Тонкое искусство пофигизма
Chapter 7
Askingsomeonetomoveoutofyourhouseisacleardecision;feelingasifyou’reabandoningyourownchildrenisnot.
Istruggledwithsocialanxietythroughoutmuchofmyadolescenceandyoungadultlife.Ispentmostofmydaysdistractingmyselfwithvideogamesandmostofmynightseitherdrinkingorsmokingawaymyuneasiness.Formanyyears,thethoughtofspeakingtoastranger—especiallyifthatstrangerhappenedtobeparticularlyattractive/interesting/popular/smart—feltimpossibletome.Iwalkedaroundinadazeforyears,askingmyselfdumbVCRquestions:
“How?Howdoyoujustwalkupandtalktoaperson?Howcansomebodydothat?”
Ihadallsortsofscrewed-upbeliefsaboutthis,likethatyouweren’tallowedtospeaktosomeoneunlessyouhadsomepracticalreasonto,orthatwomenwouldthinkIwasacreepyrapistifIsomuchassaid,“Hello.”
Theproblemwasthatmyemotionsdefinedmyreality.Becauseitfeltlikepeopledidn’twanttotalktome,Icametobelievethatpeopledidn’twanttotalktome.Andthus,myVCRquestion:“Howdoyoujustwalkupandtalktoaperson?”
BecauseIfailedtoseparatewhatIfeltfromwhatwas,Iwasincapableofsteppingoutsidemyselfandseeingtheworldforwhatitwas:asimpleplacewheretwopeoplecanwalkuptoeachotheratanytimeandspeak.
Manypeople,whentheyfeelsomeformofpainorangerorsadness,dropeverythingandattendtonumbingoutwhateverthey’refeeling.
