Cold

Unintentionally incredulous

Sometime late in high school, a coworker at ProEx told me a few months after we started working together that she always thought I was really stuck up-- but that she didn't anymore!  She just had to get to know me!  I thought that was very strange, and laughed, not really thinking too much of it.  I was always pretty shy when first meeting people, but after getting to know anyone a little, I opened up pretty much right away and became a friendly chatterbox.  

Then, over the next several years, many, many more people started telling me the same thing.  I really couldn't figure it out.  I still can't, really, although there are a few things I've started to pick up on that might be part of the reason why I give off this impression to people, like facial expressions that I don't realize I'm making.  My "neutral" face is apparently very stern- and disapproving-looking.  Not my fault!  It's not intentional, I swear!  Who walks around smiling to themselves all the time, anyway?

Others tried to help me figure it out.  "You come off like a know-it-all" was one I heard, I think from my mom.  "You seemed like you thought you were just so much better than everyone else."  I heard that from coworkers at my last job, who only told me that after, of course, we'd become friends.  

Now that I think about it, I am starting to be able to identify parts of my behavior -- the pathological parts that we all have -- that contribute to this image of me, even though I adamantly reject those attributes as being part of who I really am.  For one thing, while I rarely become confrontational with anyone who is not very close to me, the few times that I do, I seem to lose all ability to hold back, verbally.  I'm not necessarily talking about yelling, although I have a tendency to raise my voice in a heated discussion (I think that's a separate issue than the one I'm talking about, though), but instead the actual words that come out.  I think I have a consistent and long-held belief of myself as a timid person who shies away from confrontation, and who is usually too flustered to verbally fight back.  Or as someone who is smart, but has accepted the fact that she's too socially awkward for anyone to ever figure believe that.  That expectation seems to keep me from believing that I'm actually capable of hurting someone's feelings, because I don't think my words have the power to do that to anyone else.  I always picture myself as being the default weaker person in any argument with anyone, even when I have absolute conviction that I have the moral high ground, or the right position.  And I rarely challenge anyone over whom I assume I might hold more power than, argumentatively.  That means that while I might harshly criticize my friend Bryan's pro-capitalism comments on a Facebook thread, I will not harshly criticize a friend whom I know to be very misinformed and rather ignorant about most issues that I'm more well-versed in when they might make a comment about something that holds no logical weight whatsoever.  

I'm losing focus, but let me try to bring it back.  

The crux of this is that because I so frequently have so little faith in my ability to properly argue something that I believe strongly in (or that has to do with current events or politics -- things I am very preoccupied with on a regular basis), I don't have the proper filters when I do start to get heated in my defense of something, not thinking it will make much of a difference.  Other times, I find myself in a more casual setting, like a family or friend gathering, where everyone's happy and having a good time.  For whatever obnoxious reason, I always end up being the person people pick on, if the right kind of personalities are present.  It's all rather harmless, and I think I handle it fine, for the most part, but one of the reasons I can hate it so much sometimes is because I never have confidence in my ability to say something witty back.  I'm not quick with comebacks, and like I mentioned, I get flustered when confronted, even in jest, that is critical of me or something I said.  But when I do manage to come back with something, I feel for a split second very proud of myself for delivering what I thought was finally a witty comeback to someone who had likely been making fun of me all night, but immediately, the reaction around me will be like I just insulted someone's mother and threatened them with puppy slaughter.  I'm always bewildered, and when I am in the right mood, or feel like I've just had enough, I get really mad.  I think, Who do these people think they are, laughing at everyone's jokes at my expense like they're funny and cute, but the one time, the one time that I come back with something on par with even half of something they said, you think I'm a total bitch and look at me like I should be ready to apologize?  And the thing is, I'm never really serious when I say things like this in response; I always have the same authentic and good-natured smile on my face that everyone else has.  

Part of this, I think, is gender-related.  Women don't have as much leeway to say harsh or critical thing that insult another person, even in jest, as men do.  That's still the way we're socialized, and I'm sure it has an effect on these problems I'm having.  But still, it's so consistent and perpetual in my life that I think it's partially due to the way that personally interact with people, based on certain inborn personality traits.

One other occasion where I abandon my usual timidity is not something I can really call consistent, but it's apparent when it happens.  It's when I'm in a group, usually drinking (but not necessarily), and someone I don't know very well does or says something that is offensive to me.  Maybe they interject with an opinion of something related to feminism or gender-related issues, with some kind of generalization about women.  Or an opinion about abortion that is any different from "women should always have the right to an affordable abortion until fetal viability."  Whatever it might be, something comes over me and I suddenly feel a fleeting sense of boldness because I don't know them and therefore have nothing invested to worry about losing if I offend them, and I capitalize on the moment, rapid-firing angry words with the deepest of scowls on my face (and since I always underestimate my own facial expressions, this usually looks positively deadly) and unleash my fury at the speaker.  Occasionally, this elicits some respect from other people in the group, but usually, all I see around me are awkward and uncomfortable glances, as though it was my fault that the new person said something completely ridiculous and offensive.  Or as though I took my own criticism too far.    Sometimes, the next day, I feel a little regret over the way I responded, because I do wind up realizing in hindsight that I was a little more drunk than I thought, or that I let my emotions get the best of me.  Other times, I remain bewildered, feeling frustrated at both the situation in which I acted in that manner, and at the reaction of everyone else.  Like I was alone here, that I couldn't believe no one else agreed with me or thought that my reaction was justified, and ultimately come to the fatalistic conclusion that no one gets me.  It ends up being very adolescent, but that's my brick wall in those situations.  I don't get it, I don't understand when people try to explain it to me later, and I consistently feel that I have no one in my corner, as it were.  Sometimes I also simultaneously agree that my reaction may have been outside of social norms, or outside of the expected overall vibe of the evening.  There are some places where you are expected to just not be confrontational or take things too seriously, while others you feel more of a freedom to have serious debates or disagreements.  But all of the times, I end up allowing myself to feel very put-upon about the whole ordeal. 

One time where I was being particularly schizo in this way was a few weeks ago, when Jesse and I went to his brother's house to hang out.  His brother lives right next to a bike path, and some interesting folks ride around there.  One guy, who was clearly intoxicated, stumbled up to ask us if he could use one of our phones.  Jesse was, as usual, a little skeptical and snide in response, and no one else offered their phones.  The guy said he'd just crashed, and he had the scratches and blood to prove it, so I immediately felt sympathetic and reached for my phone.  Jesse got to his first, though, despite his initial reluctance, and handed it to him.  After he couldn't get the person he wanted on the phone, he tried to get us all to feel his head or something.  I don't remember why or exactly what, but it was something to do with his crash.  He was being kind of a drunk jackass at that point, and no one would feel his head or whatever, and then he saw me, the only female in the group.  He walked up to me and said something to the effect of, "oh, you're a girl!  You'll feel this."  I took immediate offense to his assumption that because I was a female, I would be more inclined that the guys there to engage in some weird head-touching, and given my bold state with a stranger, I scowled and told him No, absolutely not, just because you assumed that because I'm a female that I'd do something is enough to make me say no.  Fuck off.

I don't know if I really told him to fuck off; I don't think I did.  But that was the tone I used, a suddenly disgusted tone that differed greatly from my initial compassionate and sympathetic reaction to his problem.  No one around me reacted visibly to the way I talked to him, but because of the lack of any reaction at all, I take it to mean that no one really approved.

I talk with Jesse about this sort of thing pretty often.  Usually it comes about because I did or said something in a manner that he found to be offensive, or "cold."  I object to his opinion, usually, and thankfully, because we are typically quite forthright with each other and equally more desiring of a frank but kind discussion than an angry and hostile one, this usually turns into a more analytical talk, where he winds up being more compassionate and tries to explain the reasons why people react to me the way that they do.  He mentioned a while ago -- and I'll mangle the paraphrase, but I think I've got the main idea intact -- that I tend to take a justice-at-all-costs approach to certain conversations I have with people.  That I too often allow my politics-junkie and justice-oriented side take over any normal social persona that is expected of people in many social situations.  I mean, we all know That Person who is constantly very vocal about their ideological beliefs, and while I don't think Jesse was necessarily trying to tell me that I am That Person to the extent that we're all thinking of, I do see that as the extreme on the other side of the very blurry line between principled and obnoxious.  I mean, I don't go into work or any professional environment wearing my political beliefs on my sleeve.  In fact, I rarely even go into something as seemingly intimate as a family vacation ready to discuss anything political or ideological.  I rarely discuss anything political -- even when everyone else is -- if I'm not in a situation where I know the vast majority of people around agree with me, at least on principle.  I know my family and neighbors, for example, tend toward a more conservative point of view politically (even among the ones who typically vote for Democrats), so I don't usually express much of an opinion -- at least not in a loud or abrasive manner -- when the subject comes up in that company.  I simply do not wish to potentially sully a good relationship with something both divisive and avoidable.  Maybe, though, I don't give these people enough credit when I am making the decision to be quiet, because on the rare occasion when I do state very clearly my opinion on such an issue, I've been pleasantly surprised with the reaction.  When New York was debating whether or not to legalize same-sex marriage, I hesitantly mentioned it to my neighbors, who were outside grilling.  They all immediately expressed their support for the legalization of same-sex marriage, and I know my facial expression went immediately from timid to overjoyed.  On the flip side of that, the other night, I was outside with my mom, our neighbor, and Jesse, and politics came up, and we got on the subject of testing welfare applicant for drugs.  I'm adamantly opposed and offered what I thought were very calm and polite refutations of the reasons anyone might be for it, as well as my own reasons for being against it, that also applied to me as a non-welfare recipient job applicant.  My mom, though, reacted in the manner described above, as if I'd threatened to slaughter puppies and insulted someone she loved very much.  I ended up feeling like I shouldn't have said anything, and felt a little guilty, but of course, that feeling gave way to anger that my very reasonable opinion-stating was taken to be so offensive not only to my mom, but to Jesse, who later told me that he thought I was talking basically too passionately about it.

Of all of this, I came to the half-joking conclusion that the only purpose in life for people like me is to either be a trainwreck celebrity, or an out-of-touch, aloof and asshole-ish politician.  I suppose it's a good thing I'm such a news and politics junkie?

What I've been trying to get at this whole time is that I think that a lack of self-confidence is what leads me to appear stand-offish or judgmental.  The reason I don't talk to people right away isn't because I think I'm better than them; it's probably because I don't think they're interested in hearing anything I'd have to say.  That sounds a little pathetic all typed out like that, but I don't think it needs to.  It's not that I think I'm not a worthwhile person to talk to; it's just that I don't often expect others to agree with that opinion.  So I continually underestimate myself, leading to surprising and unintentional hurt feelings.

Well that turned into an unabashed Blogger self-therapy session.  Goodness.