So many hopeful conversations stopped short. So many notebook pages torn out. So many texting sprees withered away. But why?! Because I’m just not that interesting.
In today’s society, so much of how we interpret and judge each other is based primarily on first impressions and a healthy curiosity to know more about someone. But I have to wonder, how many people have lost interest in me simply because I can’t think of anything worthwhile to say? Is being interesting something I should develop or hone the way someone works on their physique or playing an instrument?
I guess if I had to I would probably start by getting a unique hobby. Namely, something that requires a license or a big, shiny certificate like joining a skydiving or knitting club. Then I would most likely force myself to like a band that no one has heard of yet (and probably for good reason).
Then maybe I should pick up an obvious and bad habit so people would talk about me and say, “Oh that Emily, always ____ing. It’s terrible, but you gotta love her… She’s just so interesting (looking dreamily off into the distance).”
Or maybe I could start spreading rumors about myself and let the gossipers do all of the work for me.
I guess where all of this is going is somewhere towards basic social acceptance. I hate that feeling when you meet someone new and soon the conversation drops to a dead lull. I rack my brains for an interesting story about living in Madison or an aspect of my life that may somehow start a conversation.
“Oh, I uhh… learned a new word in my crossword today. Fraught (as in, ‘If I don’t find something better to talk about I’m going to be so fraught I may puke’).”
Almost to my relief, this new person smiles uncomfortably and quickly wanders away to find someone or something more interesting to look at. I try not to let it get to me, to regroup and convince myself that I’m not that bad. That new person must be just as uninteresting if the conversation could die that quickly.
But eventually I realize that it’s just me and that next to no one can really find anything interesting in my obsession with crossword puzzles.
I need to take a lesson or two from those irritatingly charming people that can turn any dull story into an outright captivating tale. Or those witty people on Twitter who can reveal an ironic take on life out of that morning’s burnt toast. What do they know that I don’t? And who can I see about this?
Maybe it’s genetic. Or, maybe I will grow out of it once I have more life experience under my belt. But even then, my daily life is so boring that discussing my dog’s Twitter account and dog-related tweets—a paradox in and of itself—is futile. (By the way, you can follow him @dooneydigby.)
I guess maybe I should leave the being interesting to those it suits and allow myself to be the person everyone comfortably says “hey” to in passing. That’s fine, really. I’m not all that interested anyway.
Feeling like you’re always the sorry sap scrounging for conversation points at club meetings and highlighter parties? Share your woes with Emily at elindeman@wisc.edu.
