It has been a very intense period for me, as it always is at the beginning of the new academic year. I hibernated so enjoyably for the much quieter winter and start of spring, concentrating on writing in Kamakura, happy to be alone or with D, steeped in delicious introversion and really enjoying not always having to talk. Now it is the opposite: I have to be (or feel I have to be….maybe this is the problem) explosively outgoing in order to break the ice with often very shy/withdrawn/unwilling students who aren’t used to having a foreign teacher and using English for 80 minutes – and to get them all relaxed and talking in pairs and for the atmosphere to breathe a little bit takes a lot out of me, to the point where their faces are looming in my consciousness at the weekend and I can’t quite shake the baggage from my system. To be honest, my nerves are shot. Before I get on to perfume – at weekends I have been wearing the Guerlain Vetiver Parfum I bought a few weeks ago that I am addicted to and wear alongside vintage Mitsouko, Shalimar, or Vol De Nuit (sometimes all four – they work perfectly, soothing me into their powdery mirage) – I want to talk about this ‘social anxiety’ I have – if you want to call it that – as I am interested in what you think.
No student would ever believe that I am anything other than utterly extroverted and exuberant; self confident, witty and charming – in their evaluations they often write that they love how I let them express their emotions and the positive and conducive atmosphere in the classroom in which they can relax and talk to other students unselfconsciously : the idea that I might actually be a sociophobic introvert who runs when the going gets tough would completely flabbergast them. If I feel ‘overfilled’ mentally in a social situation these days (especially since the coronavirus pandemic, when I got really claustrophobic), I have to go, something that happened on Saturday night at a fabulous night in Ginza to see the drag star Alaska Thunderfuck when the cup was overflowing and I suddenly felt overpowered. Had I not already been performing all week to the max in the classroom, maybe I wouldn’t have felt like this. But there is only so much interacting I can take without losing my mind – what does this mean?
All the discussions that go on now on whether we are extro, intro or ambi – the word ‘ambivert’ not appealing to me very much as it sounds like the love child of a pervert and an amphibian – can come across as self obsessive, what with all the other labelling and identity politics that is now ubiquitous- you need about six official definitions as to your sexuality, personality type, etc etc and it can all get a bit too much and me me me – even if I personally find such discussions very engrossing.I have discussed neurodivergence before on The Black Narcissus, and the possibility of being on the spectrum – though almost anyone I say that to laughs in my face due to my empathic sensibilities; I have been told, if we must have a classification in the current style, that I am more likely an HSP (a ‘highly sensitive person’) – which still sounds faintly ridiculous.
At any rate, I know that I am rather strange, in several ways probably, but particularly in the sense that I am genuinely fascinated by other people – by every student I teach, by everyone I work with, by almost everyone I meet and by those I just see on the train, or in documentaries or in newspaper articles or working in a convenience store- the unique particulars of each individual mesmerize; suck me in – but if we meet physically, it is as though I osmose those people, absorbing them through my skin into my bloodstream and brain and they end up eating me alive. I have no protection. When conversation is engaging I love it but there is also a limit; I can usually feel myself getting very overstimulated and mentally tired these days and have to withdraw (and that is with people I feel drawn to and like); outside of a professional context, where I have no choice but to communicate and connect as it is my job and the lessons would fail otherwise, I find I am increasingly intolerant of those I can’t gel with. For even short periods of time. Which I am finding slightly alarming. If, after a long working week, where I can’t really sleep from all the mental exertion and upbeat hilarity and enforced transformation from flat, passive aggressive sullen silence (the group mentality of Japanese classes can create dark, morbid vortexes such that you wouldn’t believe – at the individual level many such ultra introspective kids would be different, but en masse, Jesus if they don’t know each other and the feeling in the air is kimoi, gross, uneasy, they will just retreat into their hard shells like the most recalcitrant snowcrabs creating a black blood-siphoning hell hole – it is my job to claw them back out up to the daylight with my almost bullying tra la la ) ; at this point in the year, when the psychic intensity is too high – it mellows out from now, they get used to how it all works, I can cruise on autopilot a lot more eventually, so that by the autumn I will be dreamily retreating inwardly looking to all the nice holidays and immersion in things I want to do alone – if I find myself conversing with someone who clashes with me (D says I am terrible with other divas; other people with big personalities, the ‘clash of the alphas’) in recent times I often end up behaving very badly with them and have to extricate myself from the situation by any means necessary. This often means mortified hungover regrets the next day (yes, the alcohol doesn’t help), and then yet another conversation about how opposite we are (he is perfectly self contained, and doesn’t get affected at the deeper level by anyone else, making social interactions far lighter and enjoyable – we are utterly different…)
Sigh. Anyway, I suppose I shouldn’t complain. First World Problems. I am lucky in that all of this is very yang; very yangy indeed – all saturation and stimulation and excitement, overconnection rather than a lack of it, rather than negativity and depression – a cup bursting at the cracks rather than a sad, empty vessel (though I do feel like one of those as well of course, particularly around 3pm)’; a therapist I sometimes see says that I am addicted to ‘hyperarousal’, and I think she is right; I always want to make the moment more magical, more quixotic and embodied, more cinematic – to push things to some kind of apotheosis so I end up with hives (literally – when I have overdone it the tingling starts on the scalp and the next thing you know I am a red armoured reptile with hard mosquito like bites all over, a proper Ms. Urticaria). I rev up the kids in the classroom – ‘so exciting’ !’ – they exclaim; I have deep and intense conversations – the only ones I really enjoy aside what I call ‘ether’-like froth where you can just josh about nonsense with someone on a similar wavelength – but then I just end up crashing and craving solitude. Solitude is beyond essential for my equibrilium; and lots of it. Not so much it leads to too much loneliness – which we can all fall prey to sometimes especially in moments of existential angst – but I have realized that, quite simply, I can’t do two days in a row with people, which has happened recently – four consecutive nights actually – and that social events – which I want – I love my friends – must therefore be carefully calendared. Is this unreasonable? Do I have a ‘borderline personality’? How are you in this regard? I would love to talk about it, to be honest. You can see what a pain in the ass this makes me for D though. I am so f****** neurotic, increasingly so : ‘Nothing is ever easy with you’ he said the other night. And he is right.
Some things are easy. Like the joy of finding a Mitsouko vintage soap set for 530 yen at Book Off (£2.60 – surely one of the most outrageous finds yet). Squinting as I walked down one of the clothes aisles when we went in for a reconnaissance mission for records and new/old vestments (though there is no room in the house for all of his clothes anymore) and had a quick look at the toiletries section just in case, mine eyes, to their vast astonishment, did spot the familiar black and white optical illusion pattern of the classic old Guerlain packaging – probably my favourite of all time; in fact the words I said to D upon taking it out of my bag later for further inspection – those green soaps, my goodness how gorgeous they are on every level – were that he could ‘use this box for my ashes’. And I think I meant it. That is how much I love this particular aesthetic, the ancient Graeco elliptical black and gold. It thrills me just to look at it. Later that day I was meeting up with a new friend – I know, insane contradictions – but as you get older, true connection gets less easy, and this is a Japanese colleague I have found I get on very well with as he is as eccentric as me – and a Leo, to boot! – glad to diversify my collection a bit – who is reading some of the semi-finished chapters of my Japan book for me; his own explanations about the culture from his own particular point of view (his English being exquisitely high level, his personal experiences quite challenging) extraordinarily interesting for me, providing perspectives I would not otherwise ever have considered. He collects fountain pens and admires good design; I showed him the Mitsouko box and besides the visual beauty of it he was completely entranced by the scent of the soap emanating from its gilded green wrapper as well ; I thus promised I would give him some of the perfume at a later date. “Thankyou. I will definitely wear it” he said.
Interestingly, I also recently had another meet up with my very close friend Melanie – who was here a quarter century ago when we were like psychic Siamese twins, to an almost disturbing degree – but she is now back, via England, Mexico, Malaysia and Vietnam, and we have taken everything up from where we left off, learning to get to know each other again; both dissimilar in many ways – I feel she is possibly now the stronger one – but still with an unquenchable desire to plunge into all manner of esoterica and psychologica. I gave her two bags full of samples and perfumes I felt I didn’t need any more, for her to share the wealth with her husband and daughters – they have been having great fun the last few weeks trying the various fumes – but it was interesting that, though I didn’t entirely want to part with it – a Mitsouko extrait – somehow I wanted her to have it and smell it; and I have a personal tradition of giving vintage Mitsouko to friends (as you do.. . and as we know, there is ample supply of the stuff in Japan, still, to keep this tradition going). Her reaction intrigued me: ‘oh wow, I really love this. wow.‘; not musty or fusty or dusty or old biddy but just ‘wow: that is really gorgeous’. Amazing, that both recent encounters with old and new friends, Japanese and otherwise, had this result. So I ask you : WHAT IS IT ABOUT MITSOUKO?
‘Mitsy’ as some call her – although that is the name of my parents’ cat so I prefer it with the ‘souko’ on the end, went very nicely yesterday for a leisurely afternoon with D at a cheap Italian, together with the Vetiver Parfum, which is just so damn adaptable I wish I had 20 litres of it – enough to continue spraying for a lifetime. The bottle is going down too fast….
When I bought Vetiver at Shinjuku Isetan a few weeks ago, it gave me an opportunity to have a very nice Guerlain experience. The proper, I am a customer and I am going to sit down and be treated to all your wares, type of experience. I got to smell or resmell a lot of very pleasing things; with the cash, or a rich benefactor to hand I would gladly accept bottles of Frenchy Lavande, Iris Torrifié, even Fève Gourmande, which struck me as a little GGG (generically Guerlain gourmandise – you know, sweet and lovely and rich but also a little amorphous and lacking definition) and several others, but what I really wanted to get my hands on and sample thoroughly were the extravagantly priced but beautiful sounding L’ Art Et Matiere Les Extraits, featuring extrait strength essences of the main ingredients used in the classic Guerlinade base : bergamot, iris, rose, jasmine, tonka, and vanilla. It is an interesting idea – and if the perfumes prove a hit, good for the Gueralin coffers too, which ultimately, obviously, is what this is all about.
Ah yes, about that price. Sorry to be prosaically proletarian, but the price of these extraits, for a relatively small bottle, in Japan, is ¥85,000. I can currency convert – £540 – which still sounds rather appalling, but isn’t the reality of the Japanese cost, which is more expensive than the rent of most of my colleagues. 850,000 yen, in real terms, feels more like 800 dollars – the rent here can easily be three or more times that – depending on where you live in Tokyo, but it can also easily be half: still, when a bottle of scent costs more than yo rent then you know it is not just pricey but extortionate (for random contextualization as to how reasonable Japan in many ways is – my siblings’ flat in London, a nice place in a pretty popular area but not central, in yen would be ￥465,000, more than most people’s take home monthly salary here).
But back to the Guerlains. Do the perfumes merit the cost?
I don’t know. But if you feel like pampering me one day for the hell of it I would be delighted to receive the rose, jasmine, bergamot and vanilla. The rose is a pure rose, really gorgeous, with a slightly melancholy smear of patchouli chypre (but very faint – it is the rose that sings, and if I were in that mood, that solitary sad rose state of mind and I like Guerlain best when there is a dash of melancholia – think L’Après L’Ondée- I can imagine being besotted by this. It is simple, but does somewhat ravish the senses). The jasmine is similar – it reminds me of an old solid jasmine perfume D inherited from his Cypriot grandmother; rich, noble, with strawberry elements and undertones of sandalwood; replete with the essential oil, it is almost more like an aromatherapeutic tincture. I say yes to Jasmine Days, when a full grandiflorum is just what the nurse ordered. An old school duchess. In contrast, the Bergamote Fantastico (slightly silly name) would make the perfect perfume for a rich Arab teenager- dry; with a slightly sexualized guaiac wood undertone polished up like gold in the top accord with a lip-smackingly citric burst of the purest bergamot, bergamot flowers and mandarin, it is definitely a brilliant beginner’s cologne: Delphine Jelk and Thierry Wasser must have really gone for the most bergmotted bergamotesque here with the blossoms and all. I would gladly partake. As I would with so many Guerlains – even if one suspects, deep down, that the quality – though still high, comparatively – isn’t quite what it used to be.
As I sat there on my Guerlain guest throne chatting to the exceptionally pleasant woman at the counter, clearly taking pleasure in what she was doing, with no froideur but still just the right sprinkling of aloof cool, I sprayed myself lavishly with some of the extraits, wanting some skin time with them. The vanilla, obviously. Quite a lot on the right arm (even though I was already perfumed). A bit playdohy. Some of the Bergamote. Then the Tonka Sarrapia – a weird, smoky, very beany coumariny concoction that has an enigmatic allure but which I personally found nauseating – and all of this together was definitely not the right perfume for a night show three floors underground for a cabaret show in the depths of Shinjuku, which I was just about to go to and should have thought about more carefully. . Good lord they are potent, some of these perfumes. And I knew I smelled disgusting. ‘Are you wearing banana’? Someone asked. What it smelled more like, in fact, was a Chernobyl level version of Dior Hypnotic Poison in combination, with a strange marine tone emanating from somewhere in the midst that tipped the whole mess into bulimic repulsion. The miasma emanating from me didn’t do much good for my headspace, and neither for those around me I am sure. I was embarrassed. I smelled preposterously overperfumed. And deeply regretted it (and having a spat with a new person introduced to me from America before we went in with a very loud voice who could only speak by shouting, I think my perfume tipped me over the edge – look, now I am even blaming Guerlain for my personality deficiencies – I didn’t behave very politely with her). I stank. I just wanted to go home.The iris had faded into the background very quickly at this point – but one thing I had enjoyed earlier at the Guerlain concession in Isetan was a little flourish by the staff as I inhaled the divine opening note of the Pallida. I have said this before, but for me, a really good iris is the most coldly enthralling of essences, and always bursts forth in the white powdered top notes masking everything else in its vicinity: I have smelled many truly gorgeous irises that spellbound me to the spot morph within minutes into perfumes I wouldn’t touch with a bargepole; at the start, the heavenly material takes the stage – but it all depends on what happens next. As the girl wrapped up my Vetiver and put all the scent cards in the bag with their little plastic covers she said (in Japanese); ‘Ah, if you like that, try this…. and sprayed some crepe tissues paper abundantly with a combination of the Iris Pallida extrait and L’Heure Bleue parfum. There are no words for how resplendent that combo was at that moment, and she noted the reaction on my face.
“This is heaven I said.”
Tengoku desu.
But back in Ofuna station, after yet another long and fraught conversation (or one way haranguing match, with me as the perpetrator) about our personality differences – I hate being so reactive all the time, so difficult when he is just trying to be sociable, I took out the paper she had sprayed, expecting a reprieve, and smelled nothing but an appropriation of L’Heure Bleue, no iris, and a great deal of crappy , cheap artificial sandalwood that tipped the entirety of the melange into pointlessless. It was, frankly, depressing.
The shirt I was wearing that evening had absorbed the perfumes thoroughly. To the point that I left it hanging in our room for a week after the event as a vanilla perfuming essence (may as well get your money’s worth seeing that you will never be able to actually get a bottle). A really sweet, buttery, vanilla vanilla – quite gorgeous actually – if not quite characterful enough, that filled the whole room with a really vanillian, cakey, vanilla. It took me right back to my vanilla days, when I was bright eyed and bushy tailed and staying on plantations in Java and doing Vanillatastic talks at Perfume Lovers London and the like. Newer to the writing game. Certainly a less jaded self, in any case (I definitely preferred my forties to my fifties so far). Though a tad sickly peut-être, I wouldn’t say no, if you were offering, to Vanilla Planifolia. And yet, I must also admit that I wasn’t entirely regretful either when I put the shirt in quite heavily washing powder-filled wash cycles to rinse the smell right out. Twice.
The Black Narcissus 
You have given me a lot to think about this early Monday morning. I empathise with you about the almost Jekyll and Hyde-like syndrome you experience; I used to act and could be the star of the literal show and the party after, but in most social situations would freeze with debilitating shyness, and have disappeared from rooms to escape. I could hold forth on some occasions and appear to be intelligent and a whizz at debating, but at the same time felt overwhelmed and crowded by people. My intolerance now has increased and I sometimes wish I was a hedgehog curled up in hibernation. It’s strange to live with such extremes, but perhaps the more powerful they are, the more effect they have – thus making you an exceptional teacher beloved by your students. I also think that as one gets older, these “attributes” grow, become more exaggerated. Perhaps the only thing we can do is accept and put to good use the good elements, and ride out the bad. It’s difficult! But inhaling Mitsouko helps.
Beautifully put. And thank you for telling me about your own experiences.
You literally just crept away sometimes?
I didn’t even say goodbye on Saturday night which I found really rude on later reflection.
And yes – I can definitely imagine these attributes intensifying as I get older but as you say – accept and put to good use the good elements and ride out the bad. Probably everyone has to do this in one way or other. Life certainly isn’t easy. But it is also wonderful. I hope some of that duality comes across in this spontaneously splurged out piece today (I was planning to write something else).
Hi Neil – If you have a longing to understand yourself more I would suggest you do some research about autism. Pretty much all the myths about autism, such as they do not have empathy, are just that – myths. Many autistic people are hyper-empathetic, and that forms part of why social interaction can be so draining and overwhelming, however much you love it. Also, there are many ways of being autistic, both visible and invisible to others. I have done lots of research as I discovered last year that I am autistic and it has explained so much about my life that puzzled me, and has helped enormously with my relationship difficulties. A lot of the personal experience you write about rings bells with what I have read about autism, and personally for me too – it is perfectly possible to have lived a rich and full life and not to have realised one is autistic, as it hasn’t been properly understood until fairly recently. Also there are lots of positive traits that make one a valuable person to have around. It is though important to learn how to manage the difficulties to your (and others) benefit, and not think that you can push through and ignore them – this will just lead to meltdowns or shutdowns, however it manifests itself.
Not saying you are autistic (and what’s in a name), but I think it’s worth considering. Your interest in perfume and in people sound very much like special interests!
All the best, Maggie
Very interesting. Thanks so much for writing this. I wonder….
Definitely somewhere on the spectrum I think – or can you be hypersensitive without that diagnosis ?
I really agree about not pushing through things that are impossible : if I can’t handle something I can’t handle it.
How has your realization changed things for you ?
I allow myself to be different now, instead of feeling like an inadequate antisocial human being. Luckily I met a woman who loves me so much that she allows me to be different too, and gives me space. This has had to be worked at though, did not come straight away! I’ve also had jobs and a profession where I have had great feedback for my skills. Being older helps too – life’s too short now to worry what people think – I am retired now and I pretty much do as I like, it’s great.
Very nice to hear.
There is so much that is familiar in your writing today. I was diagnosed as HSP in my late 40’s. Whether HSP falls within the autistic spectrum I don’t know. In my 50’s I developed chronic fatigue & fibromyalgia. These are linked & there are a sprinkling of others in my father’s family who have the same diagnoses. I volunteered for a long term follow up & genetic study.
What you describe reads like burn out. Common in HSP’s. Devising a management plan with your therapist (and D) could be helpful, but it’s up to you to follow it & not get FOMO.
I’m in my 60’s now, retired & I’ve shed many soul sucking acquaintances I thought were friends. I’m vastly happier for it.
Very glad to hear it – and thank you very much for this. I hope the pain for the fibromyalgia is under control – I have a friend with truly devastating symptoms from that exacerbated greatly with a Covid vaccine gone wrong in her body – I have no idea how she copes.
Fear of missing out is something I had much more in my twenties, when there was a lot of social pressure in London to be hip and follow every art scene : sometimes I get it now as well but d and I have managed, in general, to find an arrangement : he goes to much more events than I do. Saturday‘s show was great : incandescent even ( probably why I was incinerated and had to go home alone ..)
The fibro has improved vastly since I was first diagnosed, regular mild opioids & appropriate antidepressants improves sleep. Regular walking & light resistance exercise with planned rest days all help. It makes me very dull to all but my nearest & dearest.
Also using “spoons theory” is really helpful & reduces my bad, bed days.
Please do read about spoons theory & how it can help in chronic conditions. It may help both you & your friend.
I used to leave social events via the French goodbye too. Gently slip away without it being noticed. It can be a god send
! The French Goodbye? Never heard of it – love it. Although I do always say properly goodbye usually – Saturday was an anomaly.
Glad you have found ways to manage the condition and have a lifestyle that is right for you. I am actually a totally party animal and always have been – which makes this whole story sound totally bizarre. Nothing is better than drunk dancing under the disco lights with friends for me. I suppose then you don’t need to talk….
And D and I can’t stand Dullsville. This is the thing. Quiet domesticity, yes – absolutely needed (heaven is me upstairs writing, him downstairs doing the same) but I crave aesthetic stimulation from the bone marrow – not just on the ‘presented to me on a plate’ art fashion, but in life itself, in cities – Japan is gorgeous in that regard. Still not tired of it.
Weekends are paradise.
Work is good, and I am grateful for it, but my god the last few weeks I just feel so fucking TALKED OUT I could join a monastery.
I have chosen a job where I talk all day…
But then office work, sitting in front of a computer, drove me bananas.
Writing does not – I adore it, but then I think if I just did that I would become divorced from reality: and I actually really like the interaction with young people.
Oh how tedious the complications of one’s own persona!
Out of all the extracts, the Iris had me smitten. But it could be first time euphoria. They don’t provide samples and it’s hard for me to judge the drydown. I may have to make repeat visits….but on the other hand, there’s no way I can pay that much for a perfume. I really like the rose too on card, very complex.
On card – exactly
I had initial iris euphoria too – although there was something gluey and concrete / paste like it ( maybe just the natural iris itself ) that disturbed me. The dry down was banal and contained some kind of fake sandalwood which in my view ruins the Guerlain DNA.
Would love to have the rose just for the occasional spritz. But dream on. I will pay my rent instead .
Living in Brazil, where everything is always full- on extroversion, I always need long breaks from it. I am thankful that my husband is the same way. When we attend family events or parties, we usually just leave when we want. “Why are you leaving so early?” “Well, we just don’t want to be here anymore.” It’s as simple as that. I no longer drink or do drugs, so it’s no fun to be around others who do. I love my solitary ways. I love my long walks alone. It’s just the most wonderful feeling being comfortable with myself, made even more wonderful by not feeling the need to apologize for being just the way I am. It’s a touch arrogant perhaps, but I truly love the way I am and see no need to change.
Wonderful to read. Delighted you have achieved this.
I love your compromise here : sociable because it is nice to be with people, but realistic about how long you can stay at a party when you are ready to go.
The Brazilian extroversion draws me – but have I been so Japanized that it would just do my head in ?
For me, being trapped in a social situation for too long is like a fish asphyxiating out of water
I so appreciate the way you don’t sugar coat. It makes your writing so interesting. Domesticity combined with aesthetic stimulation, now that’s the ticket. You have probably found your happy medium; I hope you can return to it always, when the digressions don’t make you happy. But if we never tried the digressions…the unexpected joys could be missed too.
We would both be bored to death without the wildness… the digressions / explorations are absolutely essential. Saturday night was dazzling and I felt really alive in the middle of Ginza getting into a taxi all glammed up and the concert was great but I couldn’t possibly have then gone to dinner with new people afterwards. A balance is indeed necessary.
Re sugarcoating – thankyou. I have done quite a few throwaway posts on here for a while and suddenly felt the need for something with more teeth.
Being honest is good, but I also can’t stand it when someone takes on their diagnoses as their prime identity.
‘Hi, I am so and so. I am a neurodivergent ambivert poly pansexual Highly Sensitive Person : SO NICE TO MEET YEWW”
I just want to run a mile from the self obsess.
Is all this just too contradictory or does it make sense ?
Totally agree – self knowledge is great but putting labels on oneself is just inviting more ‘us and them’ scenarios – as Groucho Marx said ‘I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member’. The latest horror being ‘what pronoun do you use?’
A complicated issue …
I love your writing! You are a “people person” and there is nothing wrong with that!
Thanks Filomena – and thanks for reading : this was a long’un
I have the same problem. I genuinely enjoy being with my friends and talking with them. But at the same time that enjoyable conversation also drains my energy to the extent that I need a rest, the time to be totally on my own. When in company with my friends I always feel I have to entertain them; I have to make them laugh; I have to make them happy. I know none of them is imposing such kind of burden on me; It is myself that does it. But I cannot stop it. I alway fear that failing to make them laugh might cost me my precious relationships with them. And self-reflection led me to realize that this fear has already been hardwired into my system, because for me close friends were too essential to lose in order to survive my childhood when I had few family members to depend on.
My goodness : yes !
Maybe this is why I am the same : we are ‘hardwired ‘ to entertain – a great way of putting it.
I always feel I am expected to have that role, which to a very large extent comes naturally, like switching on a lightbulb inside – but it also freaks me out and yearn for decompression.
Thanks for commenting!
Hi – thought I’d chime in here rather than writing a new comment as I can relate to what you said, only my self-imposed pressure isn’t to entertain but to make the interaction meaningful. That could be by sharing facts they might find interesting or useful, or presenting a perspective they might find helpful, or making them feel encouraged somehow… in reality I probably end up stating the obvious a lot and who knows how they perceived it. But it’s the same fear that drives the need to prove my continued “value” as a friend, especially when interactions are less frequent with all of our busy lives.
What I’ve found draining in social situations is people trying to get too up close and personal when I’m 99% sure they’re not going to remember any details I tell them anyway, so why ask? That’s where it would be better to just dance instead…!
First Pooper Scooper, and now this! Two posts of yours that have been so crammed with all kinds of compelling ideas to sink our teeth into to that it’s driving me crazy, dear N. We’ve been uncharacteristically busy here and there’s no letup in sight, and I want to sit down for an hour and write back and I can’t. Quel drag. Just sending you love and also huge gratitude. Vintage Chapman. You’re so good when you go deep. Blowing you kisses from Sechelt xxx
PS. I love wild dancing in a crowd of people. I think it’s the perfect way someone who is essentially introverted to feel extravagantly social and fully charged, battery-wise.
YES !
Glad you liked this post – a big mess but it came out in one go and I just pressed publish
What are you so busy with right now, btw ?
We’ve got a fair-sized landscaping project underway.
I am imagining edenic results …
how nice