As we encroach on the season of giving (used here in a fit of irony and humor as we’re all quite aware that this season of giving has been co-opted and rebranded as “shopping season” as though there was a season that wasn’t predicated on spending money), I can already feeling myself recoiling into my couch, here in my safe domicile where I am protected by warm slippers, and even warmer dog, and even warmer vegan baking.
Why am I so reluctant? I may blame the cold, and the cold may have earned it’s fair share of blame, but I know at my core that I am a social creature by nature. And if it is by nature that I am social then it should come naturally as the term indicates, so again I ask myself (in greater analytical detail): what unnatural urge has beset me that I am so keen to draw the shades and hide from the outside world? It’s only the 25th of November and I am already feeling the post-holiday malaise.
Let’s excavate. What I know of my own behavior as a consumer is that I’ve developed selfish tendencies, partly as a defense mechanism and partly as a coping mechanism, I’m sure, so it’s not hard for me to confirm that, yes – my blind willingness to stay home and eat brownies on the couch rather than put on a nice sweater and exchange pleasantries with other people in the spirit of the season, where I will permit myself to talk about myself, but not too much, and then allow someone else to talk about themselves – careful not to interrupt, or change the subject back to something I find more interesting.
That sounds like a lot of work. Even my vague and figurative explanation of what might transpire is a bit cynical in nature, which reinforces my desire to hide.
The truth; however, is that I am resistant to engage with people.
Why?
Because people exhaust me.
Why?
Because people only want to talk about themselves.
Why is that a problem?
Because I want to talk about me.
Why?
So that I can control the narrative about myself.
…
So that they don’t draw their own conclusions.
…
Because I want to be accepted.
And loved.
That’s right – There’s a strong likelihood that I don’t want to go socialize because I want to be accepted. Sounds like a contradiction, doesn’t it?
This is starting to sound like an exhausted parent telling a child why we can’t go out for ice cream: “We don’t have to go out to be accepted and loved, we have acceptance and love at home.“
So we’re back to square one, reframing the same question in more and more critical ways to point out our own unwillingness to change: Is my resistance really me, or is it some mish mash of hormones and laziness enabling me to embrace my ill-informed preference? Knowing that tomorrow I’ll feel completely left out, especially after I log in to Instagram and see the myriad of photos of people I know enjoying a function I opted out of and not really being consoled by the minor dopamine hit that I might get from the half-dozen likes I got on the picture of my dog I might post instead.
It’s happened before. I’ve quit jobs, bands, and clubs in the past and then promptly; as if on cue, felt left out as though the situation wasn’t of my own design.
I ought to go put that sweater on and drag a brush across my head.
God forbid I accidentally connect with someone.
The Conscious Pilgrim 