Sometimes, I'm Awkward Around People [en]

[fr] Parfois, je suis un peu à côté de mes pompes avec les gens :-)

Sometimes, I’m awkward around people. Sometimes it’s people I know, and sometimes it’s people I don’t know. It might be people I know too well online, and with whom I just don’t know how to <em>be</em> offline — often because they scare me more offline than on.

People scare me.

That’s the basic premise.

I’ve come a long way of course, and I’m not that scared any more — but still: every now and again, I’m awkward around people.

I learn to be comfortable around some people in no time, whereas with others, it takes longer. Putting things like that make it look like it has something to do with the other person. But it’s more about my reactions when faced with certain situations, certain personalities, or certain attitudes. The bug is on my side.

Sometimes, I’m awkward in the middle of a whole room of people I don’t know, or maybe don’t know well enough. I’m a rather sociable person, but at times, I just seem to lose all that and not have anything to say to anybody. It helps to have a friend. It makes me feel less like a butterfly pined inside a box. Or wallpaper, to say it less poetically.

Other times, I look and listen at myself in the middle of a group of people, and bite my tongue after hearing myself behave a bit too much like the unpopular teenager I was, who wanted so much to be “in” with the cool kids.

One day, I’ll figure out where the “off” switch is. The switch which lets me turn the awkwardness off. Or maybe it’s really an “on” switch, which just allows me to turn my normal self back on when I get lost.

In the meantime, I’m sometimes awkward around people.

So, when you find me cold, unapproachable, silly, quiet, clumsy — don’t take it personally. That’s just me being a bit awkward.

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1 thought on “Sometimes, I'm Awkward Around People [en]

  1. I’m always awkward, even situations that don’t call for being awkward (not that any situations call for being awkward, but you know…see, even on the internet). Like when I go into shops, I’m awkward with the cashier. It feels like a sickness in my throat that stops me from speaking. I mumble and look at the ground.
    I know that I’m being weird, which in turn makes me act stranger because I’m trying not to look weird. It’s never ending. It seems to be getting slightly better, but I’m still a mess.

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