Goodwill towards all humankind, especially the inarticulate
Crippling shyness has been the bane of my life. As a child, I would be spanked as soon as visitors left ...for being rude (embarrasing my parents) by not answering even the simplest question such as "what is your name". Once I tried to explain to my mother that the words came up to my throat and got stuck there. (Nowadays I think there's a diagnosis for it, "selective mutism", a close competitor to "oppositional defiance disorder" and "school refusal" in exposing psychiatric diagnoses as vicious tools for enforcing social conformity.) The first really bad thing I did - lying - was all because of shyness. My mother had given me something to take to Sharu's house to hand over to his mom. Sharu's mom was actually quite nice, she spoke softly and made us fried banana snacks. But I still found the idea of ringing their doorbell and talking to aunty quite daunting. So when I met their maid outside the house and she offered to take whatever it was that my mother had sent, I happily handed it over and skipped back home. When my mother asked me if I had given the thing to aunty, I said yes. I thought it was close enough to the truth but my mother did not share that opinion. Everyone knows what happens when an adult and a child disagree on something the adult considers important, it turns out very unhappily for the child. I may not have been spanked on that occasion but I was certainly severely shamed for the unforgivable act of lying.
Over the years, I've learned to do a pretty good imitation of "normal" but the internal discomfort remains. Thus, I've been known to cross the street to avoid talking to an acquaintance and wear a too-broad smile on my face that lasts too long in a vain attempt to appear friendly when at a loss for words. On the telephone, even talking to people I know can be hard, since one cannot lapse into companionable silences as one would in person. I very sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, wish all humanity well. I truly believe that the warmth of human interaction is the only meaningful thing in life. It only becomes a problem when I have to deal with individual specimens of humanity and implement my theoretical beliefs in real life.
To compound matters, I happen to live with someone to whom social interaction is as easy as breathing. He can strike up a conversation with a random stranger on the street or in the next seat in an airplane - compliment their dog, remark on the weather, whatever - and very soon they are having an animated conversation as if they've known each other all their lives. He comes back with all kinds of heartwarming human interest stories, a retired Chinese couple in the park who told him where to find the nest of a Cooper's hawk, a business consultant on the plane whose ambition it is to run marathons in all fifty state capitals and so on. Hey, I am the one that believes in socialism, how come you are the one that gets to be social!
Yesterday, I was especially jealous. He went to a marsh at sunset to photograph birds and was approached by a young father who wanted pictures taken of his toddler son. At first the kid was wary, hiding behind a bench with one gleaming eye showing above it. Then he emerged cautiously, still not too sure of this stranger with the camera. After a few shots, he was running towards the camera, one round little belly popping up over his shorts. The last few were images of pure joy, eyes scrunched up and all the baby teeth showing in a wide smile. The photographer made a new little best friend and the dad was thrilled when the series of photos was emailed to him later. Nothing like this ever happens to me.
However, there is one small constituency for which I think I am able to provide some aid and comfort. It's the fellow unsocials, especially the younger ones that haven't yet been able to transform anxiety into a sort of defiant pride in being themselves. I can honestly tell a kid who's anxious in a group that I know how it feels and no, it's not unnatural, and yes, there are many other people like them and that, as far as I'm concerned, they are a better sort of person than those who talk a lot. Recently, a young niece, a member of the unsocials club, apologized (prodded by her mom) for not communicating more with me. Then she tried to explain that just talking for the sake of talking feels odd and fake to her. She likes me too much to do it. I was pleased that she felt comfortable enough to tell me that. Life of the party I will never be. But one small group of people feels comforted in my company by feeling free to talk whenever or never. That's not nothing.
Over the years, I've learned to do a pretty good imitation of "normal" but the internal discomfort remains. Thus, I've been known to cross the street to avoid talking to an acquaintance and wear a too-broad smile on my face that lasts too long in a vain attempt to appear friendly when at a loss for words. On the telephone, even talking to people I know can be hard, since one cannot lapse into companionable silences as one would in person. I very sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, wish all humanity well. I truly believe that the warmth of human interaction is the only meaningful thing in life. It only becomes a problem when I have to deal with individual specimens of humanity and implement my theoretical beliefs in real life.
To compound matters, I happen to live with someone to whom social interaction is as easy as breathing. He can strike up a conversation with a random stranger on the street or in the next seat in an airplane - compliment their dog, remark on the weather, whatever - and very soon they are having an animated conversation as if they've known each other all their lives. He comes back with all kinds of heartwarming human interest stories, a retired Chinese couple in the park who told him where to find the nest of a Cooper's hawk, a business consultant on the plane whose ambition it is to run marathons in all fifty state capitals and so on. Hey, I am the one that believes in socialism, how come you are the one that gets to be social!
Yesterday, I was especially jealous. He went to a marsh at sunset to photograph birds and was approached by a young father who wanted pictures taken of his toddler son. At first the kid was wary, hiding behind a bench with one gleaming eye showing above it. Then he emerged cautiously, still not too sure of this stranger with the camera. After a few shots, he was running towards the camera, one round little belly popping up over his shorts. The last few were images of pure joy, eyes scrunched up and all the baby teeth showing in a wide smile. The photographer made a new little best friend and the dad was thrilled when the series of photos was emailed to him later. Nothing like this ever happens to me.
However, there is one small constituency for which I think I am able to provide some aid and comfort. It's the fellow unsocials, especially the younger ones that haven't yet been able to transform anxiety into a sort of defiant pride in being themselves. I can honestly tell a kid who's anxious in a group that I know how it feels and no, it's not unnatural, and yes, there are many other people like them and that, as far as I'm concerned, they are a better sort of person than those who talk a lot. Recently, a young niece, a member of the unsocials club, apologized (prodded by her mom) for not communicating more with me. Then she tried to explain that just talking for the sake of talking feels odd and fake to her. She likes me too much to do it. I was pleased that she felt comfortable enough to tell me that. Life of the party I will never be. But one small group of people feels comforted in my company by feeling free to talk whenever or never. That's not nothing.
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