I’m a guy who’s never been good at making friends.
It’s not that I’m a hermit, though my family has speculated as much. And I honestly enjoy the company of others. In the past year, I’ve discovered that I’m actually quite fond of people. Who knew?
But what has always tripped me up in the past is some deep-seated insecurity that has set up shop in the darker corners of my brain. Whenever I would start to hang out with people on a regular basis, I would inevitably begin to question their motives.
In my mind, new-found friends were always humoring me. When they would invite me to do things, I was sure it was only out of a sense of obligation or pity. After a particularly enjoyable conversation, I’d go home and dissect the exchange, highlighting all the areas where I’d either sounded like a fool or come across as an arrogant ass. Whenever I would get a compliment, I would immediately deflect it and chalk it up to false, albeit well-meaning, kindness.