Ceremonial feelings

The whole world was gearing up. It was, after all, their Royal wedding. Excitement bubbled on every surface of the streets, for murmurs of rumours had spread like wildfire already. Babbling crowds lingered, in vegetable markets and liquor stores, wondering, guessing the colour of the dresses, the types of flowers, the length of the veil, and—the designer who made all possible.

The family’s feverish mirth was only too obvious, and even the bride was getting along fine.

But he struggled.

Millions of eyes would observe him throughout the ceremony. The pastor had never been more nervous in his life.

All in good time

When I heard the daily prompt, awkward, a few days ago, the first thing that popped into my head is that awkwardness is inexperience. And the more I dwelt on it, the more I related to it.

I relived my first few weeks at work. I was young, teetering at the last teen age. I knew big things awaited me, but I feared deep of unknown promises of the future. I wasn’t sure I was ready to take whatever the world would giveth. I met a lot of people—and having grown up in a modest town with limited exposure to the outside world, accepting a job in Chennai, a metropolitan city of 4 million, was a little more than overwhelming. I withdrew within myself, using my inherent introversion to stay away from conversations or introductions.

Soon I’d created a reputation for myself as the one who’d cling to the seat, unspeaking, involuntary to contribute opinions. I never spoke in meetings, sulking instead, in a corner, with my arms crossed, listening to the seniors as well as the more extroverted juniors speak their mind. Later, alone in my room, I’d reason I didn’t have an opinion to share.

Today, five years later, there’s drastic difference in me. Not only am I more outspoken of my opinions and observations, but I’m also more confident in meeting people. I’m comfortable interacting with my team members, listening to their arguments, refuting when necessary, and putting forth my arguments in sequence. (Although I still need practice on come back statements and spontaneous debates,) I see the huge progress I’ve made over the years. And when I greet a new comer in the team, my feet no longer feel too large and my tongue doesn’t twist inside my mouth. Instead of shuffling my feet in discomfort, I feel empowered. My handshakes are stronger and my face relaxes into a easy-going smile. I’ve felt myself changing from the scared person I used to be.

And this made me wonder: Have I become an extrovert all of a sudden?

I haven’t. I’m still the same introvert who needs downtime, who prefers solitude over company, who’s happy dining alone.

In fact, I realised, we often misunderstand awkwardness as introversion. An inexperienced person may feel awkward in many situations, but that doesn’t make them an introvert. Funny how we name personality traits even before we know better.

Job requirements

“How can I help you?”

“Hi… Geoff. I’ll be your colleague from today.”

Silence. How can a handicapped man be a sales person at a multi-facility enterprise, Geoff wondered. His job involved running around all the time, and climbing up and down thousands of stairwells a day. This new person wouldn’t stand a chance, more so since he couldn’t even stand. He was skeptical of this man who leaned on a tattered stick, sporting a determined expression.

That was five years ago.

“How can I help you?”

It was Rick, the infamous handicapped salesman.

Awkwardness is a lack of experience.

We are who’s around us

Look around. There’s immense strength and courage everywhere. A tiny stem that bears flowering petals, a fragile cocoon that encases a butterfly, a slender deer that bounds about the forest, navigating barks and branches in search of kith and kin… determination is ubiquitous.

Humans are the same. Although ego and hatred thrive amidst our society, there’s also love, kindness, and incredible willingness to help each other out. I was at my ancestral village a few days ago. My parents were moving there from the city and I was visiting to help shift. The entire village showed up to help us set up our house, organise our things, and to show us around. They shared more than their meals with us—they narrated stories of years gone by, explained ways of their current lifestyle, dropped a few tips to survive a boring summer afternoon, and even showed us their favourite walking routes.

In return, all they expected from us was a genuine smile and amiable companionship. They wanted nothing more than good neighbours. Their sincerity, as electricity, surged through me. I felt intense affection towards the villagers, and I knew then that I’d behave the same towards them. 

That’s when I realised that their kindness in helping strangers and resilience during trying times carried over to me, strengthening me and motivating me from within.

And like the crack of morn, it dawned on me: I draw motivation and courage from those who surround me. My choice of company can keep me going or allow me to give up hope and mope. It’s my choice.

Like a mutual relationship, we all exchange goodness with each other. One creature’s success motivates another, and one creature’s ability to face challenges carries over to another. We all hold such great power over each other. 

In a way, our entire world is an interconnected web of shared fortitude.