My girlfriend and I went out on a date last night. Going out has become kind of a rare treat for us, between our own lack of disposable income and the general tendency towards routine that seems to happen in most long-term relationships. I met her for dinner after work, and then we went to a screening of the 1924 film version of Peter Pan. It was a lovely evening, filled with stimulating conversation, but as soon as we got on the train to go home, I completely clammed up. She made efforts to keep the conversation going, but I was not interested in talking anymore. I’m sure this struck her as a wild and irrational mood swing after such a fun night, one that she’s seen on more than one occasion. She may not suspect this at all, but I know that my actions stem directly from my poseurphobia, one of the occasions where it can actually hurt those around me.
My girlfriend holds a BA in psychology and is currently pursuing a master’s degree in expressive arts therapies. To say that she is interested in people’s innermost thoughts would be an understatement, and she believes the creative arts are one of the best ways to tap into those feelings. She’s excited that I’m undertaking this project, and has remarked that this is the most self-reflection she’s ever seen me do. There’s no denying that I’ve never talked about any of this stuff to her or anyone before, but that doesn’t represent a lack of self-reflection, but a lack of interest (or even willingness) to talk about it. In fact, I probably spend too much time thinking about my actions and their motivations. Writing this blog has been an incredibly easy venture as far as coming up with material–the hard part has been adjusting to the idea of sharing these thoughts with the world.
My friends and family know me to be an intensely private person; I’m generally not inclined to talk about myself, and have avoided facebook entirely. I suppose that there are logical reasons for people to protect their privacy, but mine secretly stems from the very illogical nest of my poseurphobia. I’m so afraid of the judgement people may cast upon me for the things I might say in conversation or post on my profile, that I’d rather avoid saying or posting those things altogether. To some degree, I think this is perfectly normal–people hide their opinions all the time, often to avoid inciting or alienating those around them that may disagree. I’ve extended this otherwise logical behavior to the Nth degree, eschewing not just politics and religion, but my tastes in books and music, even my plans for the weekend, and have extended the people I adjust my behavior for beyond friends and family to anyone who may be in earshot.
This starts to explain my behavior last night; I was perfectly happy to have an honest, and at times even animated conversation while enjoying the relative anonymity of walking down the street, but as soon as we got on the train, locked in with a disinterested group of fellow travelers, I was uncomfortable talking about something as innocuous but necessary as which route we should take to get home. I mumble noncommittally and shift my weight, hoping my girlfriend will get the hint and stop asking me questions. She notices, but instead asks with concern what’s wrong. This only makes me more uncomfortable, as my feelings are an even more private subject than who’s going to take which leftovers for lunch tomorrow. I don’t want to be the guy-who-won’t-tell-his-caring-girlfriend-what’s-bugging-him on the train anymore than I want to be the guy-with-loud-opinions on the train, but when cornered, I always opt for the former. Ideally, I would always ride in complete silence, avoiding eye contact, and hopefully going completely unnoticed. This is a cowardly and immature solution to this problem, and takes my interests over any companions I may be traveling with.
Curiously, I didn’t suffer from this at all in high-school, when people are most accused of just wanting to blend in. I was loud, abrasive, and didn’t care if people liked me. I wanted to stand out, to force people to notice me. I don’t know why or when exactly that changed, but I suspect it has something to do with realizing that that type of behavior is totally obnoxious. I find teenagers loudly mugging for their friends so annoying, it became a goal for me to act with all the courtesy and tact that teens flagrantly ignore. Over time, this goal took on a life of its own, and mutated into the compulsion my girlfriend would recognize today.
I’d really like to say that I have a solution for this problem, or at least a plan for enacting one, but I know that identifying an issue is really only the first step in addressing it, and this particular issue is going to take more than a quickly stated resolution to do better. What does give me hope, however, is how radically different my behavior was in high-school. I don’t want to return to those ways any more than I want to continue acting the way I am now, but the fact that I was able to change this particular behavior pattern so rapidly suggests that it’s at least possible. The first step will be starting the pendulum swinging again. I’ll worry about stopping it somewhere reasonable once I get there.
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Trains bring that out really really strongly in me. I think it stems from having so many annoying experiences on trains and becoming enraged at totally happy, normal, polite people that I simply refuse to let myself be any kind of presence in the company of strangers.
That said, I feel like – for whatever reason – you and I on a train together becomes a different animal all together. It becomes detached from the experience of having a conversation and almost more like staging an improvised two-man show about nerds on a train. Or nerds at that Thai place on Clark.
I miss you. These posts are really good and clean. Keep it up.
You’re absolutely right about going into a kind of performance mode when we get together. The same thing happens when I’m with my younger brother. For whatever reason, if I think the conversation will entertain other people, I’m totally willing to allow (or even force) them to listen. I wonder if turning the world into a stage in that way contributes to my anxiety when I don’t feel like I have anything worth paying attention to. It certainly seems like I can take the same input (that is, thinking people are paying attention) and, depending on my mindset, spin it into a positive feedback loop of either confidence or embarrassment. Being able to control which way that seemingly insignificant drop of water starts to run could have profound effects on my behavior, so I guess Ian Malcolm was right again.
Ian Malcom is always right.
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