I’m not good at being loved. It makes me uncomfortable when people sing my praises, for whatever reason. And I’ve never learned how to gracefully accept compliments (I have a bad habit of turning them in to jokes, but I am getting better). So it still astonishes me I have friends other than family.
Note: I don’t think I’m insecure, nor am I needily attempting to get you to say ‘oh Britt!‘ I just realise that folks are busy, I’m verrrry opinionated (but I am getting better), and I talk too much and too fast. Plus I’m terribly geeky, what with the whole bees and poetry and tea and other odd obsessions.
Really, I prefer to love. I’m actually QUITE good at that: I can love with almost no provocation. On the flight from KC to St. Louis, I met a woman I sooo want to become close friends w ith. She’s funny, smart, passionate about social action, a journalist… So many good traits! I already love her!
And people I know? When I look at someone I know and love, all I can see is stardust — the stuff of infinite possibility, brightness and fire and glow. I’m not kidding. My friends are verrrry smart, as well as nice, incredibly funny, full of passion for social justice, always ready to help out… And they write well.
Now, the thing about loving people that I’m coming to realise is: often, even if they don’t start out loving you, the sheer force of your love for folks turns them in your direction, like 4 o’clocks follow the afternoon sun. Love, I’ve found, begets love.
How simple that sounds.
But it means that they begin to tell you. And while it’s not quite as bad as complimenting the Brownie cobbler (who then runs off, at least in the fairy tale), it does make me wonder what all the fuss is about. Doesn’t everyone love their friends? In all truth? I’m not a particularly great friend (hence my uneasy astonishment that I have any). I interrupt conversations, get WAAAY too loud (I may have mentioned this), have a warped sense of humour (which I, of course, find hysterical), and read odd books. In other words? Total geekoid.
Let me tell you a story (don’t you love stories?): Once upon a time I went to a conference. It was in an incredible hotel — the Arbor Foundation’s hotel in Nebraska. And there was a small coffee shop inside the hotel.
During our stay, I must have gone to get coffee (you all know how I love coffee!) a couple of times a day, more if you count the times I accompanied friends. So I spoke to the nice girl who was the barista, and we visited several times.
The last day I was there, the commercial espresso machine was broken. So they had a home machine they’d set up, meaning service was VERY slow. Not at all her fault, but folks were soooo rude! Hostile, even! The little barista was wet-eyed, trying hard to remain professional as person after person YELLED at her. (No, I’m not exaggerating.)