I was a shy boy. I was a middle child and everyone around me seemed to have more to say, so why should I pipe-up and embarrass myself? I could have been the template for the phrase ‘children should be seen and not heard.’
As I got a little older, I started to get friends of my own. Looking back, they were often gregarious, out-going people. They all seemed pretty fearless. Perhaps I was a willing audience for them to demonstrate their wit and wisdom, perhaps I was trying to learn to be more like them. Amature psychology is a dangerous game, and it’s tempting rewrite history to be more agreeable, so it’s probably best not to speculate too much.
One good friend I had, I’ll call him ‘Mal G,’ lived a short bike ride away. We were always in each other’s houses and we got to know the other’s family a little. Mal had a mum, MrsG, that I found frightening. She was keen on politeness and manners and I was keen on not speaking to grown-ups. With the emotional support of Mal, I could manage to say ‘Hello MrsG’ which seemed enough to satisfy her. The ‘stay silent and smile’ strategy I had previously relied upon wasn’t working. Terrifying.
One day I was cycling to see Mal’s house and, who should be cycling in the opposite directions? MrsG!
I cannot tell you how difficult I found this situation. I descended into panic, scared that I would trip over my words. I didn’t want to make myself look foolish and I didn’t want to offend MrsG. My only hope was that she wouldn’t see me. There was no possibility of MrsG not seeing me, we were the only two moving things on a very quiet road but, to a shy nine-year-old, it was still worth a try.
As we cycled towards each other, I hugged the kerb on my side of the road and, for good measure, I looked away. Unfortunately, and unsurprisingly, she had seen me and, at the very instant I turned my head away, she bade me ‘good morning.’ It was too late to respond as I had resolutely aimed my attention to the opposite side of the road. By the time I’d have turned my head back and formulated a response it would have been too late, we’d be too far apart and I’d have ended up shouting some nonsense over my shoulder as the distance between us grew. I knew this didn’t look good. I had clearly made a mistake.
I replayed the incident in my head over and over for the next few days, trying to make it less bad each time. I realised I hadn’t handled it well, but I was young. I reassured myself that MrsG would realise that I intended no offence and, as a result, would probably never mention it to anyone, thus saving any embarrassment. This was also a mistake.
A couple of days later I was at Mal’s house, MrsG was there too. I managed to sidle in unnoticed so Mal and I could play with some Lego. MrsG soon realised I was there and confronted me. She described exactly what had happened in front of Mal. The incident which, thanks to the modifications I had made as I replayed it repeatedly in my head, suddenly seemed much worse than I’d remembered, it was like ripping the scab of a recent wound. After a pause that seemed like hours, she finished off by saying ‘that was VERY rude.’ Crestfallen, I looked at the floor and mumbled that I was sorry.
I’d like to tell you life changed from that point on, that I resolved to always be cheery and talkative in the presence of strangers and grown-ups, even if it was meaningless small talk. It took much longer before I used the lessons from the whole incident.
Years later I realised MrsG was possibly as socially awkward as I was. The thing we found difficult was that each of us was uncomfortable every time we met. We would each retreat into a safe strategy: she would stick to saying ‘hello’ and talking about the weather; I wouldn’t say anything at all. We could sense each other’s discomfort and it made each other even more uncomfortable. It’s a reaction that feeds off itself.
How can I stop this downward spiral before it even begins? It’s easy: don’t get embarrassed. That’s it. Embarrassment is contagious but, with practice, I’ve managed to become almost immune. I may trip over my words, or say something that is absolute rubbish but, provided I don’t get embarrassed about it, the person I’m talking to probably won’t either.
Having perfected this over many years I tried it again while out shopping last week. There was an older lady ahead of me in a queue that I recognised. I spoke to her. It was MrsG. I hadn’t seen her to speak to since I was a primary school. Having broken the ice, I recounted the story of how she told me off for being rude as a boy. I thanked her for it and told her how I vowed to try not to be rude from then on. I told her the whole episode helped me break away from being the shy, quiet boy I had been. She couldn’t remember the incident at all.
Why am I writing all this down in my capacity as a wedding guitarist? At a wedding, you are likely to meet a lot of people that you have never seen before, and may never see again. Don’t waste it by worrying about the right form of words to use, or talking about the weather. Talk about something ‘in the moment’, for instance: how beautiful the bride looks, how handsome the groom, or how lovely it was to have live guitar music for the wedding ceremony.
Just don’t get embarrassed about it!