January 3, 2010

I was sitting at a coffee shop, laptop open and ready to write about the days moment, when I unexpectedly encountered a situation that gave me a new moment to write about.

He was cute and had a big laugh that I noticed when I first sat down and heard it echo from the other side of the shop. I was surprised when he crossed the room and sat down next to me on the couch. I laughed when he asked if I had stolen the teacher's edition of the World History book I had on the table in front of me; I clarified the situation and we talked for a few minutes about teaching and about Utah- he had just moved here and was interested in what exactly there was to do around here.

He then asked if I was meeting someone here, "a boyfriend, maybe?" I told him I was just doing some work and he smiled softly. Then, being the moron that I am at times, I told him that I was meeting my boyfriend afterward. This might not be too strange a response, if I actually had a boyfriend. I don't. I don't know if he was going to ask for my number, or if he was perhaps just curious, but as our conversation wrapped up, I laughed at my complete fear of social interaction. It is so complete a fear, so deeply ingrained in my head, that it exists almost solely in my subconscious and springs into action instinctively when I am confronted. There was no need to lie, but I panicked at the possibility of, oh I don't know, engaging with someone, and put up my ready-to-use walls, with this stranger on the outside. I didn't even know I was doing it until this cute guy with a big laugh said "It was nice meeting you," walked out the doors, got into his car, and drove away. For all those people in my life who have told me to follow my instincts, I thank you, because I have recently (as in, within the last ten minutes) decided to follow my self-reliant-I-am-always-right instinct to ignore your advice. Thanks again.