While discussing the book I made the comment, "I admire the author. But, I don't think I'd make a very good journalist. I'm not sure I could ask those prying questions."
"Well, maybe you are afraid of rejection." I paused, my mind thinking in mere nanoseconds these thoughts: “ Did I sense an accusatory emphasis in her voice?” Then, "Is that the perception people have of me?" -followed by: "Hmmm, maybe so. I guess I do have a few residual scars from my past as an outcast… but, am I still carrying that around? does it emanate from me?" -followed by "No, I'm pretty sure it's just that I have never liked backing people into a corner, so to speak, by asking questions that are of an intimate nature."
Out loud I respond, "Maybe. But, I like to think it's that it's simply that I respect others' privacy. For instance if I had a friend who never had children, I would never ask her "Why don't you have any children?"
"Well, no that would be rude," she counters.
I continue to clarify, "Well, like a cold-call salesperson, I think those kind of jobs require some moxie. All I'm saying is I lack that sort of moxie."
She backed off from her personal attack on me… The conversation moved on.
***
"But God, I'm an idiot!!"
On any given day, when we were first married, I used to utter this phrase aloud. My husband hated it.
"I wish to heck you wouldn't say that. You are NOT an idiot!"
"It's just a way to keep myself in check, to remind myself to be humble and to always 'own' my imperfections," is what I'd think. But aloud I’d say, "Well no, Hun, I don't really think that I'm an idiot."
"Well then stop saying it."
And then I'd think, "He might be right. Constantly berating myself might be detrimental to my mental health."
Somewhere over the course of his 40+ year marriage to me, he began to be the one who would say, "Could I get any stupider?" followed quickly with, "Wait, don't answer that."
***
For me such is my life as a human with introvert tendencies. I often ruminate and replay my interactions back in my mind. Like:
"Maybe I talk too much at book club. I should limit myself to only two or three comments." But, then in my defense I will tell myself, "But, I'm a pretty good listener. And I can afterward recall most of what everyone has contributed. That's good, right?"
But, just as I cast one doubtful thought from my mind, it is rapidly replaced by another even more doubtful thought. Like:
"I just bet they're saying to themselves, 'There she goes again. Drawing another one of her meandering parallels between the book and herself. What hubris she possesses.' And thus my next thought follows: "I really must limit myself to only one short comment per book club meeting. Yup, that's it! From now on I'll only say either, 'Yes, I enjoyed the book.' or 'No, I didn't like the book.' "
***
Was it Socrates who said, "The unexamined life is not worth living?" But, what about the over-examined life? What about hapless souls such as me? A soul who still laments not speaking up back in 1963 when those classmates were bullying poor little Monica O. in the vestibule. "You just stood there with your mouth shut tight. Where was your big mouth back then? Huh?"
I read somewhere that a rabbi once said, "You should have two notes in your pocket each day. One note will say, 'For my sake the world was created' and the other will say, 'I'm but a speck of meaningless flotsam in the sea of life.' " Or something like that. I may be confusing it with an "I Love Lucy" episode. Anyway the point was to use each note appropriately, depending on your mindset at the moment.
***
We have our book club at 7:00 p.m. each month. As with many book clubs, alcoholic beverages are served. I served them when I was the host. At the last book club I said 'no thanks' to an offered second pour of wine. "But there is just a bit left in the bottle. Take it." It didn't take much convincing on her part for me to say, "Okay." Somewhere in the evening she filled my glass a third time. Again, with little if any protest from me.
But as the evening ended I thought, "Now how am I going to drive myself home?" It's only 3, or so, miles but there are no street lights in our rural area. And the roads are winding, hilly, unmarked "chip and seal" byways. There is little light of any kind from the houses, which are mostly tucked back down long winding driveways and behind stands of timber. In other words: It's pitch black.
I tell the group that the previous month I accidentally pulled into my neighbor's driveway unable, in the dark, to differentiate it from my own home. I’d realized I was in the wrong driveway when the garage door refused to respond to the remote control I was pressing. Now I don’t know this particular newcomer/neighbor very well. I do know he prefers to wear, year round, shirts from which he has removed the sleeves and that he drives a Harley-Davidson motorcycle. So, in my mind, and in the dark of night, I’d decided he was a probably a proud NRA supporter and probably one of our state's first residents to obtain a "concealed carry license." Luckily I was able to quickly back out of the driveway before he came out with his pistols blazing.
"I drive right by your house," pipes up a fellow book club member, "Just follow me." Again, my thoughts differ from my response. My thoughts: "But, you've had as much to drink as me. OMG! It'll be like the precision jet pilots whose strict training to keep their trust and eyes only on their leader occasionally ends up with the whole crew following him right into a crash." My response: "Thanks, I will."
Following my friend on the way home I whisper to myself, "For my sake the world was created." Wait, that isn't right. So I try, "I am but a meaningless speck of flotsam in the sea of life." That's even worse. I wail my old standby:
"But God! I'm an idiot!"
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