Musings and Ramblings

A Dream and a Revelation

This morning, I woke up from the most important dream. It wasn't a good dream or a bad dream, just a dream. But it put my whole life into perspective.

I'm back in high school, and it's my job to collect homework assignments. In this case there are these slips of paper where we're supposed to write down what we did the night before. Or maybe it was over the weekend. Who cares?

Anyway, I'm collecting these papers. And after I'm done, I start scrambling to fill mine out. Which of course I haven't, because where was I the night before? Nowhere. What had I done? Nothing of interest. So I jot something down, slip my slip of paper into the pile (or maybe I didn't make it in time, I don't quite remember), and hand in my papers. Then I sit at my desk.

The next thing I know, the teacher is kneeling in front of me. And I think I'm in trouble for doing my homework in class, but that's not it. The homework thing is, as it turns out, just another red flag. Because my answers on that slip of paper are vague little nothings, and it's only now that the teacher seems to realize that I don't talk to anyone in her class. So that's the issue. And when she's done talking at me, some guy shows up. He says he knows a chef who tells ghost stories, and that I should come by after school to hang out with him. I know implicitly that I'm being voluntold to go, and I wake up before I can say anything.

What I realized upon waking is that this is an excellent summary of my life. Because I know what they wanted me to do. They wanted me to cook with this guy. They wanted me to learn a skill, because then doors would open for me. This didn't have a damn thing to do with my loneliness or my feelings. I believe that they believe they were doing the right thing. But they just didn't get it.

You know who else didn't get it? The teachers and authority figures who read my stories and told me to be a published writer. The people who pushed without listening. The people who thought that sticking me in some therapy program with kids who equally did not want to be there would yield lasting friendships. They meant well. But they were all wrong. I've spent my life trying my best to conform to their wishes and ended up no better off for it.

I did find friends in high school. And college. And even after undergrad, here and there. You know what they did? They listened. They said "hi." They didn't push. They shared their interests with me, and they gave me the space I needed to share my interests with them. They let me be weird, antisocial, and an overall crabby pain in the ass. My friends don't care what I do or how useful I am to society so long as they know that I'm happy. And that's what makes them good friends.

I've spent so much of my life thinking there was something wrong with me. And there's something DIFFERENT about me, sure. But wrong? No. It was the adults who were wrong. It was the teachers who were wrong. They didn't get it. And neither did most of the other kids. They thought I was some kind of defective because I kept to myself. Stayed in my head. Preferred doodling or playing with toys to making conversation. Deep down, I think they just wanted me to be something useful so they would know how to talk to me. Well, I learned things. I became useful. And the conversations, at least the meaningful ones, did not flow. Have not flowed. All I learned was how to play pretend.

You want to get to know me? Well guess what? I'm easy. All you need to do is introduce yourself to me, ask what I'm doing, tell me what you're doing, and invite me to shit. It's that easy. I might not say much. Which might be because I'm bored or uncomfortable, in which case I'll leave. But chances are good that I'm just waiting. Because I'm not a rapid-fire conversationalist. I take things slowly. I choose my words with care for maximum effect. And yeah, I'm often locked in my head. But that doesn't mean I can't also be down to Earth. I do listen. I do care. But care is reciprocal. Effort is reciprocal. All I need is for someone to take that first step with me. Is that really a huge ask?

Maybe it is. It has been so far. But it doesn't mean that good friends, or so help me, someone to truly love me, aren't worth waiting for. I just need to live long enough. I hope I live long enough. And maybe that's why I'm always afraid.