In one of my high school video yearbooks, there is footage of me with a group of friends in the library. (It was 1988, and yes, it was indeed on a VHS tape). In the clip, my friends are animated and chatty, while I sit on the edge of the group, hand resting on my face, gazing into space.
When I first saw watched this scene as a self-conscious teenager, I berated myself for being so “weird.” But here I am, nearly 40 years later, often wandering into my own little world in a sea of animated chatter. As one who easily drifts into quiet, deep thought – indeed, needs it like the air I breathe – I have long felt misunderstood by others.
That feeling of being misunderstood is most frustrating and hurtful when it comes from those closest to me. I have to remind myself that people around me don’t have access to the intricacies of the wilderness inside my brain and heart. They can’t read my thoughts.
All they see is me appearing to be lazy, aloof and disconnected from everyone else, which is not at all what I intend. This is where the empathic ability to read others helps, though not all have the ability or capacity to do so. Being able to read others can help us allow them to be who they are, without meeting our idea of who they should be or what they should be doing.
As a side note, if you are a creative being (like me), or a scholar (not like me), you know these lapses into our own worlds are necessary and vital to being who we are and doing what we do. Creative beings r.
