Posted in Being Healthy, Everyday Musings

Notice: Revelations Through #SocialDistancing

I really want to give you a history of the term “social distance” as folks are really getting spun up in the nuances, but that’s not what this post is about. It’s about new things I’ve learned about myself in the past week of #socialdistancing.

1) I’m naturally a social distancer.

When you accept that social distance is a term and phenomenon from the early 1900s – when even telephones couldn’t keep anyone other than the very rich connected – it makes a bit more sense to think about the physical space part of this notion.

There have been 7 humans in my personal space – my apartment – since I moved in 3.5 months ago:

  • the 4 men who moved my stuff in from my moving truck (about 2 hours)
  • the 2 friends who drove my car up from Charleston as part of my move (about 30 minutes)
  • the 1 wifi installation tech (about 1 hour)

Me and Shadow, we go out for walks to interact with the world, and keep our space private.

Even at the office, my office is pretty tightly organized, with chairs on the other side of the desk. There’s only one person with express permission to invade my side of my desk, and it’s a teaching/demonstration thing when I invite someone to watch over my shoulder to learn how to do something.

I stop and talk to everyone who walks in, but I do expect them to stay on their side of my desk. It’s a physical distance, not a social distance.

2) I’m a big social sharer – follow me on FB or IG (not so much TW)

Turns out sheltering in place hasn’t slowed that down one bit. If anything, it’s amplified it. I’m here for it.

3) I’m *more* likely to sing over a Zoom than in person – karaoke WIN

Confession time: despite being a paid, professional singer – soloist and chorister – for over 2 decades, I’ve been terrified of karaoke since college. I LOVE going to karaoke and supporting my friends and even singing along, but I always say NO to actually going up. Sometimes I’ll pick songs (Wilson Phillips’ “Hold On” has always been a super favorite), and still I never actually do it.

Until Virtual Karaoke last night, hosted by my a colleague from work. All her idea. And her invitation included just listening and cheering others on. That’s what I planned to do. And then she asked me for the cat song. She’d listened to one of my YouTube videos of me doing the Rossini “Cat Duet” and wanted to hear it in person. Okay, comfort zone city – give me opera any day, and I can do it. It was weird to try and do it without someone singing the other part, and I still I could do that without fear.

The realization: it’s the thought of sounding like an opera singer singing popular songs and making them weird to others that is my block.

So while my first song was technically opera, and my second song came from The Sound of Music, after that it was good classics like “Hold On,” Otis Redding’s “Dock of the Bay” followed by the Pitch Perfect Riff Offs and Hamilton’s “You’ll Be Back.”

4) I’m not the introvert I thought I was – and you may not be either.

This one stopped me cold. I’ve spent years labeling myself an introvert, explaining away my need for controlled personal space, my preference for one-on-one over crowds, my careful management of who gets access to my world.

This past week quietly introduced another possibility: what if it was never introversion at all?

Later Addition one day when I was reminiscing on past posts: For me, this moment was the beginning of a journey — one that eventually led me to seek a formal evaluation and, ultimately, an autism diagnosis. The label didn’t change who I am. But it reframed everything about how I’d always moved through the world, and gave me a language for things I’d never quite been able to explain.

Whether you’ve self-imposed a quarantine or your state has mandated it, we are all about to find out where our real thresholds lie. Stripped of routine, performance, and the noise of regular life — what’s left might surprise you.

Posted in Everyday Musings

Why I Call Myself a Grinch – but I’m Not Really a Grinch

It’s like a switch that automatically turns me off as soon as the Advent 1 church service starts. All of the joy and excitement and celebration that suddenly becomes the center of everyone else’s life for four weeks to Christmas just falls right out of me. Dries up. Heck, runs away screaming.

Because of this, I’ve always called myself a Grinch, sometimes a Scrooge or a Humbug.

But dammit, I’m not. I’m none of those characters. I’m not mean or nasty or heartless. I don’t steal anyone else’s fun and cheer.

I don’t hate the holidays – the secular ones or the holy ones. I don’t hate the traditions, the gatherings, the food, the songs, the colors, the festivities.

But I’m an introvert. The holidays, and my reaction to them, is one of the few ways I know, truly know that my Myers-Briggs 1-point preference for introvertism is really true; seven other behavioral analysis, several repeated, confirm this. I know, it’s hard to believe of me, right?

“The holidays” are inherently a social phenomenon; they can’t happen without the tacit cooperation of groups – mostly large groups – of people, whether parade marchers or watchers, naughty and nice list comparisons, and the most basic present giving and receiving. Even more so, the religious foundation of holi-days is social, beginning with and culminating in a collection of the largest worship services of the year for most churches.

Think about it. There is not one single holiday tradition that carries a positive connotation and is experienced without engagement with others.

And for me – an introvert with a 6-person max – this is excruciating. Even if I’m mostly left to “wall-flower” (which is what I always secretly hope will happen), I watch the clock so that I can cut and run as soon as I’ve attended for a respectable amount of time.

And I do want to be respectful when I choose to attend; I never want to make a host/ess feel like s/he has done something to make me uncomfortable or unhappy. It’s why I choose quite carefully and deliberately when and how and with whom to engage during the holidays.

If I cow to expectations and attend, I’m often noticeably reserved, even if I have a drink. In fact, I willingly – actually cheerfully – volunteer to cook, serve, and especially clean up just so I have an easy excuse to just be rather than interact.

If I do what I want and RSVP regrets in favor of Die Hard and Home Alone marathons, I’m labeled a Grinch, a Scrooge, a Humbug by others.

It’s a Catch-22 of the purest variety.

Because I’m not a Grinch with a heart too small to love others. I’m not a Scrooge who’s been hurt by others and just wants to hurt people back. I’m not a Humbug out to squash others’ celebration. (While I do detest yard decorations with a passion, I’ve never once suggested that others stop decorating or take theirs down.)

But I don’t have any other cultural references to use when trying to simplify my discomfort with the norms of the holidays than to call myself a Grinch, a Scrooge, or a Humbug. They serve to convey that I don’t want to participate, certainly. But the edge of negativity they come with is something I’d like to figure out how to divest.