I’m a coward, especially when it comes to putting myself out there. This is probably not news to anyone who knows me. For as long as I can remember the idea of presenting myself to others, explicitly or implicitly asking them to judge me has filled me with a paralysing dread.
As you may imagine this leads to many possible answers to this question, most of which are excruciatingly embarrassing, though probably not as embarrassing as the opposite question - that may be one for another, braver, version of myself to answer.
One missed opportunity with one particular person does stand out, and it spans a couple of decades.
We start in the early 90’s. I’m in secondary school enjoying myself as part of the “technical crew” - we did all of the lighting and sound for school productions, from awards ceremonies to concerts and musicals. Huge fun and a great learning experience despite being ridiculed by most of the school. By the time in question I had started to focus on sound production.
It was during preparation for the annual musical there that I first met Bernie.
My memory of the details is a bit fuzzy but I clearly remember becoming more than a little infatuated. She was either one or two years above me and perfect in every way. I can’t say for sure what was driving my reaction, but the way she carried herself, the way she spoke, all of her little mannerisms, it was all unwaveringly angelic to me.
No doubt she knew, and likely saw me as little more than a nuisance, but when she smiled at me I melted. I definitely didn’t hide it well, but if she knew she didn’t say anything or avoid me, which didn’t help my feelings towards her.
Remember what i said at the beginning of this post? I’m a coward in these situations and this was no exception. In addition to lacking the self-confidence required to ask her out I also had to deal with what I saw, at the time, as a significant age difference. If girls of the same age were a different species older girls were of a completely different branch in the evolutionary tree. So I enjoyed my infatuation from afar.
And was occasionally creepy. I’m not proud of this but Bernie worked in a bakery in town and I can’t say I didn’t walk past it during her shifts more often than would be considered non-creepy…
Anyway, enough about that. So despite many conversations with her in my head nothing happened in reality, but curiously none of those are the conversation I regret not having. My lack of self-confidence would almost certainly have taken a further unrecoverable dent if rejected at that time, at least that’s how my brain saw it.
No, the regretful non-conversation didn’t happen about fifteen or sixteen years later.
After some moving around the country I eventually ended up living in Guildford, about nine miles from the aforementioned secondary school. I think it’s safe to say I was just starting my journey to self-confidence discovery (still ongoing) when I developed some very painful toothache.
Being a complete cretin I tend to not organise things like registering with doctors and dentists until I need them. So, as per previous similar panics I asked my friends in the area for recommendations, and a dentist called Waterden’s came highly recommended. I made an appointment.
Bear with me, I’m getting there if you’re not already ahead of me.
Appointment one, the dentist takes a look in my mouth and tells me I need to see the hygienist for a deep clean, while also telling me the tooth that’s aching needs to come out due to the cyst on the gum underneath it. That explains the pain.
So, I make two more appointments, one with the hygienist for the deep clean and the other with the dentist to pull the tooth.
The hygienist appointment was first. Other than being told that I should take better care of my teeth it passes with no notable incidents other than suddenly being able to feel the separation in my lower front teeth with my tongue for the first time in living memory. Revelation!
Anywho, I returned a few days later for the extraction and while I’m in the waiting room the receptionist asks me if I went to the secondary school that I did, in fact, attend. Slightly concerned I enquired as to how she knew that?
“Oh, one of our hygienists saw your name and thinks she went to school with you.”
A short conversation later it turns out to be Bernie, and she’d like to catch up if I’m interested. She’s not working today but if I call in tomorrow I can arrange to meet up with her.
I remember very little of the following extraction. The pulling, sure, and the odd sensations, indeed, but my brain was very much elsewhere. I was reliving my childish infatuation in as much detail as I could remember, which to be fair wasn’t much.
Should I meet up with her? Could I meet up with her? Would I be able to maintain the character my ever-increasing years had built or would I instantly regress to that somewhat creepy teenager and make a complete fool of myself?
It’s probably clear from the title of this post what happened: I totally chickened out.
It feels quite ridiculous to think about now. I had no idea what her life was like, but I couldn’t bring myself to let her see who I’ve become. I was embarrassed by who and what I was. I felt like I’ve failed at the game called life. In many ways I still do.
I’ve often thought whether I would do anything different if I had the opportunity again, and I’m honestly not sure. My memory of her is still “perfect” because I can attribute my behaviour to being a socially awkward teenager.
Would I really want to add another memory as a socially awkward adult? On the other hand it’s stuff like this that holds me back all the time from potentially bringing amazing people into my life, so in theory I’ve learned it’s worth the risk, right?
After some overthinking I’ve realised that everyone I am or have ever been friends with, with only one exception, has either taken the initiative themselves or was the result of a situation putting us unavoidably together for some period of time. I can be social when I see not other option.
This just reinforces the fact that I still lack the confidence to put myself out there, even when the potential rewards for doing so are huge.
What’s the point of this story? Dunno. It exposes a demon I still struggle with every day, one that limits my life in ways I don’t even want to attempt to count with no sign of a way forward.
Smeg!