Meeting Strangers

The kitchen is a wilderness, the classroom is a mass

Men and women wandering, through they pass.

So many faces, so many names, I cannot know them all;

Then against their pressure I raise my walls

There are days I give in to losing

Empty spaces of my choosing

There are nights I forget to hold on

So I let go

I have to let go

Once the walls have risen they stand lonely in the air

Keeping me from speaking, keeping me from time.

I stand here in the corner, back against the wall,

I know not how to leave here, I try only not to fall.

There are days I give in to losing

Empty spaces of my choosing

There are nights I forget to hold on

So I let go

I have to let go

I do not wish to stay here, I pray that I can leave

It seems that keeping limbo makes it hard to breathe

The others all can see me, but do not say a word

They think that my silence means I am not heard

There are days I give in to losing

Empty spaces of my choosing

There are nights I forget to hold on

So I let go

I have to let go

My walls divide me from them, splitting me in two

Once worn as shield and armor, now a useless rune

Defending gates and parapets have become a prison cold

And now a sea of weeping sweeps over my soul

There are days I give in to losing

Empty spaces of my choosing

There are nights I forget to hold on

So I let go

I have to let go

Would that the walls and gates and doors

Fell swiftly as they rise,

Would that these cold hard stones of thought

Melted in the mind.

A single unkind word to me is enough to seal the door

A single thoughtless action enough to start a war

There are days I give in to losing

Empty spaces of my choosing

There are nights I forget to hold on

So I let go

I have to let go

I see the gates and tower walls as clearly as the day

I see the prison bars and guards patrolling in the way

I know that I can walk on through, but something keeps me here

Fear or sorrow or loneliness, I know not from the tears

There are days I give in to losing

Empty spaces of my choosing

There are nights I forget to hold on

So I let go

I have to let go

The keeper may have sealed the doors, but I still have the key;

To brave the gauntlet of despair is to step out and walk free.

Beyond these walls lies a world of terror and despair

Yet Pandora’s Box held hope as well; perhaps this forms a pair.

There are days I give in to losing

Empty spaces of my choosing

There are nights I forget to hold on

So I let go

I have to let go

Problems with Broad Communications

Hi, all.

            On Christmas, I received a truly fascinating book titled Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can’t Stop Talking.  As the title suggests, it discusses of introversion and life in the Extrovert Ideal of the U.S. of A.  I’ll try to write a review of the book once I’m finished; it shouldn’t take long, seeing how fast I’m consuming it.

            I’m writing this post because I just read an interesting bit about raising an introverted child, in particular how to eke a conversation from him (or her) after a school day.  I’m sure we’ve all experienced this: coming home after a long day, we want to curl up with a nice book for half an hour or so, and then wham!—“How was school today, David?”

            Well, as my parents will tell you, 99.5% of all answers to that question is “Sure, it was fine,” or “Not much,” or something about homework.  There was never a substantive answer.  There are a few reasons for that, but the main one is that I didn’t have an answer.  To adequately answer “How was school today?” I would need to describe each class and each teacher in some detail, which would take half an hour or more.  And let’s be honest here, it’s like asking “What was different at work today?”  Well, it’s a routine, so 95% of the time nothing differs.  When asked “What happened at school today?” a reply of “Nothing,” really means “The same routine you expect from St. Anselm’s or the University of Chicago, nothing different enough to be worth discussing.”  I don’t want to spend half an hour each day describing my day in detail, and in any event my parents don’t want to listen to it every day (despite what they might think now).

            It strikes me that this is relevant beyond parental interaction.  I can’t keep track of twenty people in a room, so I either devote exorbitant amounts of time to a small group or never connect to anyone.  Thus far, I’ve tried to contact as many people as possible, but this means that on my rare ventures into party life, I ask broad, cookie-cutter questions that dead-end.  I always thought I was bad at networking, but the truth is a bit more complex.  Having twenty contacts at the end of the night means nothing if I haven’t connected with them. The key isn’t meeting as many people as possible; it’s finding the one or two genuinely interesting people in the crowd and engaging them in a real conversation.

            The fundamental point in both cases is focus.  Both discussing my school routine every day and “working the room” by talking to a dozen people in an hour takes a huge amount of energy for very little reward.  I can save a lot of time and energy by answering specific questions or focusing my efforts on the two or three most interesting people.  There is some risk here, of course, just as there’s risk in investing in only a few stocks; you either have a massive payoff or nothing.  Still, I’ll take the risk.  I can’t accept fluff as a basis for friendship; it takes trust, and winning or giving trust needs more than a five-minute discussion of our dogs.