I have always thought I am good at letting people go. Not a defence mechanism that comes from constantly moving, but an innate ‘fuck-everyone-else’ kind of take on life that doesn’t creep into my tiny inner circle (that’s reserved for family, blood and loved).
Some people are good at keeping in touch. Me, not so much. It is difficult to sustain conversations with people who are in the same situation as they were fifteen years ago when your own mind feels like it’s on a different planet, but I wonder if the problem lies with me; if I’m the one who is difficult to sustain a conversation with. If for most of my life, I just haven’t tried. “Enough", anyway. Don't care.
It’s funny. At 24, I find myself withdrawn and a social recluse, a stark contrast to the warm, balanced, sociable persona I had trained myself to exhibit at dinner parties.
Maybe that’s the key though: persona. The premise even then was a resistance to taking people seriously. What’s the point, when all they care about is the food and networking really. Or when you have to move every few years, and people are content to fit so neatly into heuristics.
My reasoning? Either I have a social gene in my brain missing (everyone is on a spectrum and all) or it's just that 98% of the humans I've met aren't far away enough from the standard normal for my interest to be piqued, or sustained.
Maybe I should have made more of an effort? Not veering very far from the safety rope seems to make people happy, somehow.(less)