Let Me Do The Talking

It is a funny thing to be interviewed for some reason other than employment. In a variety of speech contests I have been briefly interviewed, and even that is weird. For a few moments, it's all about you. That's something that I must confess I want most of the time, , and most of the time I don't get it. For that reason, I don't have to face up to the fact that I don't know what to do with it most of the time. Then it happens.

For the few moments that I'm being interviewed, I realize that what I'm asking for I actually shrink away from. I think I handle myself well enough in those situations. They ask a few questions and I garner decent reactions with my responses, most of which are designed to fend off the question without answering it. That's my way, I suppose- to dance around the issue without hitting it head-on. I'm working on that in improv.

Regaling

I don't think it happens often, but every once in a long while, the attention of a group falls on me, evidently eager to hear what I have to say. I am used to either listening and speaking in turn or forcing my thoughts upon people, occasionally getting some of them to land anyway. Seldom, as I said, has it been the case that a lot of people have turned the floor over to me, only asking questions to elicit more from me and never introducing their own thoughts.

I don't mean to say that's what I am after exactly, but it is terribly flattering when it happens. I can think of only a handful of occasions, often when I have happened to be very prominent in a performance or when I have been all talked up by some friend. The former has happened when I have done my one man show about Mark Twain. Theater of that kind is definitely right up the alley of anyone who can't bear to share attention.

Let's Talk Again

It's a low down, loathsome and despicable act to engage in small talk. I'm not saying this because I've never done, never would and don't see why people do it. I do it plenty, and see exactly what there is in it that would appeal to people. I'm sure I must have written about it before, but if I must recap my thoughts on it, I will. It's safe. It saves you from having to take a chance with anyone, those with whom you suspect you have nothing in common especially.

In truth, I grew up somewhere where I don't think that kind of small talk works very well. In the Phoenix area, there is seldom much new that one could say about the weather. After one observes that it's another hot one out there and that we could use some rain, there is little more to be said about the matter by anyone, professionals on the evening news included. In short, the weather is not terribly helpful for small talk there.

Talking About Talking On Bicycles

When walking down the street with someone, I often struggle to remain at the same pace. Frequently I will find myself well in front, and it is agonizing to slow down for them to catch up. This isn't because I'm so much more eager to get where I'm going, or even because I just move faster. I don't happen to be fast or have long legs. I just happen to be operating at a higher gear in such cases. It's sort of like something that happens to me on occasion, and I'm the slow one.

Plenty of my friends are avid bike riders, but there is one in particular. He lives in my building, and we go to a lot of the same places. When it's close enough, he rides his bicycle. I walk. If each of us independently arrives at the decision to go to the same place, an awkward thing happens. I can't go as fast as his bike the whole way. Even if I could, the conversation wouldn't be too terribly interesting for either of us.

The Give And Take

I have had a difficult time in my life of getting to where I was at ease in conversation. I grew up very socially awkward, and was largely withdrawn and isolated. Over time I improved and now talk eagerly, although it remains difficult in group situations during which I must contend for opportunities to contribute. At such times, I still sometimes find myself sidelined and pretending to be content doing something by myself, but this is now relatively uncommon.

In those one-on-one scenarios though, I now face a far different problem from the one of the past. I struggle now to do what Dale Carnegie counseled, which is to be a well-liked conversationalist mainly by being a good listener. Ever fiber of my being strains against this, revolting against the order from my reasoning mind to contain the wonderful things that the rest of my mind has thought of to say. Regretfully I fail more than I succeed at this.

My Disposable Friend

When I get a ride to someplace, I'm with a friend and invariably have a delightful conversation. Want to or not, it seems only fair in the absence of a request for gas money. Usually I want to talk anyway. When I go someplace on public transportation, I am usually alone and expect to do nothing but read, listen to music or gawk at people. It really wrecks my plans if I end up talking to someone, but sometimes that is how it works out.

It's a fact that the people by whom you wind up ensnared in a conversation are not those from whom you would seek one. Sometimes it's a very unfortunate fact indeed. I can think of any number of people languishing on the margins of existence who have imposed a chat on me for want of anyone who knows them and would welcome one. What is there to do but listen to their vitriol or woe and pray for their stop to come soon?

Sidle Unto The Breach

Conversation can be difficult for me. Most people who know me will be surprised to hear that, probably because most of the people I know I have met in the last three or so years as I have opened up socially. Prior to that time I was more subject to the symptoms which got me diagnosed with Asberger's Syndrome, which is commonly described as a mild form of autism. I guess that I must have beaten it, but that is not to say that it does not sometimes affect me.

It's sort of like how things go for a young novice cyclist. Starting and stopping are both very difficult and fraught with peril, but in between, the act can be carried out with little trouble if any. Oh, the mighty struggles I've endured trying to get into a conversation! Smart phones have been a real blessing, because I can whip out my phone and pretend that I'm engaged in some kind of important business when in truth I am once again the wallflower that I used to be all the time.

Pay Your Way

There are many things I don't like, and at least as many sorts of people. It's all too easy to run afoul of one or another of my bugaboos, and I hardly expect that people work first and foremost on staying good with me as opposed to the many other worthy objectives that can lead to prosperity and happiness in this world. I can hardly argue that my good will can take you very far towards that at all unless my happiness and your happiness and you don't regard money as being integral to prosperity. I feel as I feel about people anyway.

One type I don't care for at all is the silent type. You'd think that given how much I talk and how loudly I do it that I would be grateful for someone who just plain punts in a conversation and lets me go to town. I don't like that. I hear myself talk all day and night every day- out loud I mean, and with people around or not. I know what I'm thinking, so there's no value in just saying it to someone's face. I want to hear what they have to say as well- that's the great virtue in having friends and not cats or plants.

Talking

I have a problem. There was a time when I was not very social. I was isolated and had few outlets for conversation. That has changed in recent years, and I have been blessed with many friends who are often interested in what I have to say. This has gotten the floodgates to open where my words are concerned. I can't turn it off. I'll talk more or less non-stop when someone is around. I won't deny that this is obnoxious. Luckily, it fits within society's parameters for sanity provided there are not aggravating conditions. The story is different when no one is around. My mind goes on like a perpetual motion machine. I believe I've mentioned how this makes it hard to sleep sometimes. It's as much a problem during the day. I'm often worlds away while out and about on the street, and who knows what might happen when my attention is not on where I am and what I am doing? So far, so good on that, but not so good on something else.

It's not just that my mind is always working- it's also always sending the results out. I can hardly help thinking without saying what I'm thinking. That is to say that such is the case when I'm alone. I think clearly enough to contain the more objectionable and personal thoughts when in the presence of others, but the rest just flows out of me without end. I realize what I'm doing and strive to stop it, but these thoughts themselves I utter aloud. I dig deep for strength and make the greatest effort I can to stop it, but this achieves no more than to have me whispering my thoughts, or at best moving my lips while thinking them. It's something like Cyclops of the X-Men. He has high-tech sunglasses to restrain his laser vision, and other characters have their own means of shutting off their powers. I don't mean to say that what I have is some kind of power, merely that I'm something of a busted spigot. It may produce clean, sweet water or rusty filth, but always is it pouring out violently.

Conversation Trajectory

I'm rather interested in conversations. We all have them, but most give them little thought. I suppose this is because they are so effortless for such people. One considers breathing only when it becomes labored, since it only then requires any exertion or imposes any discomfort. For me, conversation takes considerable effort, and I do think about it in an ongoing effort to improve. I was talking to someone the other night, and keenly felt my myself working at it since this was the first conversation of any length I'd had with this person. It was no chore to talk with this person. I was enjoying it, but sought to ensure there were no mistakes on my end which might curtail the undertaking. It was something like riding a bar's mechanical bull, except that there were no drunks exhorting me.

There was a certain path the conversation took which would be rather informative if it could be expressed as a chart of some kind. I refer not to the series of tangential digressions which are only natural, but to the ebb and flow of enthusiasm and interest we both felt for our mutual endeavor. It began haltingly, as we had met a few days ago and had little memory of one another. Perhaps the sheepishness of forgetting each other's names was a perfect opening, for we were quickly conversing in earnest. It was an ascendant phase which I didn't in that moment envision ending any time that night. Somehow I was saying the right things and reacting in the right ways, and there was a certain exhilaration akin to being nearly across a minefield- only this was a pleasurable one.

Shh...

We humans are social creatures, and probably our greatest God-given ability is that of vocalized communication. Other animals can say a lot with barks and whines, but we have the physical makeup both in the brain and the throat area (as I call it, having studied film and not anatomy) to be more eloquent and efficacious in our vocalized communication than any of them. Clearly, though, ability does not necessarily come with wisdom as a package deal.

Talking makes for a lot of problems. I'd say that the vast majority are the product of saying either too much or just the wrong thing. A slender minority of bad situations created by talking are the result of not saying anything. I'd suggest that people could help themselves out immensely in all situations by saying as little as they can. This is why I have opted out of political conversation.

Be Warned!

I have come to the realization that a specter looms over me. It is one most tangible, though it takes on a new face and name with each malevolent, insidious attack. I now believe it to be in truth the mythical Minotaur of Crete. I know this now because it employs a labyrinth to entrap me. I say the Minotaur is insidious because the labyrinth now is a metaphorical one rather than a real one of brick and mortar. My most recent brush with the villainous thing took a mild toll, but made me realize that I may be left in no condition to tell the tale the next time. That being the case, permit me to outline the Minotaur's methods.

Useless Debate

As I've gotten into my late 20s, I've begun to place just a bit more importance on my time, energy and attention. That's not to say that I don't fritter it away, but I avoid it to the extent that my discipline allows. One of the areas where I make this effort is in debates and arguments. They had better really matter, and not only matter but be something other than futile, if I'm going to expend myself in their service. Rarely is this the case.

An easy category to dispense with is that which has seemingly been ginned up by a corporation to sell more units. There are any number of them out there, and those so engaged are seemingly under the impression that they are striving to enhance their knowledge and not the bottom line of a multinational conglomerate which sees them as ants with income if it sees them at all. I, for one, intend on going to my grave having consciously attempted to work for the betterment of myself and those I care about, not business enterprises I had no real stake in.