Sometimes, it gets me into trouble. I tell people what I think and sometimes they don’t want to hear it. Waitresses giving bad service, restaurants who aren’t up to par, the guy in the phone store who clearly couldn’t give a shit. I don’t think they like my sharing.
Some people do though, because I can, actually, be nice. Really. I tell people when they’ve done a good job, given me good service, made something beautiful, done something cool. I try and thank people for their efforts, make sure they realize that someone out there got it!
And sometimes, I just feel the need to share something about myself. Something about me. Something I’m thinking. I guess that’s why I’m writing this blog. And why I love Facebook, and Twitter. I like to tell someone I’m thinking about them. Or share something I’ve written. Like just a moment ago, before writing this blog entry, I sent an “I’m thinking of you email” and a “would you critique my story?” message.
And you see, that’s a problem. Because along with sharing, I think there’s an inherent self-doubt. Did I say too much? Did I say the wrong thing? Was I misinterpreted? Why haven’t they written back? Did I hurt their feelings? Is there something I don’t know? Are they ignoring me? How about now? It’s that Jewish guilt, high-school angst all rolled into one with a dollop of OCD and a smattering of insecurity. Great mix, huh? I wish there was a barometer, or an emotional crystal ball…if I say X, then this person will feel Y, voila. Darian says that I always worry too much about how other people feel. Not what they think of me, but what they feel. I’m trying to learn to not be so concerned about that, but really, I don’t think it’s in my nature. So for the meantime, please pardon me if I call just to say I love you.