How did I become so reluctant to talk to others in public?
Having seen how the Myers-Briggs Personality Type impacts many students’ writing, I am fairly familiar with the types, and I know my own characteristics well. I happen to be an introvert, someone who regains energy by being alone. Lately, though, I’m reverting to the other definition of introversion: shy, reticent; reluctant to initiate social discourse.
My grown kids don’t believe it. They witnessed me initiate too many random conversations with strangers in public when they were kids. Much to their embarrassment.
But that was the point! I was trying to model polite behavior for them. Now, I don’t need to instruct them, so I can just be introverted me, right? Besides, on most days, I just don’t have the energy to converse with people I don’t know.
But that may be changing.
Case in point: I drove to a large department store yesterday to pick up a few items. I don’t usually like to shop. I’m not a browser, and I hate having to make small talk with people I meet. My M.O. is to enter early, armed with a list, and speed around the store ticking off items as fast as possible.
But yesterday my usual tendencies evaporated as fast as water on the pepper plants these past few August days.
As my cart and I raced along the main aisle, a pale sage sweatshirt caught my eye. I screeched to a stop. I quickly appraised it. An understated logo. I liked that! I touched it: soft. Nice! I checked the size: roomy. Perfect! I checked the price: reasonable. Hmmmm ….
But my nature urged me on.
I dashed to the bread section to find the keto wraps and scurried through the liquor shelves to find sports drinks. All the while, I reminded myself of the stacks of sweatshirts that fill my bottom dresser drawer.
Wasn’t I just thinking I needed to get rid of extra clothes? How many hoodies does a person need?
The devil on my shoulder pointed out that none of them is newer than three years old, and one goes way back, to a school eleven miles and sixteen years away. Most are faded or have those nubby little pills on them.
My inner self agreed. And pale sage is my newfound color. My color!
I just retook the revamped Color Me Beautiful test and discovered that I am still a winter, true winter, to be exact. Even with my gray-white hair. It’s jewel colors and ice tones for me.
And how often is one of MY colors hanging on a rack for the new fashion season?
After finding the eight-pack of Gatorade, I just happened to pass the sweatshirt again.
Oh no! I thought. A woman has stopped. She’s reaching for it.
Wait! My inner voice scolded her. That’s not your size– you’re far too small for that one! You don’t even look like someone who’d wear a hoodie. Leave it! Leave it!
I sidled up fast. “Is it calling to you, too?” I slyly asked her, hoping she would walk away under pressure from a stranger.
She didn’t make eye contact but continued to rub the fabric between her fingers.
She’s probably savvy to my distraction methods. Maybe even one of those Black Friday-type shoppers.
I reached toward it.
She shrugged and finally let go. “Too big for me.” Then she turned to see who she was talking to.
“You’ve already got this color!” she said, pointing to my shirt.
I looked down. I did! I was wearing a new t-shirt that happened to be sage. It’s my color.
“It IS pretty,” she added and shrugged again.
I pulled it off the rack to establish ownership. Feeling a little guilty for pretending to be friendly, I offered a rueful justification. “I don’t always like the popular colors. So when I find one I do like, I always want to snag it.”
“Yeah,” she mumbled and pushed her cart away.
I guess that settled it. Sagie was meant to come home with me. I put her in my cart.
What else can I score on this glorious day?
Beaming, I aimed for the canning section, just to see if there were any bargains. An older man slid his cart into the aisle ahead of me and peered at the stacks of jars.
Filled with the thrill of success– and seeing no sale tags hanging from the shelves– I could relax. I wouldn’t have to outreach this guy.
“Canning, are you?” I inquired politely in weak generic penance for my earlier tactics.
“Huh? No, I use jars for my honey.”
“Ahhh,” I nodded. “Expensive, aren’t they?”
“Yep, ridiculous. Just checking to see if there’s a sale. I do that here and there,” he confessed.
“I do, too. Good luck!” I said, and I really meant it, although I wished he’d given me a tip about a nearby sale. Alas, my stranger conversation account was zeroed out for the day.
But I’d done it! I had initiated a dialogue with two strangers!
Granted, the thrill of competition lured me into the first conversation, but the second one was mostly out of the goodness of my heart. It is possible that I can make small talk with random people— at least when I have a purpose.
Maybe I’m not as shy and reticent as I thought. What new opportunities could that bring my way? I’m eager to find out!
