I am seized by paralysis. The words want to come out, but they don’t. And I deeply hope that nobody thinks that I am disinterested, snobby or that horrible word with baggage introverted.
I stand there, perhaps with my arms crossed â€” not because I am not engaged, but because it’s comfortable. Years have taught me to hold my hands in an unbendable position hand gripping the other â€” almost feeling like my bones can move in eye-bending ways.
And my eyes, they flick around the room â€” in a pause, they settle on a figure. In my mind, I make up stories of their soup of thoughts and goals. Then my eyes move, scanning for the next victim. This continues repeatedly until the meeting is over.
I don’t want it to be this way, so maybe I smile at appropriate times to blend in. I do as the Romans do in full mimicry.
But maybe others notice me, shifting in the corner giving an uncomfortable aura. It’s not my intention, but they think of awkwardness and a lack of desire to connect.