I don’t like surprises or spontaneity. They really just cause unnecessary anxiety. What I love is staying home, predictable in my pajamas, coffee in my cup, and not having to pretend I like people. Don’t get me wrong, I love people, but humanity is definitely easier to love as a whole, than loving a neighbor, or twenty people gathered ever will be. Perhaps I am an introvert. I’d much rather scrub my floors on my hands and knees, while contemplating my next poem, than to make small talk at any event. Small talk is like sand paper to my psyche. Let’s talk politics, religion, poetry, art, psychology, music, anything with meaning. A creative mind is rarely tidy, so I’ve heard. A good conversation, one with meaning and ideas, is one of the most erotic things ever. Sometimes it feels like my heart is a thousand years old. I’m just not like other people. That or other people are just like me and don’t show it. I am such a simple girl, really. I just want to drink coffee, create beautiful things, and sleep. In between all that maybe write some poems, watch old movies with my girls, get someone to care about what is going on with the world, and laugh a lot. The important things matter. Small talk takes away from what is really important. I can scarcely tolerate it anymore. It’s exhausting. I have no fear of depths. The deeper the conversation the more I enjoy it. It’s shallow communication and shallow living I can do without. I’ve noticed that just when I feel I need to burst out of these walls I want back in them as soon as I venture out. For me it is staying at home that is comfortable. It’s a comfort nothing else can ever match. I find myself craving cancelled plans the way an addict craves their next fix. I can remember when I used to walk into gatherings and wonder if the people who surrounded me liked me. I used to worry about what they would say, and care far too much about their opinions. Now I walk into these gatherings and I ponder whether or not I like these people. I no longer give two cents or care what they think or say. So many of them have no lives aside from sitting around all day talking about other people’s lives. My energy is far too precious to me to waste in such ways. I hate pretending I like people I just don’t like. So many folks are just fake. They make nice to your face, and then talk shit behind your back. You’re not the only one they talk about though because it’s their issues they’re running from, and the issues of others are a mere distraction from their own. I barely have the energy to worry about my own life, let alone go on worrying about the lives of others. I don’t have time to run from my own issues because I’ve learned you just keep running into yourself. I don’t think I was born with an enormous need for affection. I do believe that my nurturing, or lack thereof, made me feel that way for a time. I used to crave the getting and giving of affection. I used to be such a people person, and a people pleaser, but then I realized it was all about me. It was about seeking in other people what I can only give myself. I no longer have a need to wear myself out in such ways. I am such a different person today. I don’t mind giving affection, and sometimes feel an overwhelming need to nurture, but mostly, I just want to be alone. For no matter how huge the urge is to be around others the desire to leave them immediately is much larger. I’m not anti-social, so much as anti-small talk, anti-pretending, anti-bullshit, I guess. All my energy comes from within. So being with other people for long periods of time is exhausting and draining. The older I get the more exhausted I am in general, so I often need long periods of alone time to conjure up more energy. It’s zapped by others so easily that after an hour or two of socializing I am left empty and lethargic. There are times my social skills are strong, and I actually enjoy parties and gatherings. It’s just that the enjoyment doesn’t last long before I want to be home, in my pajamas, with coffee in hand. I prefer to devote what social energy I do have to close friends and select family members. Sometimes I listen more than I talk, which is odd, considering I’ve never been accused of being short on words. It’s just the words have to mean something for me to want to speak them. And writing this to post, or posting other things on social media, is much different than being around other people. I definitely express myself better in writing, and prefer that over verbal bullshit every time. I dislike conflict but understand that in some deeper conversations it will be part of it. I live with a horror of the small talk, and crave deeper meaning in conversations. If a conversation has no meaning it’s a waste of time to me. Let’s sit in front of a bonfire and contemplate the meaning of life. I’d prefer that over a trip to the mall to contemplate meaningless wardrobe. The older I get the more I accept who I am. The more I accept me the less I need others to. Keeping up with the Jones has never really been my thing. Life isn’t a competition unless you make it one. People who have known me my entire life would never believe how often I’ve been called quiet and stuck up. I tend to be reserved in front of crowds; especially new crowds of people I’ve only just met. I’m not shy, I am not stuck up, and I am not anti-social. Sometimes I just listen and observe to get know other people, or because I can’t bring myself to take part in the small talk. I feel like small talk is polluting the universe with pointless noise. I’ll talk about deep subjects for hours, though. I’ve been yelled at by others for not answering my phone, and my family has laughed at the dread I expose of answering the door. It’s nothing personal, really. Sometimes I just want to be left alone in my world. Chit chat isn’t my thing. And while other people are ready to go party and chill on the weekend I am happiest at home, where I don’t have to see or deal with others at all. People physically drain me, and I am drained enough already. So a few hours into a social setting I am so ready to be alone. As an introvert I am my own best friend. I like my own company. I find comfort in solitude and know how to soothe myself. I am willing to look at myself critically and face what I find; changing what I don’t like, or what isn’t useful. Extroverts may not understand it, or possibly envy it at times. It is what it is. I am who I am. You know what I take to social gatherings? A million reasons to arrive late and leave early. I turn my thoughts inward. I recharge with introspection. Some people would never believe how little I actually speak in my home, especially compared to how much I sometimes post on social media. Again, writing it out is much different than speaking it. I don’t want to be alone in the world, but sometimes, I need to be left alone. Where other people might enjoy small talk and escaping themselves I do not. The less time I spend with myself, facing who I am, the less time I have to become who I’ve yet to be. It doesn’t mean my way is the right way, but it’s right for me. Being alone offers me the change to dive into the things that matter to me. The subjects and issues that others never want to learn or talk about. Impressing other people is not of any importance to me. It used to be until I realized the more I try to impress people who I seldom hear from anyway, the less energy I have to impress myself.
Posted on: Fri, 16 Aug 2013 16:16:18 +0000
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