For as long as I can remember, or maybe just since high school, I’ve been the kind of person who is just constantly surrounded by awkward. I have awkward encounters, behave awkwardly and generally let things go on way too long, because I enjoy awkwardness.
That’s right, I enjoy it. I’ve always gotten a weird thrill from prolonging the awkwardness and rejoicing in telling people about it later. Anything for a good story has long been my motto. And that’s just it. I do it for the stories. I love true stories and weird people and funny events and tying them all together. I love serious people and heartbreaking events and finding meaning in them.
And that’s why I write. Finding truth and nuance is great. The quirks in the human condition; the chinks in our carefully constructed personas–these are what compel me to endure such constant awkwardness. It’s all for the stories about you and about me and everyone I meet and hear about. The awkward makes for excellent material.
Coming next time: My top 5 awkward things I should have (or maybe will someday) written about.