For me, I find I tend to think of myself as being alone, or more accurately, I forget that I am a part of other people’s lives. I exhibit genuine surprise when people acknowledge my presence, much like Jack Frost from Rise of the Guardians does when he is seen for the first time. I forget that while I like to observe, I too may be observed. It is as though in my mind, I am an invisible entity, and it is astonishing how often, even in places like ordering coffee and such, I am surprised when I’m asked what I would like. This happens quite often, and I suppose it’s why I do not really exhibit fear about public appearances, on stages and such, because in my own mind I’m invisible, like a ghost. It is of course not true that I am invisible, I assure you I am indeed quite visible to people, all of them. What I am trying to say is that I have always been a bit of a day-dreamer, but sometimes, I wonder, if I exist in my own little world just a little bit too much. I’m not sure whether it is due to retreating away from, or from just not placing myself forwards, but I tend to remain lost in thought, drifting about.
Sometimes I think I’ll never change. I remember in my youth, zoning out while playing soccer (football for most places outside the US.) and all of a sudden I hear “Earth to Shane!” coming from the coach, who thankfully was rather amused about it. But, yes, that is pretty much the story of my life. A bit absent minded I suppose. I say I’ll never change, and perhaps I should never change. It is okay to be absent minded, or lost in thought, it’s not like there is something wrong with me because I have the tendency to be that way.
Yet, I feel discontented with myself at times about it. Where does this tendency to conform come from? And I shouldn’t even say conform to other people, but rather our perceptions of other people, sometimes it can be tempting to think of those who blurt out everything that’s on the tip of their mind without stopping to breath as just a part of the ignorant masses. No, they just have a very different style of thinking things through, rather than discussing several ridiculous notions in the privacy of their own brain, they announce it all to everyone in the vicinity, brilliant and ridiculous notions alike, which does tend to create the perception that they are not thinking things through, but they are, they’re just doing it all aloud. There is nothing wrong with that. Yet, I cannot help but wonder if it is possible for the perceptions both of this type and the silent type of thinker to not be skewed by the thinker’s own thinking style. I tend to be the kind to think about it in my head unless I’m very comfortable around you. Unfortunately, it was mostly the cat who would be on the receiving end of those discussions.
I suppose I am what they call an introvert, though I personally do not really like the term all that much, I suppose it is a superior label to shy, or bashful, and definitely better than terms such as anti-social and the like, I still do not really like the term introvert/extravert, etc. For one thing, I dislike confining myself into categories as it is without inventing more labels for myself than I absolutely need to. Also I have a mix of traits common to both introverts and extraverts, and can not neatly fit into either one or the other. This is fine, there is nothing wrong with me because I am an inextratervert. (I think I just made up that term myself, one of the things I do like about English is how easy it is to make up new words as you go along.)
One of the things about my personality is that I am rather fond of the more, I don’t know, I guess you could call it morbid, or gloomy sort of things, almost like a dark whimsicalness. I’ve kind of always been that way, but at the same time, I rather dislike cruelty and violence. My writings are filled with rather gloomy descriptions of terrifying places. Creepy places, things of that nature, yet there is to me anyways, a sort of dark beauty to them. Yet, when I write battle scenes for example, I hardly go into description at all in regard to the violence of it, though I might have spent a great deal of time describing the environment.
In my writings there is for example: Máiréad’s Labyrinth, a terrifying place, to be sure, yet I keep coming back to it several times throughout my stories. There is also Ian’s Garden, a garden centered around deathly imagery, and is more of a tomb than a garden.
As for myself, I am exceedingly fond of black, something I have been teased about, but I do not mind. I like making people laugh, or at least amuse them, even if it is a ‘I’m mildly annoyed that you wear nothing but black all the time, wear some color for goodness sake! Would it kill you to wear a little color from time to time?’ sense. I’ve gotten better, but I haven’t started wearing bright pink shirts or anything like that yet.
It is interesting how one’s personality and perspective of things can change how the world looks to them.