So since my last blog post, Lindsey and I packed up all of our worldly possessions and moved to Klamath Falls, Oregon. I am now in spirit (and will soon be in the eyes of the law) an Oregonian. Overall, this seems like a great state of affairs. It's somewhere between slightly better and slightly worse than being a Washingtonian, probably better than how I've always imagined being a Coloradan would be, and definitely better than being an Idahoan, if for no other reason than the word "Idahoan" has always seemed like something you'd find scratched into a tree in the middle of the abandoned Roanoke Colony.
In a lot of ways, it's a huge change. In a lot of ways it's a surprisingly logical next step for where I've sort of been hoping my life would go if I worked really hard and got really lucky. More specific impressions will filter in over the next few weeks, I'm sure, but what I wanted to write about today is how much I still apparently suck when it comes to dealing with people.
As anybody who's been reading this blog or interacting with me for any significant length of time already knows (and as everyone else likely surmised after meeting me for three minutes), I'm incredibly socially awkward. "Socially terrified" would actually be more accurate. I think I'm one of those people who actually "recharges" in the presence of people who I already know, like, and trust, but my list of those people is always incredibly small. Not through any fault of theirs, generally, but just because every time I interact with someone that I don't know well yet, I'm pretty much constantly a split-second away from bolting like a deer. I don't know exactly why this is, but I imagine the explanation would involve phrases like "childhood emotional trauma," "being a huge nerd," "lack of self-esteem," and so on.
Anyway, a lot of my twenties was spent wrestling with this particular demon, and that struggle was mostly constructive. I've gotten a lot better than I used to be (believe it or not) at talking to people and not just balling up in the corner while making little whining noises in the back of my throat until everyone else leaves the building every time I'm out in public.
Meeting Lindsey made a big difference in this regard, too. As forcefully unsocial as I am, she's forcefully social. In a lot of ways, being around her has dovetailed nicely with my quest for better social self-confidence: seeing her interact successfully and meaningfully with other adults without ending up getting swirlied in the nearest toilet gives me a good example to strive for. Being around her out in public, too, gives me a bit of a leg up in the sense that I rarely have to be the one to break the ice in a social situation; usually she'll do it first and then once the initial tension (or at least what I see as tension) is alleviated, it's much easier for me to find a way to fit into the conversation or interaction comfortably.
On the other hand, I've come to realize that it's really easy to use Lindsey's socializing finesse as a crutch, too. I'd suspected for a long time that maybe this was actually what I was doing, "cheating" instead of actually learning with help. Using Google Translate instead of Rosetta Stone.
After a few weeks in Klamath Falls, it seems like my fears were well-founded, and that my metaphorical version of Google Translate works about as effectively as the real Google Translate. See, Lindsey started working right away, whereas I don't start work until September, when the school year kicks off. So while she's been at work, I've been responsible for making a lot of the phone calls, driving to a lot of the stores, and setting up a lot of the house calls that are a necessary part of moving into a new place. And it has been fucking terrifying.
When trying to explain to Lindsey (or others) how cripplingly social awkward I am (or at least can be), I use the example of going to the grocery store. In Pullman, we lived near a 24/7 grocery store, and often after a long day and night of working at the office I'd get home to make dinner at 10 or 11pm only to realize I was missing some key ingredient. Because I'm me, the prospect of interacting directly with a cashier, having to make that moment of maddeningly bizarre small talk was often so overwhelming that I'd just eat a sandwich and go to bed rather than face my fear of having to talk to another human being. That fear has come back pretty much full force since I've been running a lot of errands in Klamath Falls.
I guess one thing that's good, though, is that now I can't just not go to the store or just not set up a time for the internet guy to come over and install internet because my weird social anxiety would then not only be effecting me but also Lindsey. So that's a good incentive to work on getting better and not just hiding in the house all the time and sucking.
Anyway, maybe more thoughts on this later, but for now I should do some actual work...
