I walked the blocks and came to the school. Some friendly older men outside the building directed me to the correct entrance, and I went to the office to wait for the principal.

Nothing like a little wait in the principal’s office to make you glad you’re in college.

The principal, Wayne Issa, was a great man. Friendly, outgoing, and excited to be starting classes, he told me that the school had had six different principals in the last five years.

I told him I thought that was awful, and he agreed.

“But,” he said, “I look forward to next year and, just, them seeing my face again.”

That repetition—that “seeing again”—is crucial to our trust in another person, another place.

I hope to see Austin again real soon.