Okay, pretty much always?
I wish I could hole up here in my office at my computer and not make actual face-to-face contact with the outside world. And it's not because I don't love people. I do LOVE people. I love their faces and their stories, their laughter, joy, tears, cleverness, wit, and each individual's unique and amazing perspective on life. OHMYGRANNY do I love all that and the people who own it all.
But I'm the consummate fly-on-the-wall type. I'd give anything to have the superpower of invisibility. An impossibly-blended shy extrovert, I'd choose to walk among people unseen and to soak up their goodness -- listen, understand, enjoy.
And never need to speak a word of my own.
I do wish to be heard, though, as, you, my friends, know. I actually enjoy attention, I have things to say; my mind whirls with connection, empathy, profound love and occasionally insight, a clear and generous wisdom. A clever (but ever so slow) wit.
I'm just not a speaker.
I'm a writer (ish). In my white box, I'm the me I wish I could take on the road. The me I want to set free at parties. But my brand of conversation requires, as you know, long, rambling, image-filled monologues that spend long minutes, at least, in the crafting. And OH! perhaps most daunting: There's no delete key in a brief exchange across the street with a neighbor. No back-space back-space think think think re-type allowed in the fast-lipped, fast-brained banter at parties.
I spend a lot of time regretting and inwardly apologizing around this permanent fuzzy-socked mouth-foot God gave me. I have fears of meeting people I've learned to love through blogging/writing (and who have perhaps learned to love the white-box me) and seeing their disappointment in the-spoken-Megan register -- a visual deflation, a mouth-corner/eyebrow uh-oh. I'll be honest and tell you that does happen. My fears have real foundations in life-experience. You know, though ... I've learned to accept that in an extremely comfortable place. I'll continue to work on getting better at the spoken word, but I understand I'm not Most Likely to Be A Scintillating Conversationalist.
And it's truly a liveable measure of self-honesty. I'm not asking for sympathy - I'm telling you my completely comfortable truth.
I feel blessed to have a means of communication that keeps my own mind's pace and allows for the silent consideration and re-jiggering my words require before I let them leave me. Imagine if I couldn't find the right words to write, either?
Are you like me?