A while back, I encountered a woman named Lisa while waiting for the restroom at a café. I complimented her shoes, and soon enough, our conversation turned to mine—because, let’s face it, it’s hard for me to discuss anything for long without redirecting it back to myself. She responded with laughter and warmth, and I thought maybe we’d struck up a friendship.
As the weeks went by, I occasionally spotted Lisa around town. Sometimes she greeted me; other times, she didn’t—at least that’s how I interpreted it. This led me to question whether she was indeed the same person I’d spoken to, despite living in a small town with only about 200 residents. Eventually, I convinced myself that I had never met her at all, leading me to ignore her and abandon any hope of connection. In my mind, she had morphed into someone unfriendly who didn’t care for me.
Isn’t it fascinating how we create these narratives? We often justify our distance and unfriendliness by blaming the other person. This isn’t limited to mere acquaintances; even close friends can fall prey to this mindset. I’ve often played the mediator between two friends, each convinced that the other is to blame for their lack of communication. “I’ve reached out countless times, but if she wants to meet, she should make the first move,” they’d say. It’s almost like a reality show, but really, it’s just human nature.
Trying to convince someone in the depths of social self-pity that their grievances might be unfounded is futile. The more you attempt to reassure them, the more they resist, as if you’re trying to take away something valuable.
Returning to my own experience, even as I insisted that Lisa didn’t like me, I was aware that I was caught in a familiar cycle—one that felt oddly comforting despite its negativity. Would we really obsess over others’ opinions if we didn’t derive some sort of benefit from it? Perhaps it gives us a taste of vulnerability, reminiscent of childhood playground politics. Or maybe it’s simpler: we’re just too self-absorbed to make an effort to connect, so we convince ourselves that others aren’t interested in us either.
But here’s a twist: even while feeling isolated, I had a moment of surprise when Lisa reached out to me via Facebook. She had seen my article lamenting my lack of friends, and her message read, “It never occurred to me that you might need friends.” This stirred a mix of sadness and happiness in me. It made me realize how adept I am at concealing my true feelings, yet there was a strange joy in knowing I could still connect with others, despite my defenses.
As adults, we often get so caught up in our own lives—worrying about money, family, and health—that we overlook the possibility that others may care more than we think. Maybe it’s time for us to assume that people actually think we’re great rather than wallow in self-doubt.
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In summary, our perceptions of whether others like us can often be misleading, fueled by our own insecurities and assumptions. It’s important to challenge these narratives and remember that most people are entangled in their own lives and worries, often more than we realize.