No, I really do hate being the centre of attention. I hate being put on the spot; I�m uncomfortable being lauded and pointed out. I like being honoured and told one-on-one that I�m a wonderful human being with things to be proud of, but throw a surprise party for me or tell a bunch of people in my hearing how terrific I am, and I cringe and want to die. I have this weird thing about birthdays � surprise parties are such a bad idea, but at the same time I�d like to have someone else organise a quiet and casual get-together for me without me knowing. Even better would be a surprise casual get-together for me not around my birthday! (This year Tara and I have agreed to organise parties for each other. That kind of deal I can live with.) I�m quietly upset if no one cares, but if everyone goes all out and makes a huge fuss I�m horribly embarrassed. (Reported back to me last year: Taras: �Hey, it�s her thirtieth birthday! Let�s organise a huge surprise party!� Marc: �Wow, my Bad Idea light just came on.�)
I�m certain that part of this arises from the self-effacing guilt that wells up from the tiny �I�m not worthy� gene buried deep inside me. Intellectually I know that I have a lot to be proud of and that I�m a decent human being with a few really good points. However, my heart can�t understand why so many people like me this much. I�ve been shy ever since I started school, and I�ve always been the sort who prefers books to baseball, and opera to club-hopping. I have problems with large crowds and I�m very sensitive to large, aggressive personalities too. I work on intuition a lot, and if someone walks in whom I instinctively draw away from, I�ll find it very difficult to be around them. Even worse, if I do get to know someone enough to relax, open my heart and be close friends with them, if they do something to abuse that loyalty and trust, I�m scarred for life and I�ll never be able to talk to them again. (Fortunately this has only happened three times in my entire life.) I don�t hold grudges; I just moderate future behaviour in order to avoid being hurt again. I wish those three people well, but they�re no longer a part of my life. It�s not by choice; it�s simply the way I work. Trust me, I wish I weren�t like this; I wish I were gregarious, and not this sensitive. My husband has pointed out to me on several occasions that if I were as I wished to be, I wouldn�t be myself, and people wouldn�t like me as much as they do. It�s an annoying point. I hate it when he�s right like that.
One of the things I thought would be difficult about being married (and I was right) was the drastic challenge to my solitary tendencies. I warned my husband before we married that I require huge amounts of time on my own, and he told me that he didn�t have a problem with that; in fact, he needed a lot of time by himself too. Well, I think he got more than he bargained for: a little while ago he admitted to me that he�d underestimated my extensive need for solitude. Now, before you get all riled up about how marriage is about being a couple, let me explain our concept of marriage. Marriage is two individuals coming together to pull evenly in the traces, and not a complete submersion of your identity in someone else�s personality. We�re two different people with different likes and dislikes, need and wants. A lot of those likes and wants coincide, and we happen to like each other as people a lot. We�ve taught one another lots of new things, introduced one another to new ideas, and exposed one another to experiences we wouldn�t have had on our own. He now likes wine, pumpkin pie and light opera; I now drink Scotch, watch television, and eat turkey stuffing. We each have traits and habits that drive the other up the wall, and preferences and friends that the other will never share, but all in all, we�re good friends who love one another and enjoy life together. However, one of those things that we don�t share is a love of people. He loves crowds and going out, meeting new people and finding out what makes them tick. I�d rather stay home with a book and a cat. A little of that comes from the fear of the unknown, and the overly sensitive streak in me.
The best party I�ve ever had was our wedding; everyone was there to celebrate us, and I enjoyed myself thoroughly with no embarrassment whatsoever. Everyone else enjoyed themselves too; we received several reports that ours was the best wedding many people had attended. At the other end of the spectrum, however, two or three years ago I organised a pub night for my birthday and only three people showed up; I felt resentful and stupid at the same time. I�m so shy that I didn�t tell people it was for my birthday, and no one remembered. I hate being put on the spot so much that I didn�t want to make people feel like they had to go because it was my birthday celebration, and as a result I had a horrible night. I�m fairly certain that when people found out they felt awful too. I just can�t seem to hit that comfortable point between saying �Yay me!� and being self-effacing. It�s why I can�t stand taking off my make-up after a show and going out to meet friends and family who have been there and receive their praise and hugs and kisses, and why I flee the stage as soon as the curtain closes so I don�t have to receive those two-cheek kisses and congratulations from fellow cast members either. I can�t wrap my brain around it, and neither can other people. Including my husband. He just makes sure he has my coat ready and gets me out of there, which I appreciate more than he�ll ever know.
It�s something that�s bothering me more and more, and I�m really wrestling with it (as I�m sure you can tell). Maybe it�s the beginning of my mid-life crisis, along with trying to figure out what to do career-wise with the rest of my life�