Others don’t benefit from my tendency to act like I have better places to be—whether I do or don’t.
This is a truth that bears repeating: my fragile ego, not any other person, is the singular “thing” that is propped up, cared for, and tended to when I act like I have better places to be than where I am right now.
I remember the acute awareness I felt in high school when I knew everyone else was hanging out without me, and the somehow even-more-painful awareness that I was invited for part of something, but not the whole thing. Like my the double whammy of my personality and lack of social capital couldn’t bring it home for anyone.
“Oh yeah, we’ll text you if we’re doing anything later…” (no) Not enough fancy clothes, not enough money, no membership in the group.
I remember feeling that way in high school and making other people feel it in college.
“It’s just like… I have enough friends… you know?” I justify the callousness away. (no) Not enough social intelligence, not enough shared vocabulary, not one of us. (i think, but it’s arbitrary)
I moved to New York and I have friends and roommates and coworkers and coworkers and roommates who are friends but I also don’t yet have the interconnected web of 30+ lay-on-the-couch, Chick-Fil-A run, no-need-to-fill-the-silence, kitchen table debrief friends that I had because I lived in Nashville for 5 years.
I can’t compare the two but that’s all I can do. I compare how I didn’t give a shit about doing things alone in Nashville like seeing movies and going to work out because I knew I had cool fun friends
and they just didn’t want to come
or introverted Kendall didn’t want them to come
and now here everything I do alone is an exercise in necessity (seriously, bc your girl needs bug spray) and prying my worth away from my huge, huge ego