Are You A Man or A Mouse – Squeak Up!

Photo by Polina Kovaleva on Pexels.com

I have trouble speaking up.

But when I do speak up, it’s like a pressure relief valve has been activated and I almost always feel better.

If that’s the case, why am I reluctant to speak my mind?

Although I might display people-pleasing characteristics, I am very protective of my time. With a full dance card, this is necessary.

Where did this come from? Why is it important to me that people like me?

Was there some sort of childhood trauma that has been buried for decades – perhaps a sense of not being enough?

Why am I asking so many questions here?

Is this simply because I am an introvert?

I overcompensate for this introversion by acting like an extrovert – joking, talking louder than I should – forcing myself into a state of gregariousness  that runs counter to what I believe to be my true nature.

It’s well documented that introverts find themselves drained after social gatherings and extroverts come away with renewed energy.

Where am I on this spectrum?

Much of my life is spent in public-facing situations. I work at a popular cigar shop in Myrtle Beach, and when we’re in the tourist season, it’s wall-to-wall people. As a working musical performer, I’m the focal point. When I perform with my brother – at least that’s split up.

At these gigs, I make it a point to introduce myself to people and hand them a card. Seeing friends at gigs makes me comfortable.

I’m not saying forcing myself to be more outgoing is totally uncomfortable, but if you see me at home, I’m a different animal.

Ask my partner, Brenda. She’ll tell you that I am usually quiet – working on newspaper or magazine assignments in my office or playing the piano. This quiet is sometimes interspersed with perhaps a conversation with myself or the blurting out of a lyric that is stuck in my head.

The older I get, the more comfortable I am in social situations – but outside of these walls, I don’t believe I am actually myself. I’m a fictional character.

Like Julie Andrews in “Victor Victoria” – a “woman pretending to be a man pretending to be a woman” – I’m an introvert pretending to be an extrovert.

What’s up with that?

Enjoy these posts? I’d love it if you would subscribe.

Living In a Movie

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

My brother sometimes calls me out and accuses me of “performing” when I am out somewhere with him – maybe at work at the smoke shop or at gigs or what have you – when other people are around.

I take this to mean that I am exaggerated and always playing to an audience.

He’s not wrong.

I never thought this was normal, but I have allowed this to happen unchecked (except by Chris) for the bulk of my life.

Also – since I was little, it seemed like I was living in a movie or a television show.

I remember when I was in the first grade in Coconut Grove in the late 1960s, sitting alone on a swing in our back yard on Tigertail Court – lost in some sort of “montage,” with the Paul Mauriat instrumental hit, “Love Is Blue” on some sort of loop in my consciousness.

I was lost in the tranquility. I already knew every nuance of the song’s arrangement because I heard it constantly. I didn’t know what a montage was, but the images and music  “playing” in my head were cinematic. This was all about “The Boy from ‘Love Is Blue.”

That boy was me. I was the main character. I was the only character.

Flash forward (whoops, another cinema phrase): I have been noticing something lately in my feeds about something called Main Character Syndrome.

Main Character Syndrome is close to what my brother has been calling me out on. It’s something that manifests itself when there are others around. But I think my solitary time on the swing plays into it as well.

The Cleveland Clinic sums up Main Character Syndrome like this:

“When you know someone is watching you, you tend to act in a very different way than you would if you were alone,” clarifies [Psychologist Susan Albers, PsyD]. “If you’re being authentic, you’re dressing, acting and saying things that truly represent who you are. But with main character syndrome, you’re often putting on a wardrobe or a mask to present in a different way.”

Holy shit.

I put on a show even if nobody is watching.

The article asserts that these behaviors “often go unnoticed until they’re called out by others around you [thanks, Chris] largely because the negative aspects are often derived from how your behaviors affect those you interact with negatively.”

I don’t think I’m that far gone, though. I care about others and would like to think I am compassionate and emotionally intelligent. And yet – I know that I am self-conscious with a tendency to feel socially awkward. 

But because I am a high-functioning introvert, it’s these mind-movie performances that help me cope. My brother and I talked about this on our PODCAST.

At home, I’m a different animal. I am quiet if you disregard the random blurting out of song lyrics. After gigs or a shift at work – both eminently public-facing, I am kind of tapped out.

Sure enough, it’s in the Cleveland Clinic piece also – with more from Albers:

“At home, you may drop the facade because it can be really exhausting to feel as if you’re always putting on a show.”

I am glad to have stumbled on to this information. Something else to explore. Therapy, anybody?

Enjoy these blog posts? I’d love it if you would subscribe.

Awkward

Sometimes I just feel awkward.

I consider myself to be a shy person, an introvert. That being said, I find myself in public-facing situations just about every day.

I am a freelance writer. The writing part might be a solitary pursuit, but when I am on assignment for a story or a profile, I have to work the phones or meet people for interviews. Sometimes, they think I am trying to sell them something, which makes me feel weird.

After I identified myself to a lady recently over the telephone for a story, she stopped me and asked how much this would cost her. In this case, she understood quickly that I was not trying to trap her into some sort of purchase – and this is not an isolated incident.

Last week, another lady hung up on me – and still others have been defensive and standoffish. Thankfully, the vast majority of the folks I talk to are not like this.

Maybe it’s my approach. Perhaps I need to get to the point quicker – like those hard-boiled reporters in the old movies who don’t take no from an answer.

I am also a working musician. Usually, I perform with my twin brother and this helps to offset some of the responsibility of going it alone. I have not a trace of stage fright at these gigs, but when the time comes to play a solo gig – particularly three sets by myself – I feel like any mistake would be cataclysmic. This anticipation of some impending misstep causes me to get clammy – and my fingers don’t seem to want to cooperate.

But after a get a few songs under my belt, I realize that I am going to be OK.

I also work in retail for a well-known cigar operation in the Carolinas. This is about as public-facing as you can be, especially in what is known as The Season in Myrtle Beach – where humanity descends in full force on our little burg.

But some people have laughed when I admit I am an introvert – like they don’t believe me.

Am I something else? A hybrid? We’re all different, of course.

I like people. I love my friends.  I enjoy talking to people and making new friends. It’s just that sometimes I don’t have it in me to be “on.” I read somewhere that introverts feel drained after being at a social gathering. While I don’t necessarily feel drained, I do feel that being present and engaged with others requires a stepping-away for a time.

Sometimes I just feel awkward.