The Awkward Conversationalist

I’m not big on talking. I find myself rushing through conversation as if I need somewhere to be, somewhere other than talking about whatever’s on your mind.  I don’t engage in lengthy conversation and I’m not comfortable with familiarity when it comes to acquaintance at work or in places I shop.  It’s not that I’m stuck up or think no one is worth my time, it’s that I don’t know how to comfortable talk to people.   As a child I never really built up my social skills, hardly had anyone to talk to outside of my home.  I also had a speech impairment and because of that, people found it hard to understand what I was saying.  I grew up thinking no one wanted to talk to me.  They would rather talk to someone who knew what they were talking about then a child who couldn’t be understood.   As an adult, I still feel the same: that the person I’m talking with would much rather talk to someone else.  I wish I could change it, but at my age, I am who I am.  It’s hard to teach an old dog new tricks.   I feel awkward, nervous and fearful.  Scared that they will see the child whose words failed him.  Scared they will think that I do not know what I’m talking about.   Also, around the time I feel a lengthy conversation is on its way I jump ahead of myself and worry about what we are going to talk about next, or if there is anything to talk about at all.  What if I draw a blank, say something stupid or the topic changes to politics, sports or the meaning of life?    What do I say?  It’s just so much easier to excuse myself and leave yet, I wish to talk. Perhaps my desire to play Grand Theft Auto is not so much for the pleasure of the game but for the company of strangers talking to each other.   

Today a lady talked to me, a casual conversation that normally ends before it really begins as my body motions let’s her know I need to be doing something else.    When I thought the conversation over I moved further away, only to be brought back by her continuing interest in what I had to say.  She was sitting down, waiting for her food, I was on her right side, then her left side but never in front.  In front is reserved for the people she would be interested in actually talking to such as her peers or friends.  Not someone like me.   She sat alone expecting no one and waiting for no one.  She just likes to talk. I try to make it a point not to talk about my father, but truth be told, he’s my security blanket.  He’s who I talk about when I fear I’ve got nothing more to say, when I think the person is losing interest.  I hate that I do that, but it’s a habit now more than anything.  It when someone walked by that she got up to say good-by to them when I took the opportunity to leave.  It’s not that I wanted to stop talking to her, I just feel more awkward when left out, as if I’m no longer needed, as if it’s my cue to leave.   Only, I wish it wasn’t like that. I wish I wasn’t so awkward around people or that I believed enough in myself that I felt I was worth there time because though I give the illusion that no one is worth my time, truth be told, it’s the other way around.