What is shy?

Words that have been used to describe me are, shy, introverted, and quiet. This past weekend while visiting my little nieces they gave me a "personality test" from one of their girlie books. One of the questions was, at a party are you talking to everybody or quiet in a corner, and I said quiet. Unbelieving, they both pealed out a REALLY?!

You see amongst 8 and 10 year old girls I am the LIFE of the party. I'm willing to do any silly thing to get a reaction from them and will do it almost anywhere. I once went out in public debuting about 20 little butterfly clips in my hair since the littlest one had styled it that way. When it comes to pleasing the kids, I'll do it all and with flair.

So what is it to be shy? Obviously shyness around strangers is more common than when hanging out with family. I'll venture a theory that shyness can accumulate over time after a series of negative reactions received from others. Like when people talk over you, or cut you off. Or when people are argumentative and treat every conversation as an opportunity to prove a point.

Of course the negativity can run in the opposite direction too, there is the guilt and embarrassment of letting yourself do too much talking. And you end up saying things you wish you hadn't and the mental filter goes up and your mouth shuts up.

Does that make you shy or wise?

The Good News is...

I may be unreliable, stressed-out, unfocused, slow, lazy, a loner and disappointing, but I am NOT depressed.

Sunday

After a mostly pleasant weekend myself re-emerges. So I was not lost forever! The successful formula was dinner out with the husband, a trip to the used bookstore, laundry folded and put away, litter pans emptied, plants watered, a lot of sleep.

Godspeed J. Work had next week and earn a bunch of money.

For Real

Part of the engine of the global economy is the unreasonable demands that can be placed on people you don't know. For there's always someone else you don't know who will do it cheaper.

"I wish I hadn't even gone."

There are certain people I have cut out of my life. And I am forever having to explain to my mother why. I never have an acceptable reason. Like 'because they are alcoholics', or 'they abandoned me' or 'they beat me when I was little' or any of the common reasons people give for forsaking kin-folk. But at last, a simple reason occurred to me. Many times on the drive home after visiting these relatives, I'd heartily wish I hadn't even gone.

The realization came about today, as the husband and I drove homeward in the truck, both windows down, the dogs tired but happy in the center, I stared at the familiar route 10 trees sliding by and thought how glad I was we had gone visiting that afternoon. I had not wanted to go, the lists of chores scoffing at me, my stewing over how incompetent I was at last week's work convention still on a low simmer.

But the kids and back-yard and trees and dogs and shared strawberry short-cake sent the lonesome, tormenting thoughts away. A shared afternoon with my sister-in-law's family made all the difference to me. They helped ME. And that is worth going back for.

Dark Comedy

Actual email I received today:


"Christine and Karla were just at your house and they cleaned but they missed a few things because there was cat poop on the carpet and the bathroom floor.  I was wondering if you minded us rescheduling the cleaning? I was also wondering if you could clean up the cat poop and litter box before the next cleaning so we could get the things that we missed this time?  Please let us know what you think. I hope to hear from you soon."

Rehearsal - Part I

A man at work, who was a co-worker until the struggles with cancer forced him to go on disability, transitioned to hospice care. I never liked this man when we worked together. He was divisive amongst co-workers, and slightly creepy on a one-on-one basis. He was difficult to communicate with and could act like an ass if you were at a level below him on the work scale. He tended to over complicate everything. The cancer forced everyone around him to cover for his portion of the work so that he could be at appointments etc. This went on for a year and a half. Then ultimately the cancer became his full-time job.

Apparently now everyone must go visit him, or at the very least send him cards. At least that is what all my co-workers are doing, but no one ever asks me. I bring this up because last Friday a particular group of co-workers paid a visit to his home and did not include me. There was no mention made to me, at all.

I dare not complain, since I did not and do not want to go visit this guy. I mean, I never liked him, and I had thought other co-workers were of the same opinion. But this event makes me wonder, of course, did I somehow dislike him more than everyone else and everyone picked up on that? Is one supposed to get over not liking somebody when they are near death? Perhaps everyone knew that if asked, I would say no. And I'm quite certain I would have. I don't think your relationship with someone should change when death is knocking. I try to behave as if death is knocking every day. Whether or not I am living up to this credo can only be determined when I too, am at death's door. When I'm lying on my death-bed, do I want everybody I ever knew, liked or not, trotting through my bedroom? I don't think so. And does this make me different from other people?

I think probably don't know if this makes me different from other people, because honestly I don't believe most people think about their own death. Or if they do think about it, it is some sanitized Christian version of lights, and heaven, and Pearly Gates, and being judged.

I am not certain of much, but one thing I am certain of, is when I die, I want to be quiet and focused on what is happening.

How to Stop Burning Bridges

Step one is the hardest: how to recognize a bridge worth maintaining. In my experience bridges don't burn or even catch fire, they fall apart due to neglect. Only after they have fallen completely apart do you recognize there even was a bridge and that it traversed a deep canyon.

A deep canyon that widens with every step you take away from it, or for that matter even closer to it. For standing at the edge and wishing for a way back does not rebuild the bridge. Reconstruction requires thought, a plan, and a list of materials. Then you must drive to the hardware store, go up and down aisles until you find everything, and buy some tools too that you don't have or can't remember where you put them. Then when you discover you can't fit all the supplies in your car, you have to inquire about renting a truck by the hour, loading it, driving it back to where the gaping wound in your past lies, off-loading the tools and materials, driving back and picking up your car that was left sitting in the parking lot.

If then you can get back to the site of your materials and tools without stopping at McDonald's for a McCafe with chocolate syrup and whipped topping to console yourself about how much work this is, and then tell yourself that really, you can live with this big canyon in the landscape of your life, it's ok, you'll just navigate around it, well then, you have more perseverance and focus than I.