ideas on human interaction (june)
What do you do in a nail salon?
the shelby effect
I caught a friend of mine fixating on a comment someone said about her being “too much.” So, of course, my mind immediately went to “well, screw that person” before I eventually retreated to my journal for deeper reflection.
We tend to assume that people who are loud are not put together. Loud can mean a lot of different things: the physical way that someone talks or acts in a room, their bold and spontaneous approach to life, and their seeming ability to frequently end up in situations with a bit of chaos.1
To this person who said Shelby is “too much,” what feelings would they experience if someone in turn said that they aren’t enough?
What if someone said that you don’t bring enough energy to social settings, that you rarely voice your opinions, that you’re perpetually aloof, that they barely know anything about you, that you always seem afraid to mess up or be perceived? The person who is “too much” likely isn’t going to say this about you. Their life is already full, chaos and missteps and all. They don’t need everyone around them to match their energy because they’re already creating enough dopamine on their own. Intimidation is a missed reaction amid the state of being free. Part of being “too much” is existing in full expression, and it’s a lively state of being.
Perhaps one should not ask why someone is too much, but why there is discomfort on the other side of authenticity.
what do you do in a nail salon?
Today, I go to the nail salon. I sit in between two other girls. One with a Kindle. Poke my head over to glean evidence of its theme. Some romantasy, I suppose. Other girl on my right lost her voice. The woman in front of me picks up my hand. Picks up something that makes a whirring noise. Confirms color. Green shade.
I have no one to speak to and nothing to do with my hands. We don’t need to make small talk. I don’t need to put on a front. She doesn’t want it either. Instead, I watch her facial expressions. I try to picture what she is thinking. Dry hands. Shattered cubicles. Nails not quaint like the others. And it’s true. This is how I entertain myself in silence. Hypothetical answers to non-existent thoughts. I get bored in Zoom meetings. Nothing else to do. Wish it wasn’t this way. Doesn’t even care. Eyes watching nothing now. Subtle eye contact every once in a while. Moves my hand. A finger. The women begin chattering again in Vietnamese. I listen, like listening to music. Becomes melodic at some point.
I go to the nail salon. And I wait for silence to feel like peace.
return of the chalance
It has come to my attention that “cringe” and “chalance” are trending again on the world wide web. And it is also of my opinion that this is a positive step towards society becoming more human.
The last time I experienced a truly chalant relationship was before the pandemic. I almost feel bad reflecting on this years later, because at the time I didn’t think much of it. Now, I must give credit where credit is due. (And I’d never know at the time that in a post-pandemic world, the actions this person demonstrated would become just about as rare as water in a desert.) It was “I am at an Ethiopian-themed dinner party and I smell like Ethiopian food, but you just asked if I wanted to grab a drink and even though it’s 10 o’clock, I am going to scale across the city on three separate modes of transportation including my bike to get that drink with you” type of chalant.2 It was “We’ve only been dating for two months, but I will absolutely subject myself to dinner at your parent’s house knowing your mom is definitely also inviting your Aunt Leslie, Uncle Chet, at least two cousins, and probably Stacy the neighbor to fully interrogate you” type of chalant.
During the first few months of that relationship, we did a lot of things like write stupid letters and send each other scattered emails during work with at least five hyperlinks to random stuff on the Internet. We gabbed about books on the phone late at night. We sweated and panted while we biked up unforgiving hills, more focused on the Earth around us than the state of our hair after wearing a helmet. We experienced each other in embarrassing states of being early on. Shrieking to Shrek music in the car. Pit stain sweats on the way home from a restaurant. Getting a full skin rash in the middle of a date.
Most people don’t make it to this glorious stage in a relationship. It won’t happen on the first date. Patience is a lost art. Expectations unmet. Finding chalance, though, isn’t about a need to feel special. (I have full confidence that the actions described above are much more a reflection of the person who’s being chalant than the receiver being some God-like figure. So if you’re the girl receiving that chalance now, God speed.) Chalant is fun. Chalant is telling. And breaking out the chalance early on cuts a knife through the discomfort and unease that is commonplace early on in relationships and paves the way for depth.
Chaos isn’t bad, for the record. Things on the other side of chaos: creativity, resilience, and gratitude.
Ethiopian leftovers in Tupperware were also brought along for the ride.