Category: Shyness
I don’t remember her name anymore, but she changed my life.
What was it? Mrs. Fiegleman? Mrs. Filgelman? There’s a hazy memory of the sounds, but I can’t remember the letters. I’ll just call her Mrs. F.
She was my second-grade teacher. And she changed my life by sitting me next to Kevin.
I was a quiet kid. So quiet that my school almost thought I was a mute. The first time I spoke was halfway through kindergarten. My class literally burst in cheers when they heard me.
One of my earliest memories is in my grandparent’s laundromat. They ran the business as professionally as they could, despite being recent immigrants. Every time a customer came in, my grandmother would whisk me to the back and tell me to be quiet. Thus became one of my first experiences with strangers: hush up and hide.
In contrast, Kevin was a chatterbox. He was a very friendly kid, always talking to strangers, always making new friends, and always talking to his classmates, even through quiet time. Mrs. F tried endlessly to shut him up. When that didn’t work, she decided to pair us together.
Kevin and I fast became friends. I’d go to his house to play cops & robbers and ride our bikes all over the neighborhood. Although my mom would drive me to his house, I later learned that he lived only several blocks away. So I began riding my bike to his house on my own.
Through his influence, I slowly began to open up. Kevin, in the other hand, kept on talking to his classmates (which now included me), even through quiet time.
I have many more memories of Kevin than I do Mrs. F. In fact, it wasn’t until I was moving away to college that I learned of her plan.
“Remember Mrs. F?” I asked my mom. We were reminiscing as I was packing my clothes.
“Yes. She was a very good teacher.”
“I don’t remember much about her, to be honest.”
“She made you friends with Kevin. Remember him?”
I blinked. “Kevin? How did she make us friends?”
“She sat you next to him because you were so quiet and he was so talkative. She wanted you to learn to be less quiet.”
Huh. I had no idea. It was odd to think of my friendship with Kevin as being set up. From what I remember, he started talking to me one day, and just like that, we became friends. Amazing how kids can become friends so quickly, isn’t it?
Throughout the rest of my life, I’ve had many other catalysts that encouraged me to open up. But Mrs. F gets a special honor, because she was one of the first.
. . .
Which teacher do you remember?
I admit it: I’m a car singer. I’ll bellow out songs up the 101 until my throat is soar.
And yet, put me in front of a karaoke machine, and I’ll freeze up like a popsicle. Karaoke, I don’t do. But Caraoke, sure.
Unfortunately, other drivers don’t always expect someone to be Caraoking, I guess. I say that because of the funny looks.
Like this one time (in band camp), I was waiting at a stop light and giving a live performance of Billy Joel’s “Baby Grand.” My stereo was my backup band and my dashboard was my audience. I didn’t realize that the truck driver to my right was also gawking.
When I noticed him, he gave me a disgusted smirk, as if I’d just stepped into dog poo and trailed it into his house. It made me feel dirty. I cleared my throat and pretended that the song was just a precursor to the excavation of my esophagus. (Doesn’t everyone sing “Baby Grand” before they clear their throat?)
As soon as the light turned green, I hit the gas. I watched him disappear in the rear-view. “Baby Grand” finished and I considered replaying the song. But then “New York State of Mind” came on. I smiled. Now for our next performance…
Halfway through the second chorus, I arrived at another red light. I peeked to my right and a cute girl in a Civic peered over. She had also witnessed part of my performance. Only, instead of a disgusted smirk, she gave me a delightful smile.
Thunderous applause shook in my thoughts. The crowd likes this one! I continued singing, albeit more dramatically now that my audience was engaged. Yes, I’m easily encouraged.
Suddenly, a loud horn blared from behind. The girl giggled and drove off. I looked at the green light and for a moment, couldn’t comprehend what to do. Wasn’t I just performing in a concert hall? Where did my audience go? What’s that honking noise?
Then I hit the gas. The Civic disappeared around a corner and I continued on, this time singing without abandon. Even though there were detractors, there were also fans in the audience. So I sang for them now.
. . .
Are you a car singer?
Hi, I’m Mike, and I am shy. I’m a shy guy. I was a shy kid.
I was so shy as a kid that I didn’t say a word in kindergarten. Not one word. My teacher would say to me, “You can have some candy if you can say ‘please’.” I would look back and shake my head, saying nothing.
“You will make me very happy if you just say your name.” [shake head]
Then one day, my teacher handed out permission slips for a school trip. She gave me two by mistake. When I took them home, my mom said I had to return one of them. So she drove me back to school.
I went up to my teacher and handed her one of the permission slips. My mom back then couldn’t speak much English. She can now, but back then, I had to speak for her.
So I told my teacher, “You gave me two of these.”
My teacher’s face lit up. “Oh my gosh, you spoke to me!” She proceeded to tell my mom how I would never speak in class. My mom, not understanding a word, just stood there and nodded.
“Every day, I ask Michael to say Good Morning to me, but he never does. I offer him candy, and still he doesn’t say a word. I can’t believe he spoke to me today! I’m so happy!”
[nod head]
The next day, my teacher announced to the class that I spoke to her. In disbelief, they gathered around me. I don’t remember what it was I said that day, but I know I said something. I think it was, “Hi.”
Whatever it was, the class erupted in cheers. They all started shouting and cheering. Suddenly, they picked me up on their shoulders and carried me around the classroom.
I remember being so terrified up there. All I could think of was, “Oh no, they’re going to drop me, they’re going to drop me!”
After that, I began to speak. I didn’t say much, but at least I spoke.
That was my first step out of Shyness Shell. Since then, I’ve taken four more major steps.
The second was my first job.
At the age of fourteen, I was the youngest new cashier of Roy Rogers.
Does anyone here not know what Roy Rogers is? [look for show of hands] It’s a fast food chain that specializes in roast beef sandwiches and fried chicken.
Ooo, let me take an aside and tell you a quick story. I once saw a cockroach crawling along the wall in the kitchen. When it reached the ceiling, it fell. Right into the oil used to fry the chicken. The cooks laughed and stirred it up, then served up the chicken. (Hey, extra protein.)
But I digress. Being a cashier there forced me to speak to strangers, sometimes even to make small talk. I developed some regulars who always came to my line. I always knew what they wanted and made chit chat with them while they waited.
This whole experience was a great stepping stone. It helped to further break down my Shyness Shell.
The next step was at college.
I joined a community service club and became close to the officers during my sophomore year. By junior year, I became the public relations officer, where it was my job to promote the club and attract new members.
I was studying marketing and graphic communications at the time, so I used all of those skills to create a mini marketing campaign. As part of that, I tried to reinforce a friendly image by reaching out to each member and making him or her feel comfortable.
Because I was so shy, I could identify with our more quiet members. I knew how it felt to stand in the corner and be afraid to say anything. So during meetings, I would always go up to them and say “Hi.”
After a while, I began to introduce them to each other. I watched friendships form and saw a huge leap in dedicated and happy members.
In my senior year, I became the president. Part of my job now was forming relationships with other club presidents, especially in putting together a huge effort called Hunger Clean-Up.
Hunger Clean-Up is a week-long event that took the coordination of all the community service clubs at our college. Its purpose was to help the homeless of New York City, and it took the form of soup kitchens, fund raisers, and other awareness campaigns, culminating in a large street carnival.
Let me tell you about one of our activities. One day, a few of us bought a bunch of bread, peanut butter, and jelly. From that, we made about fifty sandwiches. Then we walked around the neighborhood and gave them to the homeless.
Most took them eagerly, some thanked us profusely, but a few, interestingly enough, were rather aggressive. They violently refused our food, telling us that they don’t take hand outs.
Then there were a few who said, “I’m not that hungry today, but my pal on 15th Street is really hungry. He hasn’t eaten in days. Could you please bring him a sandwich? And give him mine too?” That became one of my most memorable experiences.
Hunger Clean-Up, leading a club; this was a lot to do for a shy guy. But I did it. This experience gave me a large boost in the self-confidence needed to break even further out of my Shyness Shell.
The fourth step was being a consultant.
It is said that to be a successful consultant, you don’t have to know more than the next guy; you just have to speak like you know more than the next guy.
Now, I’m not saying I did that, goodness no. I’m saying that if you cannot speak properly and with confidence in front of a client, you won’t be a good consultant.
In all honesty, I had some stumbles here. Being a consultant was nothing like leading a club in college.
So to be a better consultant, I read a book on etiquette as well as just about every business publication and magazine I could get my hands on. I developed a set of “small talk topics” ranging from daily news to interesting facts to amusing stories.
I also picked up better communication skills. I learned to read my clients, to understand their needs and feelings just from their body language. I’m not saying I’m an expert at this; far from it. But I was beginning to develop these skills.
We had this one client who I could tell didn’t like all of the meetings for which we asked. Before and after every meeting, I’d joke around with him. Soon, some of our private jokes made it into the meetings, unbeknownst to our project manager.
So one day, after a really long night, I accidentally fell asleep in a meeting. Conked right out.
Now normally, doing this typically isn’t a good thing in front of a client. But because of the relationship I had with him, he laughed his ass off. That incident was even added to our series of jokes. I couldn’t have gotten away with that had I not established a connection with him.
All of this led to a further breakdown of my Shyness Shell.
And now, I’m on my fifth step. Toastmasters.
I’m a shy guy. I realize that. But I’m taking steps, with alacrity, to change that. Thank you.
. . .
This was a speech I gave for Toastmasters on Tuesday, Feb. 24, 2004. It was my first speech and the theme was “An ice breaking introduction of yourself.” I created it on my commute to and from work and practiced it out loud in my car.
My speech didn’t follow these words exactly; I had a small notepad with scribbled notes to help me with the main points while I ad libbed the rest.
I had five “um’s” and a few assorted filler words (“so’s”, “and’s”, etc). The Grammarian didn’t catch any mistakes. My speech went for 7 minutes and 40 seconds, which was way over the 5 minute time limit. I was so nervous and focused on my speech that I never noticed the Time Counter holding up the red flag. Oops.
. . .
Are you, or have you ever been, shy?
Ironically, on the drive there I was bellowing like a madman to a bunch of recently-downloaded mp3s. My throat was even a bit sore ‘cuz I was singing so loud.
But once in that tiny, claustrophobic cell they call a karaoke room, my throat closed in on itself. It slammed shut like a wall of rock coming down on Indiana Jones, right before he reaches back to grab his hat.
Everyone else was in good spirits and roaring to sing. My spirit was whimpering behind a toilet somewhere, probably puking its guts out in a puddle of piss.
There should have been enough alcohol in my bloodstream to numb the fear, or at least moisten my desert-dry mouth. But darn it, my liquid courage had evaporated.
They plugged in the first few songs, then handed me the songbook. I paged through it with shaky hands. My eyes were glazed over like a frosted donut; I couldn’t recognize any of the song titles, much less read them.
The first song came on. One of the guys gave a heartfelt rendition that could have earned him only one or two harsh words on American Idol.
Next up was a boy/girl duet, also done with impressive ease. These people were karaoke pros. My voice was going to sound like puberty, I just knew it.
I was able to hid in the back for a few more songs. But then one of them realized that I hadn’t sang yet, dammit. Since I didn’t choose any songs, I told them that I didn’t know the next song.
Which was the honest truth. At this point, if “Happy Birthday to You” came on, I wouldn’t have recognized it. Such is the expunging power of stage freight.
The first few times I refused center stage, they laughed and said, “Fine, next song is yours.” But after a dozen or so refusals, their smiles become frowns. Then they finally left me alone.
I retreated to the bathroom, hoping to find my spirit in there. But it seemed my spirit ran off somewhere even further. Outer Mongolia maybe? I don’t know; all I knew was I wasn’t going to find it tonight.
The agonizing night finally ended. I couldn’t look any of them in the eyes, save for a quick glimpse here and there to make sure I wasn’t going to walk into them as we exited the studio.
And then, back in the comfort of my own car, I sang again. This time, with maddening volume and tears out of my eyes, to make up for the humiliating night.
. . .
Do you like karaoke?
“Do you like her?”
“Yea,” I nodded. “Yea, I think I do.”
“That’s great! But what about the long distance thing?”
“Sigh… I don’t know. I guess the situation may not be in my favor this time.”
“Hey, that’s like your Right Situation Theory, right?”
“Yup, exactly, sad to say.”
. . .
With another swig of Vicks (been feeling a might bit sick lately here under the foggy, chilly, rainy skies of London), I think my mind is now properly encumbered to come up with another set of theories. You may recognize one of them from an earlier ramble.
The Social Energy Theory
There is a limited (yet recoupable) supply of energy in us that allows us to interact socially. Some people have a lot more than others. Some can get more energy from strangers. Others need to relax alone to recharge their batteries.
You can train yourself to increase the amount of Social Energy you can store, as well as stretch the supply when you really need it.
How? Through practice, through watching people who seem naturally extroverted, through asking people, and even through self-help books.
Comfortable friends can recharge your supply quickly. People you dislike, and sometimes even new strangers, can sap your energy like a sponge.
The Passive Guys Finish Last Theory
Everyone says “Nice guys finish last.”
Well, I no longer believe that. Being a “nice” guy doesn’t mean you lose the race. More often than not, you win big in the end.
A more accurate way to phrase that statement is to say:
“Passive guys finish last.”
It’s the guy who is more apt to sit and watch life pass him by that can end up in last place.
You can be a nice guy and be assertive. These two traits aren’t opposites; they can compliment each other quite nicely.
Let’s take dating as an example. You see a young lady that you like. You’re a nice guy and open doors for her, listen to her, and remember her favorite songs.
But if you don’t ask her out, then someone else will. Or she might put you in the Guy Friend category and look elsewhere for Dating Contenders.
On the other hand, you can continue to be a nice guy AND ask her out. A little forwardness isn’t a negative trait; in fact, most women out there want a guy who is somewhat aggressive—which translates into someone who can be a good protector and provider.
So go forthwith and be assertive, you nice guy you.
This theory isn’t gender-specific, of course. It applies to the young ladies in the crowd too.
The Right Situation Theory
We all dream of meeting the Right One. And when we do, we hope that the chemistry is right between us.
Do we click? Can we talk? Can we spend time together? Do our hearts flutter whenever we’re standing next to our Right One?
The Right Chemistry is definitely required for a relationship. Unfortunately—and I don’t mean to make things harder—but it’s only one part of the equation.
You’ll also need the Right Situation.
As indicated in my Ice Cream Theory, there are many Right Ones for you. They are all right for you in different ways.
This means that you may encounter several of these Right Ones in your life. The Right Chemistry will be there and you’ll click instantaneously.
Unfortunately, if the Right Situation isn’t there, things won’t work out. Maybe the other person lives far away. Maybe the other person already has a significant other. Maybe you already have a significant other.
Depressing? Maybe, but it shouldn’t be. This is simply the saying, “Being at the right place at the right time”, repackaged with Love at the heart of it.
. . .
Do you have any theories?
I fooled them all.
They all think I’m some kind of socialite. A guy who’s always smiling, always talkative, always outgoing. They accuse me of being a “blabbermouth” or a “ham,” whatever that is.
Ha. I’m so good, it scares me.
Did you know that I didn’t say one word for most of kindergarten? Not one word.
No, of course you didn’t know that. But now you do since I just told you. Because that’s just the kind of guy I am now; I just blab out stuff.
Mrs. Saltys used to offer me lollipops if I’d say “Hello” to her. Instead, I’d frown and shake my head in total silence.
Then one day, she accidentally gave me two permission slips. I was convinced that this was an utter act of atrocity punishable by only the most severe of chastisements.
My Mom drove me back to school and I said, “Here” or something to Mrs. Saltys as I handed her the extra permission slip.
She was overjoyed. The way her face lit up was incredible. (I half-excepted a lollipop, but she didn’t give me one)
The next day she told the entire class about my first word. I think I said, “Hi” to the class.
They erupted in cheers. Then they picked me up (I distinctly remember this because I was scared out of my little Chinese American head) and paraded me through the classroom on their shoulders.
I’m glad I didn’t pee on them, I was so scared.
Since then, I’ve spoken out more.
I’ve always been big on self-improvement. Deep down inside, I’ve always been a shy guy working hard towards changing that.
People used to think I’d never say a word. Now people say I can’t shut up. The complete 180-degree change still amazes me to this day.
I’m not always good about that though. There are times when I still shut up and get real quiet. There are times when I just can’t find the right thing to say, so I don’t say anything at all.
Why? It’s because of my Social Energy (SE).
Sometimes, my SE can be high. It can even be replenished when I’m around the right crowd. I’ve noticed that certain people seem to add to my SE, keeping me going all night long.
Other times, my SE drops like a rock. Some situations just sap my SE and all I want to do is to go home and sleep.
There will be times when I’ll be in a bar with some new people and be talkative for the first part of the evening. Then, suddenly, I’ll clam up like an oyster.
But with good friends, they probably wish I’d clam up like an oyster.
Some close friends once invited me to a karaoke bar. Since they’ve only seen my chatty, outgoing side, they figured I’d love to sing in front of strangers as well.
I met a few new people but my SE was low that night for some reason.
So I sat there, dreading the moment when they’d hand me the microphone. I tried to do everything I could think of to decline the offer.
When they didn’t take No for an answer, I even downed a whole bottle of sake.
Its warm burn didn’t help my singing at all, nor did the alcohol when it hit me after I finished singing (singing… more like butchering) the damn song.
Being a consultant, it’s important that I maintain a lot of SE to be able to talk to clients. So much so that I’ve constructed a list of topics to talk about with strangers.
It’s a very damn useful list too, I might add. You ought to make one up too. I don’t mean using lines like, “Great weather we’re having, huh?” or “How about them Giants?” You have to be more original and creative than that.
I try my best to train my SE to maintain a consistent level. That’s the key to keeping an outgoing appearance. Coming from such an introverted background, it’s not as easy for me as it is for naturally extroverted folks.
But hey, at least I’m trying.
. . .
How’s your Social Engery’s levels right now?
I didn’t realize it was a date until later that evening.
I had no reason to think it was a date. It was originally going to be her, her sister, and myself going to that comedy show.
A date doesn’t have three people. So why would I ever consider it one?
Then her sister couldn’t make it at the last moment, leaving just me and her.
We arrived at the Comedy Cellar early. “Do you wanna get some coffee in the Olive Tree Cafe while we wait?” I asked.
“Sure!”
It was getting close to winter. A little warm coffee would be good for both of us, I figured.
We got a nice table with a candle. As I gazed at her through the warm glow, I realized this was the first time I had ever done anything with just her alone. I had always hung around her and her sister’s friends.
She’s an attractive and adorable young lady. And, I thought to myself as I sat there, she sure knows it too.
Much of our conversation centered on how different guys had liked her in the past. I had no reason to be jealous or to find such conversation askew since I only considered her a friend, so I curiously asked her about these guys.
I was much more shy and naive back then. The thought of asking her out never crossed my mind because her long list of suitors intimidated me; I never thought I’d have a chance.
So I listened intently as a friend would. And she went on and on about how many guys have liked her.
We shared a Tiramisu and an Irish Coffee. The fact that we were eating off of the same plate and drinking out of the same cup still didn’t tip me off.
After dessert, we went to the comedy club and were given a seat near the stage.
“Uh oh, they’re going to pick on us,” she whispered.
“Oh yea! Heh. This is gonna be fun.”
Four comics came on. All were horrible. The third one was the only one to pick on us.
At one point, she got up to go to the bathroom. The comic made a crack about her leaving then picked on me about how my “girlfriend” was leaving me.
I faked a laugh. His jokes were lame. She returned after he left the stage and was spared the rest of his set.
“What did he say about me? Did he make fun of me?” she asked.
“Yea. He made some lame jokes about you running off with another woman in the bathroom.”
“Huh? That’s not funny.”
“Yea. I know. You wanna leave?”
“Yes!”
We got up. I picked up her coat and held it out for her. She smiled at me. Then we left.
As we crossed Washington Square Park, she took my hand and held it.
It was then, finally, that the thought dawned on me.
“Is this a date?”
I didn’t actually say that. I wanted to. I was sure as hell thinking it. But I didn’t say it.
Our hands didn’t separate until we got back to our dorm.
. . .
How was your first date?
