I have never been at ease interacting with more than one other person at the same time, regardless of their gender. A certain form of passivity overwhelms my otherwise exuberant self. I take rapid retreat into my shell, allowing myself an excellent vantage point. I watch. I listen. Threesomes are generally not my forté. For that matter, in a table of ten, I am completely unable to sway the attention of my potential audience. If you have already read anything about me (my only real subject,) you probably already realize this. When I say that I write because it’s the only way I can get to the end of my sentence, I am in no way exaggerating.
I do realize however that I must somehow benefit (in silence,) from this defect of character. By choosing not to affirm myself, I am protected from making mistakes. From making a fucking mess. From creating tension between others, an intolerable situation for my little psyche. If I push the cork further into the bottle, I am also well-aware that many people who are dominant in conversations are less sure of themselves than they appear to be. That I am less unsure of myself than I appear to be. To beware of appearances seems as evident as leaves falling in autumn or Christmas in December. As evident as the sun rising each morning, a new dawn, every single day.
Now that I am officially 45 years old, I feel obliged to ask myself if this part of my personality is here to stay, if it will be a part of me for the rest of my roller-coaster life, or if it is something that I really need to work on fixing. Maybe the world needs more listeners. Maybe I have something to share with others. Maybe not.