The Kinds You Never Meet

Catherine said, "There's something I don't get."

Ho waited.

"You're telling me you have friends?"

"The best kinds," Ho said. "The kinds you never meet."

Excerpt from Slow Horses
by Mick Herron

 

On Minglers

The crystal entrance of the banquet hall was fogged by a pattern of handprints arranged in a sort of herringbone. Above the doors, an arching pane of etched glass proclaimed the name of their destination: THE MINGLER.

Adam whispered to Runa that "the Mingler" sounded like some back-alley fiend. Despite her black mood, Runa smirked, and replied that he wasn't exactly wrong about that. "It's a little bit like being strangled with small talk," she said.

Excerpt from The Fall of Babel
by Josiah Bancroft

 

Characters In Isolation

I never write about characters in isolation. And I can't think about a novel that is about a character in isolation. It would be a very experimental novel. Very much a break with what we consider the novel to be doing. Generally novels are about situating characters within social settings, and obviously within initmate relationships, personal relationships and families as well. That's how I conceive of character. A character to me is someone who is engaged in one or more dynamics at a given time, and I can't actually imagine what it would be like to write about a character who was just on their own all the time.

Out-of-context commentary from Sally Rooney, author of Normal People, during a literary event at London Review Bookshop

---

This statement is probably true for most authors. What kind of reader wants a story about a character who's on their own all the time? It would be like reading a novel about me! Although I find myself quite entertaining, an author would probably prefer to focus more on my cat and his enemies.

That said, it is a little sad that it takes so much imagination to write about solitary characters. The not-so-normal ones.

 

When Answers Are Expected

Farley goes quiet. I let the silence build until it fills every corner of the room. It leaks into his ears and his chest and his bladder and his bowels and every dark place in his mind. Very few people are comfortable with silence. It's one thing to be on a plane or in a train carriage or in a waiting room and to ignore those around you, but not when you know someone is expecting you to answer.

Excerpt from Good Girl, Bad Girl
by Michael Robotham

---

This scene describes something most of us know already, but it does so in a vivid way. I have often in the past found myself facing this quandary. I'm not one to speak without thinking through what I really mean, but people expect answers promptly. What I've learned, though, is that it's okay to let others be uncomfortable while waiting for me to answer. They can handle my silence for a little while. I don't need to be the one who's made to feel uncomfortable and rushed. In most cases, people will appreciate a more thoughtful response.

I'm okay with the silence. Others can be too.

 

On Silence Garnering Respect

Soon he essentially stopped talking. "I am retreating into silence as a defensive mode," he mentioned. Eventually, he was down to uttering just five words, and only to guards: yes; no; please; thank you. "I am surprised," he wrote, "by the amount of respect this garners me. That silence intimidates puzzles me. Silence is to me normal, comfortable." Later he added, "I will admit to feeling a little contempt for those who can't keep quiet."

Excerpt from The Stranger in the Woods: The Extraordinary Story of the Last True Hermit
by Michael Finkel

 

On Preventing Unnecessary Homicides

... it was not unusual for us to go days without finding anything to say to each other.

The vast emotional distances between the individual members of a Scandinavian family are forged early and reinforced daily. Can you imagine growing up in a culture where you can never ask anyone anything about themselves? Where "How are you?" is considered a personal question that one is not obligated to answer. Where you are trained to always wait for others to first mention what is troubling them, even as you are trained to never mention what is troubling you. It must be a survival skill left over from the old Viking days when long silences were required to prevent unnecessary homicides during the long, dark winters when quarters were close and supplies were dwindling.

Excerpt from Lab Girl
by Hope Jahren

---

Although I wasn't raised by a Scandinavian family, I can imagine questions like "How are you?" feeling personal. Honestly, it took me a long time to not take every question seriously, as if people really wanted to know the answer. And describing how you are isn't always as simple as it seems.

Sometimes you have to shrug off the questions. And more often, you should probably shrug off the need to answer. Not everyone wants to know. Sometimes silences are good. And maybe, sometimes, the silences even prevent unnecessary homicides.

 

Social Distancing

After Microsoft, Amazon, Facebook and Google closed their offices in Seattle, I asked my boss, "Are we the last holdouts?"

This week he finally relented and now we're all working from home. However, in his enthusiasm for the work community vibe, he did -- first thing Monday morning -- suggest that we all join a video meeting throughout the day, just to get some face time. I rolled my eyes as I sat on my couch thinking that would never happen. Maybe he just wanted to get a sense that people were still busy, but -- honestly -- that would just be a distraction.

I like the people I work with, but at the same time I can't understand how they get anything done. I see the chat message notifications constantly scroll by, and they're all about jokes and family life. I see "likes" and emoticons immediately tacked on to every message, and I wonder if we couldn't be ignoring all of it from home, all of the time.

This situation we're dealing with is sad; in fact, it's devastating for a lot of people. What a mess! And yet some of it is an introvert's dream. Working from home. Empty streets. People electing not to get into the same elevator as you. The personal boundary has expanded, and no one is getting in anyone's face. They come close, and then they back away, remembering the new rules. The side eye reigns. Any hint of a scratchy voice, cough, or sniffle sends people running. Touch your face, and relish the reaction of others. Clear your throat, and watch them avoid the door knobs you touched.

As terrible as it seems, I wish some of this would last.

Unfortunately, I also need this to end so that I can buy groceries again. Empty aisles don't suit my culinary needs. My favorite bartenders are out of work, and that really bums me out. Drive-thru coffee isn't as good. Apparently, every restaurant has become a take-out restaurant. Every pharmacist is out of thermometers. Even the homeless are scared. I'm not ready to break out my survival gear and rough it. My sanctuary requires upkeep and toilet paper.

I don't necessarily hope for things to return to "normal", but something close to it would be better. Maybe people will realize it was never necessary to go to the office after all. Just enough people need to go to the office to pay my favorite bartender's salary. That's all I ask. Let's get that done.

 

On Responding To Invitations

I never respond to invitations. It just smacks of desperation. The only event I am certain to attend is my funeral, and I hope to arrive very, very late.

Excerpt from The Hod King
by Josiah Bancroft

 

Floaters

There were turtles every morning,
tumbling in the surf
as it crashed against the reefs.
Floating above and beside them,
we were all slaves to the spitting waves.

All but one, who wanted not to join in.
It hid from the bubbling rays of the sun,
below on the sand beneath a jutting rock.
Now and then, just to take stock,
it peeked out to spy on the floaters nearby.

A sympathetic smile before cresting away,
taking the splashing noise and goggly eyes,
we rode the current to other joys
and swayed for a little while more
before saying our goodbyes.

 

The Flatulent Philosophizing About The Chattiness Of Others

Like the uncertainty principle, the Drake Equation has had a layer of interpretation laid over it that obscures what it really says. In short, it's a series of guesses: about how many stars exist in the galaxy, what fraction of those have earth-like planets, what fraction of those planets have intelligent life, what fraction of those life forms would want to make contact, and so on. Drake originally calculated that ten sociable civilizations existed in our galaxy. But again, that was just an informed guess, which led many scientists to renounce it as flatulent philosophizing. How on earth, for instance, can we psychoanalyze aliens and figure out what percent want to chat?

Excerpt from The Disappearing Spoon
by Sam Kean

---

It's challenging to get away from the expectations of supposedly reasonable people, even on this planet. Apparently aliens are imagined to be quite sociable too. Is it so hard to imagine that they're perfectly happy and have no desire to connect with the entire rest of the universe?

Oh how we project.

 

Even AI's Need Breaks

I was stalling. I would have to interact with humans as an augmented human... I had imagined it as taking place from a distance, or in the spaces of a crowded transit ring. Interacting meant talking, and eye contact. I could already feel my performance capacity dropping.

Excerpt from Artifical Condition
by Martha Wella

This is a series about a self-described "murder bot", an intelligent, self-aware machine that dislikes being around humans despite having an addiction for all of the media we create.

Reviewers call Murder Bot "anti-social", although it clearly has a tendency to care for people.

As you know, I don't consider myself "anti-social". Only "unsocial". Yet I find "Murder Bot" highly entertaining. There are times when it needs to remind itself to respond to the humans, and also times when it needs to remind itself that humans want more than yes or no answers. I can relate. Remembering to interact is something easily neglected, especially while processing other stimuli.

There are also times when "Murder Bot" just wants to get away for some quiet time. Maybe, just maybe, the poor machine is simply introverted.

 

Could Have Done Anything, Been Quiet Even

Not one of you was normal, I said, and I watched him push his plate of half-eaten food towards me as though he were a child in a tantrum. Yes, misfits, I said. My son gathered misfits, although he himself, despite everything, was not a misfit; he could have done anything, he could have been quiet even, he had that capacity also, the one that is the rarest, he could have spent time alone with ease, he could look at a woman as though she were his equal, and he was grateful, good-mannered, intelligent. And he used all of it, I said, so he could lead a group of men who trusted him from place to place. I have no time for misfits, I said, but if you put two of you together you will not only get foolishness and the usual cruelty but you will also get a desperate need for something else. Gather together misfits, I said, pushing the plate back towards him, and you will get anything at all – fearlessness, ambition, anything – and before it dissolves or it grows, it will lead to what I saw and what I live with now.

Excerpt from The Testament of Mary
by Colm Tóibín

I get that this is supposedly a woman's perspective, and that the best of men from this fictional point of view are the ones who keep silent, but I like to take things out of context. Being quiet is a rare quality. I'm sure many do so with clenched teeth.

 

Silence Overcomes

Any trouble under the sun can be overcome by silence.

Excerpt from The Holy Man
by Susan Trott

 

Cagey

I was a teenager, and I was working the night shift at a psychiatric hospital. All of the patients were tucked away in their rooms, and I was finishing up my notes in the logs while chatting with the nurse. I don't remember what we were chatting about or why she said it, but I remember it was the first time I had ever been called "cagey". I remember laughing and asking what that meant. I even remember writing a poem entitled "Feeling Kinda Cagey" sometime later, although I unfortunately lost the poem long ago.

Of all the words that have been used to describe me over the years, I could at least appreciate this one for the visuals it evoked. Perhaps I do cage myself up in a way, and even if my cages are ones that I impose on myself, I suppose they're still cages of a sort.

But with my cages, at least I hold the keys. I can choose to sometimes peek out.

 

A Needless Construct

We ate the rest of it in silence, enjoying the feeling of the cold morning air and hot food in our bellies.

That's one of the things I always appreciated about him. He didn't insist on small talk. He was just perfectly happy to sit quietly in your company, if that's what the situation felt like. I asked him about that once, in fact, and he said that he always thought of small talk as "one of those needless constructs we all inflict on each other to reinforce the idea that we belong".

Excerpt from Commune
by Joshua Gayou

 

Being An Outsider

... there are so many issues at play in Hunchback that continue to be relevant today... the ridicule and torment in all its forms of those who are different from you. I think we can all relate in some way to being an outsider, or feeling or appearing different from other people.

Excerpt from the program material for
The 5th Avenue Theatre's production of
The Hunchback of Notre Dame

---

I went to see this musical recently, and I thought it was an interesting version of the story. In this show, a deaf actor played the role of the main character, Quasimodo, and he performed mostly using sign language, which is appropriate considering Quasimodo was also deaf.

Although there were many touching moments in the show, what I related to most was how communication barriers can isolate you and make you an outsider. Aside from his physical deformity, Quasimodo also had an inability to communicate due to his deafness; the real barrier, however, was that he was shunned because of it. Although I was never shunned for being an introvert, I was made to feel that my differences in communicating were somehow wrong.

It's nice to be reminded that, even in the old stories, there are people who find strength and rightness in simply being who they are regardless of how they're treated.

 

Master Of My Domain

After all these years, I've finally obtained the domain, extremeintrovert.com. It was once owned by someone else, but I recently saw that it became available and I happily snatched it up.

I know it's silly, especially considering my lack of upkeep here, but I enjoy the acquisition nonetheless.

So, this is where I am now. Maybe I'll get around to changing my email address at some point, too.

 

Let Them Enjoy My Introversion

Lately I've been wondering if I've grown too old to care how many times a day people make note of my quietness (among other such things). Does it bother me any more?

Maybe I'm numb to it now, but it still happens as much as ever. Really, it's crazy.

Most recently, after I asked about some colleagues overseas, questioning whether they were excited about taking on a new project or not -- because, to me, they appeared irritated -- I was told that, yes, they were very excited, and that it's just a cultural thing. They're like the Japanese, I was told, very reluctant to express themselves. And then another colleague chimed in and said, "Oh, so, they're very much like Zeri."

Or, when I decline to join colleagues for lunch outings (which -- to be fair -- I do try to join in on every so often), someone will joke about how much I dislike them or about how mysterious I am. My colleagues like to propose ridiculous theories regarding my taciturnity, such as me being in the witness protection program, or that I'm an undercover agent, or worse things.

Most of the time now, I embrace these images. Let them enjoy my introversion. I do.

But, now and then, I hear people talk about other so-called-introverts, and I'm reminded about why I should care. I still hear people say things like, "He started out as an introvert, but then he overcame his shyness whenever he chose to." And then I cringe inside, because there's nothing to overcome. There's nothing to improve. And I want to rant... but I won't.

Such things remind me that I'm not too old to care. As much as I embrace my introversion, and as much enjoyment as I (and others) get out of it, there are still too many people who see it as something to be fixed.

 

On The Names Of Things

Being at a startup, I get a small-but-not-insignificant chance to influence how things develop, and a chance like that cropped up recently at my office in Seattle.

"What should we name our conference rooms?" my boss asked everyone.

There are two conference rooms in our office, and there are -- so far -- only eight of us on the team. I chimed in a couple of times, but none of my suggestions stuck, despite how excellent they were.

Instead, the team settled on the names of astronomical deities, or some such nonsense. The chosen names were meant to convey the size differences between the corresponding conference rooms, one tiny and the other less so.

Not very imaginative. That was a few weeks ago.

This week, for some reason, has been heavy on meetings for me, and while we were about to convene in one of these conference rooms, I said, "We should have named the rooms 'Ugh and Oy'".

My boss said, "No, we need to be more positive."

Clearly he doesn't feel the same as I do about meetings.

 

On Where To Begin

"What are you, antisocial?" someone will ask.

"I'm not antisocial," I'll say. "I'm just unsocial."

There's a big difference, although many people don't see it. I tend to avoid too much social activity (by my standards), but I have nothing against being social now and then; in fact, I enjoy the company of others.

Explaining such nuances doesn't always help. It could be due, at least in part, to my failure to explain things simply. But there are also other barriers.

Several acquaintances, in my opinion, don't believe in introversion. Some of them even claim to be introverts, but when they tell me that they were able to practice over the years and change, I realize we're talking about different traits. These acquaintances are the kinds of people who think everyone should be treated the same, and everyone should want the same things, and they take offense at anyone who spurns those ideals. Children shouldn't be treated with special consideration, they say, because you'll end up raising a bunch of babies. And adults should, of course, be given even less leeway.

I can see their point; in fact, I agree to some extent. And that's why I do my best to avoid too much social activity. It's up to me to look after my own well-being. Not the system I'm part of. Not my acquaintances or friends or family. I don't need others to treat me differently or to understand me. As long as I make sure to treat myself in the way that I need, then I'll be okay.

It's always worthwhile to try coming to an understanding with others, but that's a huge task, and not always a pleasant one. Creating an environment that I can thrive in is much more important. As they say: start with yourself.

 

On Another Start (Or Restart)

A few months ago, I left my relatively new job and accepted an offer at a startup. Returning to another startup after so many years seems a bit crazy, but at least I've joined a small team of guys whom I've worked with for nearly twenty years. Plus, I tell myself, these kinds of opportunities don't come around forever.

Then again, perhaps the real appeal comes from having the following:

• No more war rooms
• Fewer (if any) meetings
• Less bureaucracy (and project requirements that aren't constantly changing)
• A slightly less noisy workplace (at least while the team is still small)
• The promise of some eventual give-and-take concerning my wish to work from home

Admittedly, it's also good to be working with guys who know me, who are familiar with my nature, and vice versa. It's somewhat like rejoining the family.

There are so many little surprises in life, new starts, new adventures, and new challenges. And -- at times -- they turn out quite nicely.

 

On Responding To Sounds

I recently learned that I'm losing hearing in one of my ears. This has presented me with a new challenge and a new perspective. Now I'm not sure which is worse: hearing too much, or hearing too little.

I've always been a bit overwhelmed by my senses. I've felt like I was seeing a little too much, catching scents that I didn't want to catch, and hearing more than I could absorb at once. With every other sense competing for my attention, I couldn't understand how others managed to be so on-the-ball. My brain might eventually catch up, but by the time it did, it would often be too late.

Making sense of what people were saying to me has frequently been an issue. I heard them well enough, but the surrounding noise would interfere; and then, of course, even when I could hear a person's words correctly, there was the problem of interpreting their meaning. To this day, how everyone else succeeds at this so easily still baffles me.

Now I need to learn all over again how to respond when my hearing fails; this time, it's from hearing too little. Maybe I can respond the same way that I did when I heard too much. I don't yet know.

 

War Room

It's the end of a work day and I'm crammed into a small conference room with other colleagues. The room is dubbed the "War Room", and the extreme proximity is intended to make us more productive. For me, it's mainly noisy, and I can't help being affected by the rising tension in the room.

Though I try to drown it all out, I happen to hear a remark from a coworker at the other end of the room. Some remarks stand out to me. My ears are attuned to them, unfortunately.

"I've never seen you interact with anyone," he's saying to someone else. "You're almost like Zeri, over there," he says, pointing at me, "but minus one or two points."

In a way, I suppose that I like being known for my taciturn nature; I mean, it gives me an excuse to avoid interactions (not to mention a reason to write a blog entry). But sometimes I wish I could just do my work without being measured for my social activity. I'm not sure how the chaotic environment I'm in is supposed to help me work, but it's clearly not making me communicate more. Perhaps the "War Room" will change me, but I doubt I'll become more productive.

 

On Snark And Enthusiasm

Sitting around a conference table, I typed away at my laptop while others chatted. I tuned in when they began discussing one of my projects, and when I was asked whether their plans for it were acceptable, I gave the thumbs up.

The product manager sitting nearby chuckled and said, "I've never seen Zeri enthusiastic."

"Oh," someone at the far end of the table piped in, someone I barely know, "the day Zeri is enthusiastic about anything will be the day that I eat my shoe." (Okay, to be honest, he may have said something else, but it was -- I promise -- equally dramatic.)

Meanwhile, I did some more work on my laptop and generally ignored the rest of the chat until, about twenty minutes later, I was told that -- given that the discussion about my project was finished -- I could leave if I wanted.

My eyebrows went up, and I shot out of my chair almost as quickly. Closing my laptop and smiling, I said, "I can leave? Now I'm enthusiastic!"

The product manager laughed loudly and said, "I love it! That's more snarkiness than I've ever seen out of him." I heard another manager say, "Wow, you do seem enthusiastic."

It wasn't faked. I've never been a fan of meetings.

 

Zen And The Perks Of Motorcycle Maintenance

Two coworkers were chatting about their motorcycles, and after some time one of them turned the conversation towards me.

"We should get Zeri to join our bike gang," he said.

"Unlikely," I muttered, looking over.

"Think about it," he said. "If you had a bike, you wouldn't have to talk with anyone."

While the other coworker contradicted him, saying that his own helmet has a microphone inside, I pondered; eventually, I said, "That is an interesting selling point."

And then I made a mental note to join conversations at work a little more frequently, if only to avoid ones like this.

 

Expressive On The Inside

I was hard at work and trying to ignore the chaos surrounding me, but at some point my mind registered that someone had been speaking to me moments earlier. One of the project managers was looking at me, I sensed. And then, a few moments after I registered it, my brain somehow replayed his comment, something that needed acknowledging. I turned to him and said: "I was nodding, but only in my head."

Minutes or hours passed. Then the director was sitting next to me and telling others a story that, again, I was trying to ignore. Once more, however, I inadvertently picked up the gist of it. Something about an employee being let go, and how he -- the expressive person that he is -- immediately did a jig. Then, after admitting it was an inappropriate time to do a jig, he said he should probably strive to be more like Zeri and that he should express his thoughts on the inside.

I think I turned to him and smiled, but I can't be sure. In reality, my mouth may or may not have moved.

 

On Bantering And Warmth

There is a group of six or seven people gathered just a little way behind me who have aroused my curiosity a little. I naturally assumed at first that they were a group of friends out together for the evening. But as I listened to their exchanges, it became apparent they were strangers who had just happened upon one another here on this spot behind me. Evidently, they had all paused a moment for the lights coming on, and then proceeded to fall into conversation with one another. As I watch them now, they are laughing together merrily. It is curious how people can build such warmth among themselves so swiftly. It is possible these particular persons are simply united by the anticipation of the evening ahead. But, then, I rather fancy it has more to do with this skill of bantering. Listening to them now, I can hear them exchanging one bantering remark after another. It is, I would suppose, the way many people like to proceed. In fact, it is possible my bench companion of a while ago expected me to banter with him -- in which case, I suppose I was something of a sorry disappointment. Perhaps it is indeed time I began to look at this whole matter of bantering more enthusiastically. After all, when one thinks about it, it is not a foolish thing to indulge in -- particularly if it is the case that in bantering lies the key to human warmth.

Excerpt from The Remains of the Day
by Kazuo Ishiguro

---

I like this quote mainly because I had similar thoughts and questions frequently while growing up. I wondered about the skill of talking and about whether people practiced at it, and I wondered whether people felt more or less close because of it all, etc.

But as I was looking up the wording for this quote online (I'd listened to the audio format), I found it referenced in a book called "Bullshit and Philosophy", which was amusing. Bullshitting is a good thing, it asserts, and I don't disagree. As it goes on to say:

"Just imagine that every conversation were to be informed with a strong concern for the truth. Conversations would be terribly fatiguing."

Then again, conversations are often fatiguing for me. Even the amusing ones.

 

On Easing Up The Sound Barrier

There are ways of making your presence known that some would consider uncouth and even shocking. There are ways of announcing yourself that stand out in a peculiar, and even in an amusing way. And often they happen accidentally. Yes, I'm referring to farts. But, belches count, too.

And, yes, I'm going there.

I grew up in a family that had no shame, and no compunction to refrain from making such bodily (sometimes musical) refrains. Farts were something to laugh at, or something to blame on the nearest victim. They were performed loudly and proudly, or silently and furtively (the furtive sort are the worst, as everyone knows). My family got enjoyment out of the littlest of things, this among them. I liked how easily they could laugh, even if I was usually only smiling and shaking my head.

Rarely did I share in the fun. I remember my sister saying, years later, that "Zeri never farts". It's untrue, of course, but I acknowledge that I was much more restrained than the rest of them.

Holding back was, like many things with me, a reflex. In most ways, I hold back from bringing attention to myself. I speak up only when I mean to, and that includes speaking by way of fart. Not wanting to be noticed (and thus be dragged into conversations), I would tamper any kind of noise-making I might produce. Unless by accident, sounds didn't escape from me without a lot of effort. It's funny: I've only thought about it in terms of oral sounds in the past, but I suppose I was quite deliberate when it came to other bodily sounds, as well.

It didn't bother me when others farted (unless it was the furtive sort). I didn't feel like a more proper person. My only motive was not to be noticed, although, as I've said, the act of not being noticed became habit early on, and I hardly had to try. Even today, I hardly try.

But sometimes it helps to let your voice be heard, no matter where it's coming from. Sometimes, I've learned, being heard helps make others feel comfortable. Maybe it's not always important to do so, but when those people matter, then perhaps it becomes another kind of communication, a way of saying: I'm okay being fully human with you. In those cases, maybe it's best to try easing up with the sound barrier.

Then, maybe some extra humor can be had, and some extra closeness to boot. One more way of becoming close, at least with the right people, never hurts.

Just be wary about proximity.

 

On The Birthing Of Words

Not many weeks ago, I told a colleague that I'd prefer him to use my full and correct name, and -- in case he couldn't handle that -- I offered up a couple of acceptable nicknames. I don't always respond to the name he had been calling me by, I told him.

Now, whenever we meet, he struggles to call me by anything else but his original name for me. After convening today's meeting, I mentioned this to another coworker.

"He has trouble calling me by my real name," I said.

"Yeah," my coworker said, "but he corrects himself half the time."

"True," I said, "but I wonder why he struggles. I think it's because he's a talker."

"Yep, he's a talker," my coworker said. "He's not like us. His words are more quick to come out."

It's not a bad trait to have, being a talker, but it's not one I readily understand. I can't imagine having difficulty with someone's name. While my colleague struggles to stop words from coming out, I struggle to make words come out at all. I deliberate on nearly everything I say. I tend to mean what I say, and I usually chew on things before they come out. Whereas he seems to have thoughts speed from their conception to his mouth, mine take long and winding detours before they're birthed.

But sometimes I wish I could be more free with my words. Or, at the least, I wish my thoughts could be more speedy.

 

On A Conspiracy To Let Me Be Myself

During a meeting with my fellow co-workers, our new product manager went around the table asking us about our existing tasks and projects. When he got to me, he said, "I've been told to let Zeri do his own thing, so that's what I'll do."

Surprised, I asked to whom he'd been talking. His only response was to reiterate that he was given advice about me, and that he was planning to give me space to do what I do.

Fumbling for words, I said, "Well, I'm glad someone is looking out for me."

It didn't pass my notice that one of my co-workers was sitting quietly, smiling to himself in response to all of this. I'm guessing he was a part of the conspiracy, and I made a mental note to thank him in some way in the future.

It's rare that my work/personality style is accepted so readily, but I'm pleasantly surprised when it is.