Introspection
So, here it is at 4 am and I am up. I woke at 1 am and sort of on-and-off dozed until 3:30 when I realized not only was I awake but I was also hungry. So, I got up and ate two toasted slices of home-made bread with Marmite. I am having one of those nights when my brain won’t cut off.
I don’t think I show it much here, except for the times when I don’t leave notes, but I am shy. That sounds a ridiculous thing to say at my age but I can think of no other way to say it. Now, of course, having said that, the word that actually describes me is invisible. It is not that I am invisible but that there are times when I WANT to be invisible. Or more accurately, perhaps is what I mean is that I am intensely uncomfortable when I realize that I am being observed… {And again, I have just realized that I am most likely not going back to that cafe where the barista told me I am cute. Because I now know they know who I am. I am no longer just another customer.}
This evening there is an informal wine-and-cheese-and-bring-some-of-your art-work social event this evening at the studio where I take art lessons. {No, I haven’t changed the subject. It is all connected…} There are, as usual, physical problems in getting from where I park my car, which in Burlington is a problem in itself, to where the the show is being held. If I take my cane, it means I have only one hand to carry the bottle of wine and the paintings. Or, I could leave my cane in the car and do the ugly no-I-am-NOT-drunk-this-is-just-a-physical-handicap walk. I have actually worked out in my mind how to get the stuff there which includes using my cane and wearing a backpack, but more and more, although my RSVP said I was coming, I am leaning towards not going. What shall I wear? Are jeans appropriate for something like this? I have no dressy pants and I no longer have any skirts in my wardrobe. {And, oh, look! there’s another excuse not to go…} Suppose everyone, or even anyone, hates my paintings? What if I have to talk with people I don’t know, or even worse, what if no one wants to talk to me at all? {Years ago a friend told me there is, at times, a huge flashing "Don’t talk to me" sign pinned on my back. }
Of course, I am aware of the silliness of these thoughts and, believe me, I am much better at socializing than I used to be, but, nevertheless, these feelings are strong enough to not let me sleep.
I hear and I forget. I see and I remember. I do and I understand.
— Confucius (Chinese Philosopher) 551-479 B.C.
"I yam what I yam."
Popeye
I don’t think they are silly thoughts at all. I do think jeans would be absolutely fine, with a nice top to dress them up a bit. 😉
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those are not silly thoughts at all! i have the same sign flashing on my back… even at church. it’s difficult to make friends when you’re shy. i haven’t made a single new friend since i moved here 12 1/2 years ago. all the frineds i have are from when i was younger and in colorado. take care,
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I agree with your first noter, and you really need to get a big carry-all totebag, unless your artwork fits into your backpack. Or there the possibility of making two trips in-and-out (though that would surely suck, if you didn’t get to park close!) I used to be the same way, and I really don’t know by what good grace I just happened to suddenly be blessed by my shyness going away. It wasn’tanything I consciously tried to do; it just happened. If you still have some meds for anxiety, I recommend taking one before going to the event…. but ya know, it does NOT mean you’re a failure or anything like that if you decide to NOT go, either. You really do, do PLENTY of things….have done, do, and will do plenty. You don’t owe it to ANYone to become perfect at EVERYthing! ;o) !! hugs, Nicky
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Did you go? If so, I hope you ended up having a good time. I often/always feel shy. I don’t think I’m good at sensing social cues, etc.
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No, you don’t come across on here as being shy, but I think that even fairly confident people get nervous when they’re going to meet new people! You’ll be fine!
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Perhaps a walker, with a basket would make you more comfortable and carry your things for you. If you pretend to be confident, it will come easier. I admire you for your honesty.
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Someone once told me that when they first met me they thought I was stuck-up. Later, they just realized that I was just shy. I’m not a social butterfly, by any means, but I got over being shy. This is your opportunity to suck it up and push through those insecure feelings and stop being the “invisible child.” You have a plan of action but have talked yourself out of it. What’s the point of your art if no one sees it? So what if they don’t like it! Do YOU like everything everybody else does? Probably not. But you get ideas and inspiration. Most people are too worried about their own stuff to worry about anybody else’s. So go! And don’t you dare stop going to the coffee place just because they recognize you! They LIKE you, for goodness’ sake! Smile and say “hello how are you” and place your order. And this was written for my own angst as much as for yours. I’ve been putting off doing something that I need to just suck it up and do it. Love you! Hugs!!!!
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You sound exactly like me. I don’t like to go to the same place for fear that they will get to know me. But when they do get to know me and I get to know them it is all ok. Where does this come from? I say when I was growing up with 7 kids in my family, you were sort of invisible. Everyone called me by my sisters name but nobody called anybody by my name. It’s crazy!
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I think we are more or less cut from the same cloth. I understand these feelings so well. About the mobility/carrying problem – I’ve run into the same thing. The cane seems necessary, but that leaves only one hand to carry a purse and anything else. You could borrow Fred’s “hugo” walker. I have used a little suitcase on wheels and a wheeled shopping basket. Unfortunately, “G” gave that away to a neighbor who died, so it’s gone now. I may buy another one.
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I think that everything that you have written makes sense. I’d carry the paintings for you. I like the thought of an art show. All the television shows with people going to them look neat.
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I am not shy and I am no longer comfortable at most of these kinds of events plus don’t like going out at night in areas I don’t really know. I have come to realize that my poetry now, the new ones, are only written to suit me; having them critiqued is very unpleasant. I care too much on the one hand and I care too little on the other. It’s a confusing time, the seventies–I never realized thatit would be but it is.
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