I want to be loved, but I dislike dealing with strangers. I have no confidence. I don’t like the phone. I hate asking people to do anything for me because the prospect of being told “no” is more than I can stand. I am convinced that people will always say “no” to me. I don’t deserve anything.
Since I don’t deserve anything, it’s best not to ask for anything. It’s best to spend as little time with others as possible. It’s best to take no risks and not ask anyone for anything lest they say no and potentially deal my psyche that final blow. The “it’s not worth being on this planet any more” blow.
But, if I don’t reach out to people, no one will ever love me. No one will know me.
So it was the need for love that drove me to learn how to talk to people. I drove me to learn how to persuade people. It drove me to learn how to ask people to do things for me.
I still am very uncomfortable asking people for things, but I have dealt with the issue existentially, and gotten rid of the idea that deserving has anything to do with it. No, I don’t deserve anything, but that doesn’t matter. No one else does, either. It’s our life to do what we want with and fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke. I’m a total joke, anyway, and completely undeserving. It can’t get any worse. Might as well do what I want.
So I learned how to sell things. I sold some of the hardest things there are to sell: ideas, and I sold them door to door and I was good at it. Perhaps an artist. I raised a lot of money for various causes.
I also learned how to talk in public by thinking through my points before I spoke, and learning to be happy if I remembered half of what I wanted to say when I spoke. I learned to enjoy the process of allowing my mind to wander… in public. Really weird. But people seem to like it, often enough. But that’s just gravy. The main thing is that I get to see what my mind is going to come up with.
I learned how to tolerate embarrassment. I learned how to poke fun at myself so I could get the embarrassment out of the way up front. I learned that people seem to like that. The other day I spilled coffee all over myself just as I was about to give a lecture. So I made fun of myself for that. I don’t think anyone cared much that I spilled coffee, other than me. But dealing with it helped me get past my obsession about it. My obsession with the idea that other people thought badly of me for it. Who the fuck cares? Well. I do. But then again, I can pretend I don’t.
Really, it’s one hundred different little things that have helped me tolerate talking to people a little better. I need to find places where the people feel like me. That makes it a lot easier. What could I say to a room full of ditto-heads? What do you say to a room full of idiots, anyway? Compliment them on their ability to understand a word or two when there is music constantly overriding it? Blech!