I am not a special flower in saying that most people I run into don’t understand me: I think pretty much everyone can say that. It’s why finding someone who ‘gets me’ is so powerful. We run around in the world making pleasant chit chat about chit chatty things and it is ‘nice’ and nobody really connects with anybody, and so it goes.
Sometimes we even convince ourselves that ‘nice’ is enough for a potential relationship, for deeper involvement, because this person has a lot of ‘really good qualities’, and we feel like we *should* like them more. We will ourselves to like them more, to give it a go, to try, and we may even curse ourselves for not ‘feeling it’, but we know, really, that as a relationship strategy, that approach sucks.
I don’t blame people a whit for not understanding me. I tend to throw my arms around wildly, dervish-style, and this causes snippets of my brain to spill out onto the floor randomly and without reason. I look for people who think it is pretty, will pick it up, and hold it up to the light in wonder. They put a little piece of their brain on top, right where it fits, garnish and flavour, and hand it back to me in thrilled understanding and say ‘Thank you, please may I have some more’.
The usual response to my throwing wild thoughts into the world, though, is “Eh? ROFL” at which point I am forced to terminate the exchange for obvious lack of conversational compatibility on both sides. There is no fault in it, I am difficult and strange and demanding.
When I get a hint that someone ‘gets me’, it lights me up. You know what I mean… you do, I know it. I feel synapses firing… they pop and sizzle and wake up with anticipatory salivation, it makes me giddy.
I call it ‘zing zing’, it is the stuff of goodness and possibility. On my own, I can only produce a sad little zing, and I need the other person to add a zing, and when they can, and want to, and do, it makes me happy.
Zing zing, baby.