social graces

How was your break?

“Shut up,” I reply. Well, not actually, I say it in my head

I’ve been back in St. Andrews for a week now and every time I get asked that question I cant stand it; this is me maturing.

It is like the scripted conversation you have when you first meet someone. Hi. What’s your name? Where are you from? Where do you go to school? What do you study? Do you know ________? By the time you get to the second question you have already forgotten the persons name and make some stupid excuse like “Oh I am so bad with names” Insert an awkward laugh. The next time you see that same person, who might know the kid you sat next to in 7th grade, haven’t spoken to in 10 years but heard goes to the same school, you introduce a friend, whose name you do know, with the hopes that they learn the unnamed acquaintance’s name.

Growing up I was taught to be open-minded, not to ‘judge a book by its cover’ and accept all people. However, in my young adulthood I’m finding that some books aren’t worth reading. You need to decide that just by looking at their covers. Some people just suck, are not fun or interesting, and there is no problem in brushing them off – I am going to forget your name anyway. For the sake of the really good people out there, the ones worth reading, you must be discerning with the ways you spend your time and with whom you spend it.

That’s why Hong Kong kicked ass. One girl asked Alex if he was gay because he chose to hang out with Jon and me instead of her, two guys with comparatively not- pert bosoms. He laughed and we went drinking. His actions are telling of a certain level of maturity. How you spend your time, whom you invest in and develop friendships with is so important. If you think someone sucks, don’t spend time with them. There is nothing wrong with that. It is a good thing.

Alex, Jon, and I explored the city, went out, played basketball, and just chilled doing what we wanted when we wanted, making fun of each other as we went, telling stories from both freshman years. When playing basketball is was obvious we know each other better than we sometimes know ourselves. Alex knew I was going to use my left hand before I had dribbled and Jon knew I was going to spin before Alex checked it. Jon was red after two beers; Alex and I were still thirsty. Walking down the crowded street shoulder to shoulder loud and obnoxious, talkative but perceptive, there were no fake conversations. It was time well spent with two of the guys who consider my parents their friends, will be my mates for the rest of my life, probably buy my underage kids beer, and tell stories at my wedding. There were other guys on their programs, and yes of course there were women (although they weren’t entirely sure what to make of me, a gangly 6’3” bearded white guy with a beast of hair on his head) but so what… the truth is, those people just don’t matter that much to me.

Of course there is this idea of social grace, being a nice person, a sociable character, and there is nothing wrong with that. But, when knowing other people or seeking to be cool somehow validates who you are, you need to consider your motivations. St. Andrews is a university predicated on social networks, authenticating people by what societies they are in, who they know, what golf score they shoot, how much money their parents make and what animal they have emblazoned on their polo shirts. Never have I been in a place where there is larger concern with outward appearance and the class you convey. Worst of all, most people are unsure if they think it is okay or not, entirely unclear as whether being a blue blooded aristocrat is for them enviable or worth flaunting, so they spinelessly play to their audience, content to cognac with the old boys one day and deride them behind their back another. Consistency is rare, boiling down to an insecure sense of self. Somehow, if I can know a lot of people, not even know there names, but have many friends I wave to in the street, I am more complete.

To these people I think, “Shut up.” You don’t care how my break was and knowing people doesn’t validate me. I don’t mind the fact that I find the books on my shelf more exciting than the people here. And while that is not entirely fair because of course I haven’t met everyone. I know I have good friends and am just as content not have superficial heartless conversations.

Each person needs to figure out how they want to read other people, what are they going to look for, who is worth you time, who is going to make you laugh, challenge you, force you to grow, be at your wedding? It is vital to make good friends and keep those friends around you. For different people, there is different criterion. I have mine and I don’t feel bad about it. I am still a nice person, but I am a nice person who knows how he wants to spend his time. Being opinionated is not bad. Call me anti-social, a hermit, abrasive, standoffish or get more colourful with your adjectives. It doesn’t bother me.

This is me maturing.