Carrie Leigh (carrie_leigh) wrote,
Carrie Leigh
carrie_leigh

Talk is Overrated

At a certain point in life, I've realized that you have to accept things about yourself that you really don't like.

And I'm not talking about my thighs, here, folks. Although, to look at me, you'd certainly think I've given up on that front. No, I'm ever hopeful, there.

I'm speaking here of my general, misanthropic air. The older I get, the less and less I desire to speak to the people. (Not persons, mind you, but The People. Persons are great, and I love persons. I'll talk to a person all day long.) I came to this realization the other night in the car, when my husband asked me if I wanted to talk about something.

My answer was, "No, I really don't. If I never had to have another conversation again, I'd be alright with that."

Nolan looked at me speculatively and replied, "You know, that's true. If you never had to speak, you wouldn't. You'd be completely okay with that."

Let me explain. I don't dislike people. I don't. Not really. But, for me, being around people is EXHAUSTING. I really don't have a clue as to why. Maybe it's because my family, as a group, didn't have lengthy conversations about how we felt about things. We kept it shoved way down deep inside, like normal people do. ;) Besides, I already know how they'd react and what each reaction means. Even now, I can see their individual reactions to this post. If my sister reads this, she'll either not have any expression at all or murmur, "huh," in a thoughtful way. My mother will raise her eyebrows and have a little intake of air that's not quite a gasp, and my dad won't read this for another six months because he's forgotten his password to get to this page. When he does, he'll nod, purse his lips and say, "Yeah." (I won't translate their thoughts, because those are private. Heh.)

Anyway, we didn't talk about things, because we didn't have to. Their were only four of us, and we all knew how the others might feel about something, so we planned accordingly.

Then I got married, and realized that some people told you what they were feeling every second of every day and had an opinion about things that didn't make a good gosh darn of difference one way or another.

Tell me, if it doesn't make a difference, why have an opinion about it?

Just a question. I'd accept answers, if you've got 'em.

Anyway, back to my realization. If I never had to converse again, I'd be okay.

Except to make the odd sarcastic or snarky comment under my breath. I might explode if I didn't have that release valve. I'd look like the girl with the blueberry gum on Willy Wonka.

Mainly, my trepidation is with large groups. Big parties, the greeting time at church (Oh, my WORD, nothing makes me wish for Harry Potter's invisibility cloak more), social gatherings and the like are all stressors.

Why? Becasue sometimes I need time to think of something meaningful to say. Sometimes my filter doesn't work quite right and I say something incredibly inappropriate or stupid. Sometimes I just find it difficult to care.

I find the written word to be infinitely easier to navigate. You can think out your response without looking idiotic, and the filter is always engaged.

Yeah. So, written versus spoken word. Your thoughts? Please weigh in. Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me to seek therapy. Tell me I'm not alone.

On this one thing, I'll allow an opinion. :)
Tags: pontification
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