I have problems with small talk. The whole concept of chatting to pass time with something both parties are not fully interested in, if at all, stays outlandish for me. By now I developed a strategy other than just keeping silent. I wait for key words that allow me to fill in real information or some of my adventure stories. Stories work better than information on most occasions.
I think my lack of appreciation of small talk derives from the fact that I can’t read mimic or body language or tone. I guess in small talk this underlying layer of the unsaid is what is really important. I worked on that too. I read up on psychology. I try to trust my intuition more than my overly analytical mind. But more often than not I am still at a loss; especially with men. I don’t realize a flirt until shortly before a flirter jumps at me, what they usually don’t do but stop long before probably frustrated.
Anyone surprised when I say, interaction with other humans frightens me? Hence, my main strategy remains to avoid contact. Yet, that isn’t satisfying either, as on the other hand I am highly curious and longing for the feeling of belonging and sharing. As I say in this picture:
Drawn by the music to sway in the rhythm, desperately waiting for the bite.
Gravitated to the reclusiveness of the night.
Desert, city, anything in between.
I am late – always; constantly ahead of my time.
Yet never there.
Given: I am the impossible paradox,
the spring that came after autumn equinox.
Residing on thresholds,
I am the stranger between worlds.