14 November
At some point I started to think that I could just safely assume that no one was interested in what I had to say.
I want to unlearn that.
When I was 17 I went on a 2-month trip with a Christian organization to do volunteer work. I had grown up in a pretty isolated community (I’m sure I’ll get into that later) and had spent the large majority of my life until that point only in the company of my family. And in my family, we’re all over-sharers.
We liked to tell each other all the small, unimportant things and everyone listened politely and offered feedback. My dad will tell the same story 100 times (that’s probably not even an exaggeration) and only rarely will someone bother to say, “Hey, we heard this one already.” That would be considered rude in my family. So when I was suddenly out in the world on my own, I was surprised to be bluntly told by a number of people that my stories had no content, no climax, and no point.
This 2-month trip was really my first time experiencing life as an individual. It was the first time I was reborn and the beginning of my evolution into a less socially awkward person. It was a valuable and important time in my life. I watched how people responded to what I said, and I adapted accordingly. Some jokes didn’t go over well, others did. I gained the confidence of realizing that people liked me, people who had just gotten to know me. I learned how to talk to people.
That was 11 years ago and I’ve never forgotten one of the social lessons I learned there: that nobody wants to hear every little thought running around in my brain. It was a good lesson, but I think I just took it too far.
Over years of social fine-tuning, I learned how to avoid over-sharing, how to keep a conversation going, how to ask appropriate questions to help someone else to share. But I think I never lost the little voice in my head that says, “Don’t say that. It’s not a story. It’s got no point.”
I live for stories. I love telling them. I love watching other people telling them. I love when I can tell a story to someone who is engaged, anticipating, eager. I have annoyed friends many times by interrupting my own stories to say, “Sorry this is so long, I hope it isn’t boring.” Even when I can see the attentiveness on their faces, I worry. The little voice still speaks.
Is it bad that at age 28 I still feel like I’m learning some basic social skills? In all fairness I started a lot later than most people, but still. The amount of time I spend contemplating whether or not I should say something could be spent blurting things out and learning by doing, right? I’d probably get a few laughs, and definitely some awkward stares. But that would be better than sitting in my own brain, letting my insecure thoughts swish around me.
So let the fine-tuning continue. Tomorrow I’m going to say whatever comes to my mind, come what may.