I have absolutely no idea. My dad bought me a piano at age 4 and I’ve never looked at it, just played it for a long time. My mom always tells me it’s boring.
In the summer of 2014, there was a new wave of new students coming to college. It was a wave of the creative class, but also a wave of the introverted class. All students at the Berklee creative writing school could be said to be introverts. Everyone is a bit different but the students in the introversion/creative class were the most likely to think their best work would be on a computer, and the most likely to not like to talk to people. The college students in the creative writing college were more likely to consider themselves as extroverts, so many of them were not comfortable to be too close with peers (e.g., “you know I’m very shy but let’s say we’re good friends”) or could not be friends with people who couldn’t be their friends (e.g., “I’m really good friends with my friend who’s an artist and he’s always been really nice to me”).
For a long while, I thought this meant that I would have to work my way into an introverted position if I wanted to write, and so I would not be good at it. But what I didn’t realize when I was writing was that I could be just fine at my own pace. The college students in the creative writing school were probably more introverted than I. When they could talk to me, and they had friends, it made sense to speak to them and we would probably interact more at first, maybe a friend of theirs would come over sometimes and I’d try something with him or her or something. I would talk at length to them about a specific subject, discuss a lot, but be very patient if I didn’t get to the right conclusion and we would talk about it again.
But in the summer of 2015, I got a bit anxious when I went to a class where I was the only introvert, and most everyone else in the class was extroverts. And my anxiety got really bad. It was like a fog. It was that good to be around people more comfortable with talking about certain topics with me, and I would often talk long conversations about certain things I was obsessed with, not thinking about the fact that I was the only person who saw things through the lens of me. My anxiety got out of hand. I felt
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