Xenophobia

It's highly unlikely that I know anyone at all, given my intense dislike for the process of meeting new people. I have a simple dinner to go to with friends and we are meeting them and some other people (presumably friends of theirs) and I am not excited. That's to say I am terrified. I don't know why I get into such a lather about these things as I nearly always have a wonderful time and the people I meet I am glad to have met. The mental preparation, though, is a bitch.

Some would call it social anxiety disorder, some would say shyness and most would say they can't believe I am either one. It is simple xenophobia, or fear of the new. I am after all, charming and ebullient. I tell a great anecdote. I am intelligent enough to carry on several lines of conversation at once. I do not lack confidence in my ability to make a good impression or to be likable.

I also do truly end up liking most of the people I meet. It is rare I walk away from a new acquaintance saying to myself, "Let's hope we never have to do that again, shall we?"

What I don't like, what I have never especially liked, is change. New things bother me. I get into a happy little rut, an encampment, an entrenchment. After all the work that goes into burrowing, why make an effort to get out of it? Is not your most comfortable pair of shoes the one you have done many miles in? Do you change where you sit in your living room while watching T.V. or reading? Of course not, because you have forged that ass groove in your seat, made the cushions yield to your shape, created a rut that is custom sized around your complex curves. That is the very nature and definition of comfort.

Meeting new people forces me to offer up my chair to someone new. To sit in a different place and look upon the world with a new perspective. That perspective may challenge the old perspective and lead to more change. It is a vicious cycle!

There comes a point in time in nearly every life when you sit down, or dig in like a defiant jackass and become immobile. It is at this point when the rest of the world zooms right by and you fade off into irrelevance, or you bray and kick at the changes you see around you. I noticed five years ago I didn't recognize anyone on the cover of any of the popular magazines on the newsstand at my bookstore. I don't own an iPod (though I'd like to, but I have managed to go without, so I am not in a rush), and iPad (ibid), or even a blue ray player (which oddly uses a red laser ray to read the blue ray disc, but I digress).

I am not the only one subject to this xenophobia. I recommended to Emily that we transfer all our financial information to a program like Quicken, because in the virtual computer world, I am a rock star of organization and productivity, but if you hand me a piece of paper, a pencil, a calculator and the checkbook, I will rock in the corner crying like a little girl who just found out My Little Pony was shot dead by Rainbow Bright in a drive-by at the corner of Candy Land Street and Cabbage Patch Avenue. See? Even my toy references are dated. My suggestion was met with not a little enmity. There was much questioning as to whether I thought she was doing a poor job keeping the books, and why I wanted to take an interest all of a sudden (which I had long ago divested) in the family finances.

Change is hard. It is hard to swallow, hard to accept, and after you fight so hard against it it is hard to admit that it wasn't so bad after all. Like a tetanus shot, or a Diet Coke. Each new person you meet has the potential to come into your sphere and pop that protective bubble and leave you exposed to the outside air where you are vulnerable to terrible things like learning something, or appreciating something that you did not notice before.

This is very dangerous. What if you learn what you thought previously was gospel truth was wrong? What if you thought you were a republican, but you met someone and now you are distributing communist leaflets? These things happen, people! You must believe me!

So I say to all you whom I know to be sanitary and appropriately fitting for my life, I am glad you are here. As for the rest of you, I'm sorry, we aren't accepting any reservations at this time. If you want to hang around a little bit on the fringe and see if something opens up, you may feel free to do so, but I must warn you, we are very, very busy.