How Are you? I’m Weird, Thanks.
The other day my neighbor Haley greeted me by the garbage cans, and said “How are you?” I never am quite sure what to say when people ask this question. I puff out the usual “I am doing good!” like along with it, I am sending out something that needed to be expelled from my lungs, a piece of dust, a tickle. I cover my placeholder response quickly with a “And how are you?” which usually leads to a fine summary of what has been the latest for them. They never seem to notice that I have not replied.
Haley is enjoyable, and I would have shared something if I could have come to it fast enough. I flashed on my day: turkey and broccoli for lunch, a slow commute from an afternoon meeting, a new pair of Ugg boots. Which of those did she want to hear about? Which of those do I want to offer as conversation? None of them seemed significant enough to hold their own hue, to be a full enough color to make it onto the palette of our dialog.
I sighed inwardly.
After we parted ways, I took a reflective moment just before I judged myself as having apathetic social skills. All the things I could have said to Haley came spilling forward. I have thousands of things I want to share. I am just afraid that she, or you, will think I am weird. And not just weird, but too weird.