I feel very stressed around other people.
Not everybody, of course — friends, family, and select colleagues are downright tolerable most days. But I approach many people with anxiety, and if I overcome that, I often feel an urgent discomfort to get away. What am I supposed to say next? Is there a right thing I should be doing here? Should I be serious or sarcastic, empathetic or hard-nosed? How am I doing in terms of eye-contact? Are we done now, or should I bring up something else? Few and far between are those with whom I can comfortably sit, or sustain a conversation, or (heaven forbid!) eat a meal.
This is a problem.
Last summer, I made the decision to change my career – in a way, I chose to pluralize it, now having three jobs of varying commitment. In another sense, I am making a career of myself: M. J. Lau, Real-Life Author. As CEO of this brand, I consider myself the boss most of the time.
And not to brag, but I think I’m a great employee.
For starters, I like to work — and not just staying busy, but getting things done. Few things rival the thrill of crossing something off a to-do list. I enjoy it so much that I pack my future with more and more tasks, assuming I will attain greater and greater levels of self-satisfaction once I complete all of them all.
In fact, a key reason I made this transition is because I wanted to choose my own tasks more often. I wanted more time to be creative. I wanted more flexibility and balance in my overall life.
Almost by definition, I also expected to deal with less of other things. Less taking orders. Less giving orders. Less fake enthusiasm. Less teeth-gritting tolerance of disrespect and ignorance. And, as the opening paragraph implied, I hoped to achieve this by dealing with less people.
Imagine my surprise a few weeks ago when I discovered that, even on my own, I had no shortage of similar disappointments and aggravations. I get to pick what I work on, but now I find myself over-planning, thereby stressing myself out with too many things to do. Furthermore, my various jobs conflict and overlap, competing for my time. I argue and complain and fight uphill battles almost everyday … I just do so with myself.
Worse yet, I find that when I’m around my family — the only people I interact with most days — I can often be short and irritable with them. They are my only human connections on any given day; how selfish of me to be annoyed with their questions, their requests, their presence! How absurd that I bristle when they pull me away from the work I’ve had several uninterrupted hours to do during their absence. I should be delighted to have that respite.
As I said, this is clearly a problem. A Me problem. What I wanted was more of me, but what I need is less of me.
Spending more time with myself — with my thoughts, my interests, my work — has its benefits … to a point. But when the pendulum swings too far that way, I get off-balance, and (regardless of what my boss says) I have to spend some time with others.
Time with friends, having a laugh.
Time with family, sharing in their lives.
Time with new people, helping and learning and listening.
Even though I think that last thing will be actively unpleasant, it almost never is. When I visit schools, or I teach the occasional class, I am so at ease. In fact, I’m often thrilled to be there. I love interacting with whomever is there and seeing where it goes. I’m not conscious of it at the time, but the last thing I’m thinking about is myself — I’m focused on them.
I’m not planning my next meal.
I’m not fretting about the neglected items on my to-do list.
My fitness regimen or appearance or relative lack of sleep don’t even cross my mind.
When I am actively engaged with others, I am free. I am free from my relentless, critical, dissatisfied self. I stop looking inward all the time, allowing every ricocheting thought the chance to capture my attention. Instead, I’m simply doing.
Of course, I can enter this flow state when I’m alone – most often when I’m writing – but that cannot be my primary (let alone solitary) source of rejuvenation and purpose. I don’t consider myself a “people person,” but I have spent enough time with the only person I can’t escape; I could at least make an effort to, however selectively, mingle with others and see what that does for me.
It seems selfish to say that, but what other option is there? Would it be less selfish if I were the kind of person who loved being around people and then made it my mission to serve others? That seems to be the very fulfillment of that individual’s desires. I have difficulty summoning the courage or the energy to be around others; it might be less selfish to do something socially valuable despite my shortcomings and reservations.
Intellectually, I grasp this, but I have another complicating affliction — namely, that I believe I am some kind of exception to reality. I think I’m different and special and unique compared to the rest of the inadequate world. There is no one I am more eager to deceive than myself, and yet I believe I am the hardest one of all to fool.
So, in a way, I’m angering my toughest opponent: Me. The self is always more clever than its own tricks – it is so hard to dupe because it already knows what it’s trying to do and plans ahead accordingly. Even now my mind is thinking up excuses for why I shouldn’t bother to interact with others more.
What, you think you’re so important that other people need you to come along and enlighten them? Entertain them?
Who are you trying to impress?
Who are you trying to fool?
Psh — you just want to avoid all the work you haven’t gotten around to yet.
You said it yourself: You’re not good at dealing with people. Why not stick to writing and reading and all the things you can do well, since that’s your best chance of actually making a difference?
Can’t you see why I need some time away from this guy?