So, I just sent out an invitation for folks to go salsa this Saturday, which I guess means that I am not going to hide out like a hermit crab in my apartment. So what's your point?
The good news is that I am feeling better today; had a very good night at school, had lunch with some fellows alums of my last school, and cleaned out my porch - formerly known as the place where shoes go to multiply - in preparation for receipt of a lovely new table and chairs from the antique store down the hill. (They are closing! It's very, very sad; the proprietor is one of the sweetest ladies ever, and I loved going in there.) I talked to my mom, and she encouraged me to keep enjoying my social time and try to remember that people seem to enjoy being with me and maybe that means I can feel a little less self-conscious and uncertain. We'll see if I can establish a reasonable frame of mind by the time the weekend rolls around.
She did suggest that this is probably all part of the adjustment period from my boyfriend leaving, not to mention some emotional coloring from my grandfather's death. I'm just hoping I can get adjusted sooner rather than later, so I can be less cranky and cry-ey after all my major social outings. It leaves me rather tired.
Of course, I could help myself on that front if I went to bed before 2AM!! Adios, amigos.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Monday, November 09, 2009
I think I might do better if I had been raised by wolves.
Or lions, or bears, or other random animals that periodically have taken care of human cubs. Not monkeys, though; they may be our genetic cousins, but they give me the heebie-jeebies.
The point is, I don't think that socializing with people is really working for me. I've given it a good try - 33 years is a definite commitment - but I just don't have the hang of it. Unfortunately, at this point, I've been trained to believe that hanging with other people is the way to go, so it's hard to undo those decades of drilling. Even if I do stop hanging out with people, which it's possible I should, I'll always be wondering if I might be able to do it right with just one more try. It's a pickle!
It's not that my parents socialized me poorly; they're reasonably well-adjusted people (as much as any of us are), I had siblings, they taught me how to be polite and considerate and aware of other people's reactions and all that good stuff. They taught me how to be responsible, and to always try and do your best, and to own up to your errors. They allowed me to experience the whole range of human emotions and didn't try to repress me; they were supportive and loving and encouraging.
Theoretically, all that should have set me up well for being around other people. But despite good coaching, I fear I lack some of the basic talent and inclination for socializing that is essential for success. It's just one of those things, like the gift of being able to invent and execute a musical composition. Some folks have it; I don't.
I just never learned the happy medium of being delighted to be around people if they're available, but not caring so much if they aren't. Billy Joel and I apparently share a problem with moderation: either I must be a social butterfly, the center of attention, popular and beloved by all; or I need a cone of silence where no one will bug me. And I either need to have a deep, intense, consuming relationship with someone, or I'd rather just not bother investing any energy.
Ultimately, that usually leaves me quite lonely, which is the state of being I'm delighted to rediscover these days. My boyfriend kept it at bay for over a year, blessings be upon him; but since his recent temporary relocation 450 miles away, I have re-realized that no one else is up for providing the constant attention and affection I seem to need for my emotional security. Since he left, I've been in an increasingly desperate search for substitute social tokens of the admiration and approbation he used to provide through his presence; my lack of success has left me highly insecure and irritable.
It is, of course, not the fault of my social circle any more than my parents; they're all busy leading normal social lives and they don't realize that there's a crazy woman moving among them. (It's better that way ... they'll feel safer.) Who but a crazy would expect that all her friendships be intensely intimate and constantly involved? Who would expect to have other people appear and disappear as her emotional desires dictate? Who gets mad at not having an all-access pass to other people's homes and lives, and jealous of the time they spend with other people when I'm not included?
The answer, of course, is me - but we've already stipulated that I'm a nutter-butter, so those questions are clearly rhetorical. It's obvious I have a problem with boundaries. And repeatedly expecting others to accommodate my invasive neediness and then being angry when they remind me (always kindly, subtly) that their lives are not all about me ... that's got to be a close match for the definition of insanity.
At any rate, the recurring battle between my crazy and the real world is just getting to be exhausting. I can manage it in professional settings, where I only have to act appropriate for discrete, purposeful periods of time. But in my off-hours, I really don't have the stamina for that emotional facade; at some point, my true nature will start leaking out, and in case the dam breaks, it's best that I be in a controlled environment where the damage can be minimized. My bedroom has proven exceptionally durable.
I do have to say, I enjoyed the feeling of belonging - I had stopped wondering so much if I was saying or doing the right thing, if I was overstaying my welcome, if I fit in. I liked it when being me was relatively effortless, and fun. I shall truly miss it; but as they say, all things must come to an end.
The point is, I don't think that socializing with people is really working for me. I've given it a good try - 33 years is a definite commitment - but I just don't have the hang of it. Unfortunately, at this point, I've been trained to believe that hanging with other people is the way to go, so it's hard to undo those decades of drilling. Even if I do stop hanging out with people, which it's possible I should, I'll always be wondering if I might be able to do it right with just one more try. It's a pickle!
It's not that my parents socialized me poorly; they're reasonably well-adjusted people (as much as any of us are), I had siblings, they taught me how to be polite and considerate and aware of other people's reactions and all that good stuff. They taught me how to be responsible, and to always try and do your best, and to own up to your errors. They allowed me to experience the whole range of human emotions and didn't try to repress me; they were supportive and loving and encouraging.
Theoretically, all that should have set me up well for being around other people. But despite good coaching, I fear I lack some of the basic talent and inclination for socializing that is essential for success. It's just one of those things, like the gift of being able to invent and execute a musical composition. Some folks have it; I don't.
I just never learned the happy medium of being delighted to be around people if they're available, but not caring so much if they aren't. Billy Joel and I apparently share a problem with moderation: either I must be a social butterfly, the center of attention, popular and beloved by all; or I need a cone of silence where no one will bug me. And I either need to have a deep, intense, consuming relationship with someone, or I'd rather just not bother investing any energy.
Ultimately, that usually leaves me quite lonely, which is the state of being I'm delighted to rediscover these days. My boyfriend kept it at bay for over a year, blessings be upon him; but since his recent temporary relocation 450 miles away, I have re-realized that no one else is up for providing the constant attention and affection I seem to need for my emotional security. Since he left, I've been in an increasingly desperate search for substitute social tokens of the admiration and approbation he used to provide through his presence; my lack of success has left me highly insecure and irritable.
It is, of course, not the fault of my social circle any more than my parents; they're all busy leading normal social lives and they don't realize that there's a crazy woman moving among them. (It's better that way ... they'll feel safer.) Who but a crazy would expect that all her friendships be intensely intimate and constantly involved? Who would expect to have other people appear and disappear as her emotional desires dictate? Who gets mad at not having an all-access pass to other people's homes and lives, and jealous of the time they spend with other people when I'm not included?
The answer, of course, is me - but we've already stipulated that I'm a nutter-butter, so those questions are clearly rhetorical. It's obvious I have a problem with boundaries. And repeatedly expecting others to accommodate my invasive neediness and then being angry when they remind me (always kindly, subtly) that their lives are not all about me ... that's got to be a close match for the definition of insanity.
At any rate, the recurring battle between my crazy and the real world is just getting to be exhausting. I can manage it in professional settings, where I only have to act appropriate for discrete, purposeful periods of time. But in my off-hours, I really don't have the stamina for that emotional facade; at some point, my true nature will start leaking out, and in case the dam breaks, it's best that I be in a controlled environment where the damage can be minimized. My bedroom has proven exceptionally durable.
I do have to say, I enjoyed the feeling of belonging - I had stopped wondering so much if I was saying or doing the right thing, if I was overstaying my welcome, if I fit in. I liked it when being me was relatively effortless, and fun. I shall truly miss it; but as they say, all things must come to an end.
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Life with People
Sunday, November 08, 2009
And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming ...
... which is not regularly scheduled at all. Welcome back from another random two month break, followed by a double post.
What continues to fascinate me is that all the while, I have a million things I want to blog about. I make lists of entries I want to write, topics I've gotten interested or excited about, rants I long to give to the world; but somehow, that never gets out of my head and into a computer. Sometimes it is because I'm busy. But given how much time I spend in YoVille (and now FarmVille) on Facebook, you'd think I could get myself over to Blogger.
I do think the problem is often that I want to write too much. I have these big giant speeches in my head, but to really get them out takes thought and organizing my arguments and that takes way more time than a quick post while I'm on the bus. I just now realized why folks love Twitter so much - or at least why I do: even if it's only annoyingly 10 characters long, it gives me a little outlet for the bizillion thoughts that go across my head all the time. I even have to restrain myself, so I don't update my status every 10 minutes. (Of course, if I was able to de-link my Twitter from always updating my Facebook status to just sometimes updating it, that wouldn't be such an issue - and hence, the rationale for Selective Twitter Status! Man, I come up with all the good ideas ... just a year too late.)
Anyway, it just frustrates me, because there's so much I want to say, and never enough time to say it. Especially not with grad school papers looming around every corner! :D
What continues to fascinate me is that all the while, I have a million things I want to blog about. I make lists of entries I want to write, topics I've gotten interested or excited about, rants I long to give to the world; but somehow, that never gets out of my head and into a computer. Sometimes it is because I'm busy. But given how much time I spend in YoVille (and now FarmVille) on Facebook, you'd think I could get myself over to Blogger.
I do think the problem is often that I want to write too much. I have these big giant speeches in my head, but to really get them out takes thought and organizing my arguments and that takes way more time than a quick post while I'm on the bus. I just now realized why folks love Twitter so much - or at least why I do: even if it's only annoyingly 10 characters long, it gives me a little outlet for the bizillion thoughts that go across my head all the time. I even have to restrain myself, so I don't update my status every 10 minutes. (Of course, if I was able to de-link my Twitter from always updating my Facebook status to just sometimes updating it, that wouldn't be such an issue - and hence, the rationale for Selective Twitter Status! Man, I come up with all the good ideas ... just a year too late.)
Anyway, it just frustrates me, because there's so much I want to say, and never enough time to say it. Especially not with grad school papers looming around every corner! :D
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