When I’m Not Like You - And You’re Not Like Me

I am a storyteller.  And it’s rarely (never??) a short story.  😅

My husband lovingly calls it “Brophy style” because that’s my mom’s maiden name and if I learned this ability to turn everything into a long story from anyone, it was from my mom.  I never tell a story in a straight line from the beginning to the main point I want to make.  I include detours along the way.  Many, many detours.  And then I get to my point.

Well, sometimes, in the detours, I forget my point.  “Oh well, if it was important, I’ll  remember it,” I say when the point gets lost along the way.

This storytelling habit goes really well with my husband.  It also goes quite well when my best friend and I sit down for a lunch together that turns into dinner together and we’re still not finished talking.  I have met many others with whom this storytelling habit is well received and it connects us.

But there are others that aren’t fond of hearing the stories.  They much more prefer the straight line from A to B way of talking.  No detours.

Over the years, I’ve even been cut off mid-sentence by many A to B people.  For the longest time, I took that personally.  “They don’t like me” or “they think I’m stupid” or other self-berating thought was my typical reaction, accompanied by anxiety sitting squarely in my gut for many hours, sometimes even longer.

And then I learned something quite magical.  There are A to B people in the world.  And there are storytellers.

Now when I’m talking to an A to B, I choose to talk about facts and necessary information only. And when I’m talking to someone who appreciates the whole story, I am, of course, more than happy to oblige.

Except sometimes I forget. And I start telling a story when facts only are desired.  Usually, the person lets me know.  They cut me off mid-sentence or, their body language tells me they’re completely distracted and not paying attention.  There are sighs.  There are eye movements and lip movements.  There is the slight back-and-forth movement in their head.  All indications that signal a frustration of, “Why is she doing this; I really don’t need to hear all of this.”

I let that serve as a reminder to stay focused on the necessary and eliminate the fluff. And then I decide if it’s a relationship worth keeping in my life.  When it is, then I’m willing to make the tradeoff and adapt to their style.  When it’s not, well, that’s OK too.

The thing I no longer do is take it personally.  I process their reaction in a healthy way that says, “That’s their style and it works for them.” 

Just as storytelling is mine.