Learning to Talk

"If only our great thinkers could learn to talk, and our great talkers could learn to think." – Ashleigh Brilliant

I have been looking at myself all day. Oh, not in the mirror, but my new drivers license. My old one had expired (or will on my birthday next week) and I had to take my lunch hour to drive upstate to get it renewed.

I must say the picture is pretty good. Probably one of the best ID pictures I have ever taken. I was pleased (hence why I cannot stop looking at it). I typically photograph pretty well or really horrid. I mean really horrid. Bad splotchy skin, double chin, and crazy hair. Alternatively, I can photograph rather sexy, cool green eyes, decent skin, pouty lower lip. I prefer the latter.

It struck me yet again how many people have told me I LOOK different since finding my daughter. Huh? Look different? I must admit I don’t see it but others do (and they say I look better so hey, I will go with it).  They say I look happier and I seem to radiate more life and vitality.

Is this due to finding my daughter? Or some other sort of awareness and growth?  Perhaps they just caught me on one of those sexy green eyed pouty lip days?  Maybe it was the day I tried on that DuWop Lip Venom? Or better yet, the day I used that green tinted Smashbox foundation primer to cover my rosacea? 

Dunno.

Personally, I can say I do feel differently and it often takes me by surprise. I am typically not a chatty person.  Not really talkative and if I talk it’s got to be something intellectual or bookish (like my current reading of Dostoyevksy Crime and Punishment). I stink at idle chatter, discussion of recipes, the weather, and the latest stain remedy.  Like who the hell cares about that crap?   If you ask me for something like that I will refer you to google. I simply don’t know and don’t care.

In most social situations I will lurk. Hang back. Watch. Smile here or there but I am not a talker. Not only am I am introvert (INFJ to be more specific) but I just don’t like talk that doesn’t have a purpose. I don’t need to be heard or seen. I don’t need to hear myself talk. Make a point. Teach me something. Tell me something interesting but please don’t drone on about your kid’s rash that looked like ringworm but turned out to be lyme disease rash. Chances are pretty good I won’t have much to offer in that department. (But google will.)

My social skills are changing a bit and its surprising me. Is that also due to reunion with my daughter? Is my anxiety and social awkwardness dissipating the more I work through my shit? The more I come to love and accept myself am I allowing others to do the same?

Last weekend I had dinner with two dear friends.. They are a married couple. It was just the three of us. I think I talked for three hours straight. At one time, I was actually annoyed at the women who wouldn’t shut up and then realized that it was me. My female friend laughed.  At that point I felt a bit embarrassed. Had I not known better, I would have thought I was drunk. (I wasn’t but I do tend to babble when I am inebriated). I realize I don’t get out much and crave adult conversation but this was more than that. I actually enjoyed it. I felt more whole, more me, more real. More relaxed.

I think I am finally learning to talk.