Connecting with people has always been hard for me. I could never figure out why. I always felt that I was on the outside looking in, like I didn’t fit in, and I believe others felt it. Some were kind and reached out, and some were curious and reached out, but whatever connection was ignited, it could not be sustained. I am not an unkind person. I am not cold. In fact, I am very kind and courteous. I have good manners, despite the fact that I don’t care much for social expectations. Any connection is often unidimensional and fleeting.
The thing is I never felt the need to fit in. I am really happy being myself. But I was always aware of the disconnect when it happened, and part of me would recognize this as a failure. A failure I always accepted and tolerated, but a failure just the same. Sometimes, I think I never really make the effort to be successful in this area, but the idea of me reaching out for the sake of a connection that can not sustain itself means that it is not meant to be and the connection is not genuine. Maybe all connections require maintenance, and I simply decide to spend my efforts on improving my life and my family’s and who I am as a person instead. Maybe, I am unconsciously selfish and find no value in connecting with others, and perhaps people pick up on that and gravitate away from me because I am not… ”present”.
The truth is I can only be so much present for so many people. I can’t be present for everyone. Heck, I can’t be present for anyone except those I made a commitment to love and cherish for ever, because they are part of me; my husband, and my family. I have only so much love to go around, and I try to save it for those who are there for me. I will not try to fake love or friendship for the sake of social upkeeping. Those who are close to me will sacrifice themselves for me, and I won’t have an inkling of hesitation to do the same for them.
To add, I have the problem of not knowing how others perceive me. I wish others would tell me. Sometimes, I think people are intimidated of telling me, but they are most likely respectful enough not to share, or do not care enough to share. I think it’s more the latter than the former. I am hyper aware of who I am and what makes me tick, but it doesn’t mean that others see me how I see myself. I truly believe that there is value in knowing what others think of you, not necessarily to define yourself, but to be able to minimize any misunderstanding and properly communicate with others. Unfortunately, this is one of my shortfalls. I am blind as to what I project to others.
In a way, as a consequence, I have a wonderful world within because I spent so much of my effort in life building it. I go to bed content every night. Anxious, stressed out, fatigued, exasperated sometimes, but I never wish to have any other life than my own. I would never wish to rewrite my story, or exchange it for that of someone else.
This is my book and I am the author.
Anyways, I am awake tonight. My mind needed to unload, expand, and stretch out. I needed to ponder and write in order to regain balance and order.
It is interesting that whenever you are writing, you are always writing for an audience. And when you are writing for yourself, you are your own audience. You are the author and the reader. You are the lecturer and the listener. You step out of yourself and you have a conversation. Sometimes, the conversation is very articulated. Sometimes, it is very back and forth. Sometimes, it is in point form and succinct. Sometimes, it is long winded and has no direction. Sometimes, it is just verbal vomit for the sake of relieving some tension. No matter what it is, writing will always set you straight.