Terminally Shy

When he was courting his beloved Adrian, my hero Rocky told her she suffered from “the disease of being shy.” So did Rocky, which made their love story that much more endearing. Here were two lost souls, battered by their lives, and their inability to connect with other people, finding each other after they had lost all hope. “Rocky” is my favorite film of all time for numerous reasons, not the least of which is the love story, which always warms my terminally cranky heart.

I suppose I relate so well to that aspect of the story because I suffered from “terminal shyness,” and it was never more apparent than in my early dealings with the opposite sex. I’m so far removed from that time in my life it’s easy to dispense advice to others in the same boat. I empathize with them, but sometimes have to struggle to remember how crippling it was for me those many years ago.

I’m told that I was a wild, rambunctious baby, a kid who had no qualms about introducing myself to adults, showing up at neighbor’s houses looking to be entertained, or calling them by their first names! I was an only child and when I was three, my parents moved to a block filled with retirees. In essence, they became my playmates.

I endeared myself to one family in particular, a sixty-ish couple and their adult son. The father and his son raced stock cars and were always in their driveway tinkering with their rides. I would just zoom on over on my Big Wheel and hang out. My mother was mortified, but they let me stay, and it blossomed into a great friendship with both men. I doubt in today’s suspicious climate such a relationship would ever be forged.

In any case, my ease with adults did not translate into a comfortable rapport with my peers. I’ve written before how I loved being an only child, and I stand by that. However, this is one instance where I think it hindered my development in some respects, and affected me for the rest of my life.

When I entered Pre-K and Kindergarten I was completely terrified. I didn’t know what to do, what to say, how to act. I over thought everything, even as a five-year old. When I started grade school, I did manage to connect with other kids of like persuasions, but my nature would guarantee that I would never be one of the cool kids. I was hardly a social misfit – I was simply paralyzed with fear.

Here’s an often repeated story from those days that has since become legend. During the first week of grammar school, I sat in the schoolyard by myself, on my Marvel Super Heroes lunchbox, just watching the other kids playfully run around like lunatics. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a boy with the same lunchbox. For days I observed him, and thought we might have something in common. Of course, I wasn’t about to talk to him!

After maybe a week, he introduced himself and I was probably not that forthcoming. Knowing me, I was probably downright mute. Still, he took a step I could not, and to make a long story short, we’ve been friends for 32 years. He was best man at my wedding and I’m godfather to one of his daughters.

As the joys of puberty unfolded, I was keenly aware of how devastating my shyness would be when it came to matters of the heart. When it came time to pick a high school, I went with an all-boys school to completely avoid the issue, knowing full well it would likely retard my development in that arena, but such was my mania.

Shortly before high school ended, at the behest of my friends, I took a job at a local public library. I should mention that one of my closest friends, someone who was my polar opposite, had recently moved away. He had no problems dealing with the opposite sex. He was a little too good with the ladies, and it eventually caught up to him.

Anyway, I was thrust into a truly co-ed world for the first time in four years, and as predicted, completely ill-equipped to handle what lay before me. When I recall that first year and all the embarrassing missteps I made, I cringe, not the least of which was asking out my first girlfriend.

Prior to meeting her, I’d blundered around with two other girls, but neither situation truly meant anything to me. I was just determined to kick start my social life, despite the shyness gene hindering me at every step.

Prior to my realizing how much I liked this girl I had an easy rapport with her, filled with sarcastic banter and teasing. When it hit me that I actually felt something for her, I instantly became paralyzed.

It’s impossible to convey to someone who doesn’t feel this way just how crippling shyness and insecurity can be. You’re almost willing to let something potentially wonderful go by the boards for fear of humiliating yourself, especially if you’re colleagues of some kind, or part of the same social circle.

If you meet someone on a blind date or through Match or one of those websites, it’s much easier to laugh off a bad experience, but when you fall for someone who’s already part of your life in some form or fashion, how much more difficult is it then to summon the courage to push it to the next level? The thought of still interacting with them following a rejection is horrible.

I concocted a bizarre and in retrospect, humiliating (both for me and for her) plan for asking this girl out. I asked my good friend Mr. Lunchbox to “feel her out” on the topic of going out with me. Even writing the words is embarrassing 20 years after the fact!

He did, and it almost completely backfired because she took this to mean it was someone else’s idea and that I was being goaded into it. When he reported back to me, I felt like a gargantuan jackass, and knew I had to immediately say something to repair the damage. The next day I did, and it was perhaps the most embarrassing, awkward, tongue-tied moment of my life to that point.

Somehow, I convinced her that the notion of going out was my idea and not his. God only knows what was going through her mind – I can’t imagine she envisioned this as the ideal start to a relationship. Very quickly, I think she had the sense that I was simply terrified. Maybe that was endearing to some small degree. Without overplaying her hand, she let me know she was on the same page and it made those first two weeks much easier.

Shyness and insecurity aren’t just crippling at the beginning of a relationship! That was just the first hurdle I had to clear. As the relationship intensified it became more problematic. If at any moment I put myself out there on an “emotional limb” so to speak, and was met with a less than enthusiastic response, I was like a turtle going back into my shell for months at a time. If she didn’t say something after that, then nothing would be said.

It’s not fun being this way. It can give a partner a completely false impression of what is going on. If you’re fortunate enough to be with someone you care about, you become so afraid of ruining a good thing that you’re afraid to take risks, of pushing the envelope, of saying something that might upset them. It’s terrible.

For example, if my girlfriend was upset for some reason, I immediately assumed it was my fault. It could’ve been a fight with her mother, a bad day at school, whatever. To my mind, it was my fault. So I tread very lightly for fear that I might be on the chopping block. More often than not, it wasn’t my fault.

Over time I got better at reading her, but I still never pushed the envelope. It had to be frustrating to deal with someone who just refused to open up. I was a great talker and would talk about anything under the sun, except myself and how I felt. When the relationship was in its end stages, and she wanted to discuss her vision for the future, I completely clammed up.

I figured anything I said would hasten the end, and selfishly wanted to squeeze in as much “good time” with her as possible. It was far from a healthy situation. I was happy when she was preoccupied with other matters and needed my counsel, but as soon as she turned her eye towards us, I utterly refused to deal with it. Shyness translates to insecurity and insecurity begets silence.

The relationship ended not with a bang, but with a whimper, with my spending the last six months of it completely closed off to her. What was the point of sharing my feelings of anger, bitterness, jealousy and resentment over the situation? I could’ve at least been honest.

She confronted me at my job and like a cornered animal I unloaded it all on her, knowing I had nothing to lose. But how sad is it that I felt like I could only be totally truthful at a moment like that? It would have made no difference in the ultimate outcome, but she was always honest with me.

Now here’s the moment where I learn my lesson, right? Where all the mistakes of the prior relationship inform my behavior for the next one and I grow as a human being, right? Nope, back to square one.

As one relationship ended, another was beginning. This girl was a hundred times more obvious about how she felt. Yet I managed to completely convince myself she was just really nice. All the while, my friends wanted to smack me. When it finally came time to ask her out, I concocted another face saving plan, not quite as embarrassing as the first, but still pathetic.

I decided I would ask her out with a big group of us to see if she’d say yes to that. This girl literally followed me around and yet I still had doubts! When I asked her, she seemed taken aback, and wasn’t nearly as happy since it was a “group thing.” It turned out she had legitimate plans and couldn’t come. That was all I needed to give up.

To her credit, she pursued the question and stressed she’d be happy to come another time. The following week, I clumsily asked again, and she made a subtle point of asking if it would just be us, and I responded in the affirmative. I caught a very subtle smile from her as she walked away.

Now this relationship was nothing like the first, except for the fact I was still me. Was I still insecure? Sure. I was dealing with a much younger girl in her first relationship, and I walked on eggshells at every turn, to the extent that she probably wondered if I was truly interested. I was terrified I would damage her in some way that I would get too emotional too quickly, as I did the first time.

Turns out, she was waiting impatiently for all that to start, and despite being incredibly shy too, she took the bull by the horns. For a long time after that, everything was cool. The truly sad part is this person was crippled by her insecurities in the beginning, and made a concerted effort to overcome them. Eventually, she surpassed me in her ability to communicate, and I knew I was done.

As before, I refused to deal with the problems we faced, and the vast chasm between our desires for the future, just figuring maybe they would go away or work themselves out. I acted so shocked when I finally got the boot.

After six years of this stuff, I came to a realization about myself. The shyness and the insecurity are intertwined in a complex web that has its roots in my early life, and those roots run deep. I have a great facility for communicating and that attracts people to me, but when it’s about me and the least bit threatening, I don’t want to discuss it, ever, with anyone.

(And yet you write about it!! I never said I made sense.)

Funnily enough, when I met my future wife, I was completely at ease with the situation because (and I hate the way this sounds) I simply didn’t care. Prior to meeting her, I experienced a less than stellar blind date, so I put no stock in the notion I would meet anyone of any significance when I was hoodwinked into it a second time. So, for the first time in my life, I wasn’t hampered by my shyness. Being so completely at ease with things was a new feeling for me and I suppose things progressed rapidly as a result.

Now comes the part where I proudly explain how this lifetime of self-awareness has gelled into not only a greater understanding of who I am, spawning all sorts of positive new behaviors. Nope.

I’m sorry to report I haven’t changed in the least bit. In reality, I don’t think any of us have the capacity for true change. There’s room for compromise, but intrinsically we are who we are. I look at my parents, who I love dearly, and they are no different than who they were 30 years ago, not in the slightest. My dearest friends, who have been with me for decades, are who they always were, only older and more set in their ways.

I know exactly how it feels when people tell me they wish others would take the first step because I remember how torturous it was for me (and this really crosses gender lines – guys and girls experience it in equal measure). It really pisses me off when people tell others to just do it. I try to be encouraging, yet will always acknowledge the difficulty involved.

When you’re removed from a situation and have no emotional stake in it, it’s so much easier to see what’s going on. That’s the position I find myself in now, and I smile when things go well for those who are like me because they possess none of the hubris or arrogance that comes with overconfidence and their appreciation for it is magnified exponentially.

As for me, I’m at peace with it. Hopefully, it won’t bite me in the ass again. But with my luck…