...looking for a new word for shy.

I don't feel like I have a lot of memories from my childhood. At least ones that form some kind of narrative. I tend to remember instances of no more than a few brief moments. Often these memories are reinforced through repetition, and one of the strongest of these originates with my Mom. I don't remember any one specific instance of this but I do feel like some variation of it happened regularly.

I'm looking at the ground and hiding quietly behind her legs, in the folds of her floor-length skirt, and she's explaining my behavior to whomever it is I'm hiding from.

"He's shy."

And I was. She was right. I can't know for certain when I started being shy. Maybe it's always been there, but it's weird to think of my four-year-old brain doing all of the same electrochemical stuff my 29 year old brain does. To me a child's brain is just some tiny machine consisting of cartoon mice operating brightly colored, plastic clockwork. But I suppose that just like now, something in the firing of my synapses told me to hide. And I did.

Eventually after so many times of hearing the words "he's shy" from my Mom I started to understand just what that meant. I was withdrawn, intimidated by the world and the people around me. And I embraced it. "This is Matt. He is shy." Everything else falls into place behind that introduction. Every quirk of behavior explained. It occurs to me now that this may be the first aspect of my own personality I was ever aware of.

And as I grew up being shy became something to rely on. If something didn't work out the way I wanted, it was pretty easy for me to attribute it to being shy. Even if the explanation made little sense I would still find a way to rationalize it. Hiding became a powerful tool.

Then something strange happened. Without being fully aware of what was going on, during the last few years of high-school I found some confidence. It may have arrived partially on the affectionate fingertips of girls who, inexplicably to me, seemed to be noticing who I was. And through that I started to develop other new personality traits including a subtle, Matthew Luken version of defiance. Which may be how I came to cast off any idea of continuing my education. And likely how I found myself in my early twenties, out in the larger world and once again shy. And now without my Mother's skirt to shroud myself in.

It's much later than that now, and I remain shy. And I'm starting to wonder at what point a person goes from being shy to being something more like a recluse. It seems like the word 'shy' is reserved exclusively for children and marsupials. Just like the word 'bashful' is only ever used to describe dwarfs. So now my shyness is going to need a new word which is likely going to need to be painted with a darker brush.

Lately being shy feels different. More like an exile than merely hiding. I find myself at parties, invited by friends and welcomed warmly by people I've only just met. But before long I feel myself receding into the background as if all of the sudden I'm viewing this revelry from high above on a balcony or from a across a wide and empty valley. From time to time I may shout something across the divide but for the most part I only ever seem to be observing. Pretending to be a part of the fun but always certain of just how transparent my fraud is.

I'm aware of the extent to which alcohol acts as a social lubricant in these situations. And that when I'm not drinking, at least not at the rate that everyone else is, I shouldn't be surprised when I get left behind on the slide. But I can't help but feel like there is something larger going on here. Something with a less simple explanation than not enough booze. I'm sure that there is.

In the meantime I'm worried that being shy will give way to being withdrawn which is nearer still to living my life as though I've vanished entirely. And that makes me wonder if I can choose not to be shy. Or at least choose to understand my shyness in a different way. And as I think about it now, I know that being a shy child predicted much of who I am today. And just as I made being shy an integral part of my identity as a kid, I need to embrace the fact that as an adult, I am not meant for a crowd. I'll never stand out in one so I don't need to worry about failing. I need only embrace the fact that the interactions that will matter most to me will almost always happen one on one. And that craving quiet is not necessarily the same thing as being a recluse.

It's not so much that I'm shy, it's that I'm contemplative and discerning in how I meet the rest of the world. Serene.