Social skills
I have never found interacting with people easy -- rewarding, yes. Uplifting, enlightening, interesting, necessary -- absolutely. Also confusing, worrying, upsetting, nerve-wracking. Never never easy. I do not have that easy-going friendliness, that charming insouciance that makes people feel at their own ease. It was not until I was much older (say 17-18) that I taught myself (in the way that one learns French or how to tango) how to be friendly and fun! Like this! You smile! You make jokes! HA HA! Until then I was a pretty intense and moody, poetry and philosophy with extra helpings of existential angst sort of person.
Much of the credit goes to my first boyfriend who helped set my feet on the path towards productive social interactions. He was a laughing, friendly sort of guy who could play songs on his guitar that people wanted to sing and who laughed so hard when we went to see Top Secret that he fell out of his chair and rolled down the aisle, pounding the floor as he went. Literally. He might have had his crazy-jealous sixteen year old drawbacks, but I learned to take life a little lighter from him.
People laugh now when I tell them I'm shy and awkward, but it's still true. I just hide it much much better. I'm still pretty angst-riddled and intense -- it's just not there for all to see (although it's not terribly well hidden anymore -- six and a half years of close to the bone exhaustion and parenting palaver will release anyone's inner Camus).
What this means is that play dates are tough. On me that is. I mean, do I drop off Daniel and hope for the best? Do I stick around and try to make hours of small talk with parents I don't know at all? Do I run for the hills and tell my children we are never to see anyone else ever again? Do I take their children here and hope my head doesn't explode from the antics? And how am I ever going to be helpful to my social skill-challenged elder child if I can't even navigate the parental play-date sea.
Today we actually had a lovely and surprisingly perfect play date. A new friend of Daniel's invited him over and I took both children and it turned out they had a daughter Helena's age so all four children played and I sat in the kitchen and talked to both parents, the grandmother and the grandmother's best friend. They had the sort of house that shakes my closet GreedMonster awake. Real art. A library. An office. Guest rooms. A treehouse (for grownups). A pool with waterfall. A yard with two dogs. A kitchen four people can prepare lunch in at once. And they were really nice too. Young, charming, interesting, funny and warm. And they made me coffee.
I'm still exhausted. See, this is me. I love people -- there is probably nothing I love better than being in the theater, surrounded by people, making something amazing happen. Next best I love two a.m. conversations about books and life and the universe -- or dinner parties with very good friends and much wine. But what I need most is to be alone. It's not always easy to find the balance.
NaNoWriMo thought for the day: The only thing harder than trying to write 1700 words is trying to write 1700 words with your son leaning on your arm, reading over your shoulder and demanding to know what happens next. Keep typing Mommy. What happens now? I know what happens now. Now maybe something magical happens. Put that in. Write it down. Why aren't you typing?
Much of the credit goes to my first boyfriend who helped set my feet on the path towards productive social interactions. He was a laughing, friendly sort of guy who could play songs on his guitar that people wanted to sing and who laughed so hard when we went to see Top Secret that he fell out of his chair and rolled down the aisle, pounding the floor as he went. Literally. He might have had his crazy-jealous sixteen year old drawbacks, but I learned to take life a little lighter from him.
People laugh now when I tell them I'm shy and awkward, but it's still true. I just hide it much much better. I'm still pretty angst-riddled and intense -- it's just not there for all to see (although it's not terribly well hidden anymore -- six and a half years of close to the bone exhaustion and parenting palaver will release anyone's inner Camus).
What this means is that play dates are tough. On me that is. I mean, do I drop off Daniel and hope for the best? Do I stick around and try to make hours of small talk with parents I don't know at all? Do I run for the hills and tell my children we are never to see anyone else ever again? Do I take their children here and hope my head doesn't explode from the antics? And how am I ever going to be helpful to my social skill-challenged elder child if I can't even navigate the parental play-date sea.
Today we actually had a lovely and surprisingly perfect play date. A new friend of Daniel's invited him over and I took both children and it turned out they had a daughter Helena's age so all four children played and I sat in the kitchen and talked to both parents, the grandmother and the grandmother's best friend. They had the sort of house that shakes my closet GreedMonster awake. Real art. A library. An office. Guest rooms. A treehouse (for grownups). A pool with waterfall. A yard with two dogs. A kitchen four people can prepare lunch in at once. And they were really nice too. Young, charming, interesting, funny and warm. And they made me coffee.
I'm still exhausted. See, this is me. I love people -- there is probably nothing I love better than being in the theater, surrounded by people, making something amazing happen. Next best I love two a.m. conversations about books and life and the universe -- or dinner parties with very good friends and much wine. But what I need most is to be alone. It's not always easy to find the balance.
NaNoWriMo thought for the day: The only thing harder than trying to write 1700 words is trying to write 1700 words with your son leaning on your arm, reading over your shoulder and demanding to know what happens next. Keep typing Mommy. What happens now? I know what happens now. Now maybe something magical happens. Put that in. Write it down. Why aren't you typing?
posted by Francesca Amendolia at 15:16
13 Comments:
I know exactly what you mean. I enjoy social interaction, if there are enough people to share the burden of moving the conversation. But I always have to recover afterwards with a couple hours of quiet aloneness. Well expressed.
Perhaps we would find each other in the corner of the party--and wind up having a really intense conversation about the meanings of imagination in both children and parents, the tear-your-heart-out nature of parenting and writing, and our knitting. At least that is always what happens to me at parties if David (an introvert with stronger social skills and desires than I have) succeeds in dragging me to one....
I am a home body, so I understand completely your need for solitude and alone time. I think this is one of the hardest things for me regarding parenting. No alone time. But, I love socializing too, so I can go both ways. I've always been an extrovert, chatty kathy type, but hate being the center of attention, so I sort of know what you mean about the angst.
I can definitely relate! I feel exhausted after trying to maintain a conversation with some people. I am happiest at home with my family.
Here I thought I was the only one who felt like a nap after some social situations. I find I am still intimidated by people who are somehow "cooler" than myself. WTF, I am thirtysomething and I still think people can be cooler than me.
I am here because you came to my post via the NaBloPoMo Randomizer and I want to visit you. I am amazed by those who are writing the novel and the blog.
Amen, sister.
I thoroughly understand. I was a painfully shy deep-thinker, and I still am - I've just learned how to force my head out of my shell once in a while. Sort of. I still feel awkward doing it, though - it sucks so much energy that I have the absolute need to recharge. Alone.
I was always behind on NaNoWriMo. There were days I was nearly in tears because, goddammit, I had to have twenty more words for my goal and I could NOT come up with them for the life of me.
I also got quickly to the point where no one was allowed to read what I wrote (much less read over my shoulder - egad!), because it just threw a wet blanket over the whole affair.
Good luck - you are doing well. Rah! Rah!
:-)
Beautifully stated, stunts. I crave alone time like a junkie. Alone. Quiet. Undisturbed. I'm always mistaken for an extrovert (I laugh and smile at strangers)... but the alone time is *so* valuable and precious.. esp once one is a Mom.
I avoid playdates like the plague.
Ann Morrow Lindbergh wrote a beautiful book called Gift From the Sea that addressed a woman's need for solitude. It's worth a read.
My experience with play date stuff is very similar. I am glad that you had a good experience this time though. It sounded lovely. The library, the office. Can I move in?
Is Daniel trying to be listed as a co-author?
Ha - Hey Krista, guess what? In the scene I was writing where he was leaning on my arm so hard that it was like lifting weights, the character picks up a book and reads the title. Daniel said, "I know, that's 'The Night of the Giant Mice." I looked at him. He grinned. I wrote:
She picked up the closest book and waved it at her father. "Night of the Giant Mice," read her father, "by Daniel Webb. This your bedtime reading?"
Or something like that. He was tickled. I have secret plans to edit that bit someday.
Oh, nothing like mommy interaction to bring out your inner eighth-grade neuroses! I spent a month dropping off Gus at school later and later one year, just to avoid the mom who wanted a playdate with Gus and her son. I don't know what I was so afraid of.
Finally she lay in wait for me in the parking lot and nabbed me - arranged the playdate, and she was delightful and her son was great, and the playdate went great.
I'm very much on the extroverted side, but the whole mom-playdate interaction still sends me back to being 13.
oh i am so late here,
so behind
and so wishhhhhhh that you lived here
we could be socially anxious together,
we could have 2 am conversations
about books and life...
wah.
and really.
a treehouse.
for grownups.
wah.
i'm envious.
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