I have a special fondness for Uber drivers. There is nothing better than those short term friendships between destinations. I always leave those brief yet charged interactions with a broad smile because inevitably I have either learned something new, laughed uproariously, or – in what is a near constant theme – dispensed relationship advice. (Special shout-out to Ray who was finally reuniting with his long lost love, Johanna, after a 30+ separation – we agreed that he should bring flowers to the airport and wear his “good gray suit”…I like to think that they’re having a ‘Happily Ever After” somewhere in Brazil…).
Brad and I shared an Uber recently – made memorable not only by the wonderful gentleman that drove us downtown but the fact that I ended up on the side with the most leg room (which at my 5’ 4” compared to Brad’s 6’ 2” was completely ridiculous as he was folded in half on his side and I was sliding off the seat with nowhere to anchor myself). As we cackled our way through downtown traffic exchanging quips and sharing stories, my typical exuberance and effervescence was on full display complemented by Brad’s quieter, reserved and observant nature. After we arrived at our destination, Brad turned to me and said, “You really will talk to anyone, won’t you?” (I like to think it was delivered with a hint of amazement not bewilderment and fear for how many more people I planned on talking to for the remainder of our outing).
We have often talked about our opposite personalities and recently have started philosophizing about whether or not our personality types are inherent or if they are a result of our respective hearing losses. This has prompted our version of the age old question – “Which came first, The Personality or The Hearing Loss?”
I am trying to become more comfortable in the “gray areas of life” – part of that process is attempting to answer the posed question – a question that will never have a final answer. Brad has gamely walked in the rain without hearing aids on, stood in torrential downpours at a football game while pleading with me to put my hood up, donned an Elephant costume for our Halloween episode, and continues to put up with my endless silliness every time we try to record an episode for our YouTube video clip series.
Answering the unanswerable question is the least I can do.
On the surface, I am very gregarious, curious, talkative and loud with a broad, dimpled smile and infectious giggle. To the observer, I come across as very confident, self-assured and aware that my righteous place is at the center of the room. I have been told that I have a commanding presence and, at times, can come across as intimidating (an accusation that both concerns and thrills me in equal measure). I could never be described as shy and certainly not as an introvert, and my social battery requires minimal recharging as I feed off of the energy of activity.
Inside, I yearn to be quiet.
I crave silence, alone time, and space to stretch out and read, write, sketch, meditate, color, and daydream. It takes a lot for me to put myself out there in the world day after day, event after event – with so few periods of rest. I need solitude, more and more lately, and it is hard to know if it is attributed to my packed social calendar or hearing loss fatigue. My ability to keep up with the world is starting to wane – I feel it in my bones. My brain hurts from solving endless “fill in the blank” puzzles as I navigate through the world unable to rely on all of my senses. My eyes are tired from bouncing around lip reading and picking up context clues through nonverbal movements, facial expressions, and body positioning. I am desperate for stillness and restorative rest, but have no time to find it, at least not in the foreseeable future as a sweeping glance at the calendar shows no rest for the very, very weary.
And just like that, I can’t help but wonder…(to borrow a turn of phrase from Carrie Bradshaw)…
Am I a secret introvert?
Have I cultivated a pretend persona intended to razzle-dazzle everyone in an attempt to cover-up my hearing loss? An illusion, of sorts, to make my hearing aids disappear behind the veil while I conjure up well-orchestrated conversational skills, theatrical facial expressions, and perfectly timed, relatable and humorous anecdotes?
For the vast majority of my life, I have wanted my hearing aids and hearing loss to be the least interesting thing about me – the last thing that would be noticed, discussed, or addressed in any interaction. I have long wanted people to forget that I had a hearing loss – and, quite honestly, I’ve spent most of my life wanting to forget about it, too.
The internal conflict comes when meeting someone for the first time who is unaware that I wear two hearing aids. I typically disclose my hearing loss early on in the interaction in an effort to establish best communication practices, but if I am being completely transparent it is to “get out in front” of my disability. It is a protective measure, born of years of bullying in elementary school, putting the power back on me to control the narrative of my disability. I am sharing the pertinent information nearly immediately before the person I am interacting with can make their own discovery and draw their own conclusions about my personality, intellect and “otherness”. For years, I found myself resorting to self-deprecating humor to protect myself. I defaulted to making myself “smaller” to make others more comfortable, and to protect myself from being wounded by words or actions made by ignorant people – a habit again borne from incessant bullying in my early school experiences. I hope to someday come forward with an accounting of what I endured, but that will not be elaborated upon in this post, not today.
And here I now sit – at the age of 50 – with old scabs being picked at by writing just those few sentences, wondering if maybe my outgoing personality was a result of how others treated me because my body just happened to work differently.
And maybe, just maybe, if I hadn’t had those experiences that perhaps forced me into being upfront, outgoing, and personable…I would be a professional writer today, living in a farm house somewhere in upstate New York with a few dogs, no neighbors, a good friend or two, and my books.
I wonder if I would have been able to handle the quiet.
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