I'm Not The Only One

The nightmare neighborhood is behind me, if only in the literal sense. I left yesterday afternoon and I’ve had nothing but good experiences ever since. During summer months, I regularly go sailing on Wednesday evenings, so shortly after I arrived, I called to see if my friends were going sailing. I didn’t feel 100% ready, but I thought I’d give it a try. I’m glad I called because it was really good to hear my friend’s voice and concern, and she kept the conversation light.

I was informed that my friends wouldn’t be going sailing on this particular Wednesday, but next week it was almost certain. I was relieved – I really didn’t want to answer all the questions I would undoubtedly have to answer since I’d been away for so long. I had a lovely conversation with my friend on the phone instead. She said she was enjoying herself at her second home in Palm Desert with her family. She said the weather was nice there, and she was sporting a fine-looking tan. She sounded in high spirits, but she did comment about how I’d been away for a long time. So I mentioned that I’d been away in Europe.

She was relieved. She sounded happy for me that I was able to get away after the nightmare. We had a nice chat about my travels, and about what she and her family would be doing when they returned from the desert. The dog attack only came up once, and it was extremely brief. She didn’t ask any questions about that aspect of my life. It was a great conversation that helped me see that people don’t really want to talk about what happened. I’m not the only one.

I was running errands the other day when I bumped into a friend who wasn’t aware of what happened to Hardy and me. I had mixed emotions about talking to him. I was nervous, exhibiting that jittery kind of anxiety, about how to dodge questions and where the conversation might end up. It turned out that I didn’t need to be nervous about what to say. He was only interested in talking about himself and what he’d been up to. In fact, I don’t think he asked me any questions except, “How are you?”

I provided a one-word answer. From that point on he was not interested in anything I had to say. It was entertaining. On one hand all he wanted to do was talk about himself, but on the other hand it was refreshing because I didn’t have to talk about Hardy. I was not a participant in the conversation, except to stand there and listen to him ramble on and on. It taught me a valuable lesson: nobody really wants to hear the gory details about anyone’s life.