Ask the Boss

(Photo Credit: Google Image)

I’m afraid of heights. I’m afraid of water. I’m afraid of my phone, my doorbell, and everyone outside of my door. 

Door

At ten o’clock one Sunday morning I heard knockings on my door. I heard five clear, distinctive knocks, and I imagined the person outside the door: Male? Female? Young? Old? Neighbor? Salesman? I wondered what that person wanted. Then I waited. 

I didn’t know exactly whom or what I was waiting for. My family was getting ready for church meetings––taking a shower and getting dressed. I was cooking breakfast in the kitchen. I hated that it was only logical I be the one who answered the door.  

So I kept waiting. 

Instead of knocking, the person at the door was now ringing the doorbell. The kind of doorbell ringing that was akin to a raging driver’s honking––long, loud, and there was possibly some cursing under the breath. 

Still, I waited. 

I turned off the burner and waited. 

It was quiet in the house, as if my husband and my sons had all fallen asleep in the shower. I started to get antsy––angry, even––for their nonresponse. I wanted someone else but me to answer the door and then tell me who it was and what he wanted. But more than that, I wanted the person at the door to think there was no one in my house so he’d leave.

I felt perfectly justified standing in front of the door, listening to the knocks and doorbell ring all morning without answering the door. I didn’t feel I had a reason to interact with anyone. 

Phone

Same thing with my buzzing, vibrating phone. I look at the caller’s name on the screen and walk away without answering. This I do, because the caller isn’t my husband or one of my children or my children’s school secretary. I don’t need to talk to anyone else. If it's important, the caller will leave a message and that's my preferred alternative of a phone conversation. 

Activity

There were signup sheets going around in church last Sunday, calling people to join the neighborhood book club, the midweek potluck at somebody's beautiful backyard, the exercise group and the morning walking team. I saw handwritten names and phone numbers and email addresses on the signup sheets and imagined the kind of fun those people were going to have without me. 

I don’t hate people. And I’m not a narcissist. But I need to be home alone, not interacting with anyone. That’s what my brain tells me to do. That’s how my brain decides I'll be happy and content. It’s not always like this, but most of the time it is. I know I feel and act differently than most. I realize my head can be a bad neighborhood and I have to get out of it sometimes. Some research shows that I’m an introvert. Some say I suffer from social anxiety. I honestly don’t care which correct label should be taped to my forehead, because the more important thing to worry about is my daily life functioning:

Should I answer the door? The phone? 

Should I join the neighborhood book club? Exercise group?

I don't know. My brain is the boss. Let me ask the boss. 

So the doorbell and the phone continue to ring. Everyone continues to have fun without me. I continue to hang out with my boss, at home, in the bad neighborhood that's my head. 

And that's just fine.

Allison

Blog: Allison Hong Merrill
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