Struggles

It’s difficult not to worry about every little thing. As you get older, the natural immunity to these trifling anxieties begins to test your immunizations. I am not someone naturally predisposed to agonize over the trivial matters that seem to be at the forefront of some people’s minds. My partner for instance, is very much concerned with how others perceive her. She doesn’t necessarily go out of her way to impress or even placate the opinions of others, but it certainly rankles her pride if others aren’t perceptive of her qualities. Personally, the thoughts and opinions of others are about as important to me as your political affiliations. I couldn’t be more laid back if I were asleep. Moments of stress or anxiety, though rare, are usually imposed by others attempting to burden me with their issues. Having kids does instill an empathetic fear for their safety though. Really the only fear I feel is on their behalf. A furtive, vicarious fear!

As I lurch into the twilight years of my 30’s, my dwindling youth sifting through my ageing, callous fingers like sand in an hourglass, I find that I’m even less inclined to care about the woes of the world. Despite the media’s obsessive propagating of turmoil and the impending apocalypse that will inevitably ensue when a particular political figure is in power, I find I’m less engaged. My only concern is how this effects my family. What I feel, other ambivalence, is something akin to resentment. Mostly for my own absent ambition to achieve anything beyond mediocrity, but also a resent that I will never accumulate enough wealth to retire at an age where I am both physically and mentally fit enough to enjoy it. Moreover, I will probably never have the security to retire at all! The fear that I have is that these kind of tribulations only escalate, and that as bad as things are now, they could get a whole lot worse. And the thought that my daughter, someone rich in spirit, whimsy and even ambition, is going to have these pillars of her personality toppled by society is utterly devastating to me. Her struggles are what scare me!

Being a socially adept human being seems so easy for some. The kind of inviduals that can initiate conversations on a whim, with confidence and an assured acuity. But can also effortlessly interpose themselves into any discussion, with erudite coherency, even if they have only just met someone. Every statement they make is witty, informative and reviting. They seem to have this insatiable, gravitational orbit that just naturally attracts other like minded extroverts. This is a gregarious nature that I have both failed to inherit or develop. Instead blending into the background like a piece of plain furniture. Not even a well trained SAS operative could be taught the inherent camouflaging skills I’ve adapted over the years. What doesn’t help is the way in which I engage, or indeed don’t engage with people.

I have been known to be very candid. Conveying my opinions with a blunt and unfiltered approach, that many mistake for being churlish or even rude. Many people that don’t know me are taken aback by my glib remarks and solemn demeanor. It doesn’t help that my natural expression is that of a stern grimace. Like someone completely dead inside. It isn’t my intention to be so overtly rude in the face of casual conversations, but merely an instinctive response to some of the abitrary discourse that I am forced to engage with. Of course my candid and unfiltered approach in expressing my opinions, coupled with one of my most distinguishing characteristics in sarcasm, is not an endearing quality for many aspiring ranconteurs. But this really only extends to direct conversations that some unfortunate inviduals have stumbled into, because joining a discussion or even maintaining a conversation for any extended period of time is not a skill I have been blessed with.

Life has not furnished me with the gift of the gab. My acerbic tone and outspoken nature aside, I am often socially crippled by my own neurosis. Now if you talk to me about movies or gaming, then we can engage in an informative discussion about these very diverse and extensive subjects without hesitation. But for the most part I find it debilitating to converse with someone for any moderate amount of time, without that feeling of exasperation becoming evident from my vacant, disinterested expression. In groups where conversations seem to have this kind of synchronised rhythm to them, I find I’m even less inclined to participate. Preferring to observe and absorb the information stated, rather than engage. Overall though, much of the interactions I have feel like badly drafted scripts, with all of my dialogue removed. Forcing me to improvise responses like an alien that hasn’t studied human behaviour! It’s like I’ve been manufactured with faulty parts, that can’t simply be replaced.

I’m just glad that my daughter hasn’t inherited her father’s blatant social defects. She is affable, inquisitive and assured in her speech. Much like her mother. Which again makes me question whether she is in fact mentally comprimised for being with me?