Confessions of a Reforming Recluse

I’m standing in the hallway on the sixth floor of the Frank-Crowley Courts Building in Dallas. I am patiently waiting with about 90 other potential jurors. Some people are standing. Some are sitting on the few benches provided by the interior designers. Some people are sitting on the floor.

Many people have electronic devices to occupy themselves. Some people brought a book to read--they have obviously been in this position before. Others spoke quietly to friends they happened to see there by the coincidences of the randomized juror selection process. I am spending most of my time standing and sometimes typing notes into my phone about an idea for something to write.

I'm used to being a recluse

The mood is somber. There are no signs telling us to keep quiet, there is simply the situation. Some fidget. One or two men are pacing the floor. I find myself looking around at everyone. I am not great with people, but when I am in a crowd I do not feel comfortable unless I make at least glancing eye-contact with most of or all the people in the room. I don’t know why I am like this. 

I also do a lot of thinking during those times I find myself in a crowd. I think about all kinds of things. I think about the people sitting. I think about the men who are perfectly capable of standing to allow a lady to sit in their places. Then my mind goes back to a time when Karla was pregnant and I went to the doctor with her almost two decades ago. I became engrossed in a sports magazine and tuned out the world around me. Reality escaped and, though my body sat in the room, I was transported to another place. Before I left on this journey there was no one in the waiting room. Karla had gone into the doctor’s room for her check up. So I went away--at least mentally.

I was brought back to reality with a tap on my shoulder. One of the friendly nurses was talking to me. She asked if I would mind giving up my seat for a pregnant lady. My confusion morphed into dread because, to my horror, I was surrounded by pregnant women. They were all unconcerned at my presence, but I remember how surprised I was that I could become so engrossed in my thoughts that I would not even notice others around me. As realization of my situation dawned on me, I saw several women in the doorway. I could feel their eyes burrowing into mine. They were probably not angry, but I was sure they were at the time. Maybe the source of the heat I felt was not the heat of their anger but the heat of my own blood as it rushed to my face in embarrassed reaction. I was mortified. And I was clearly in the wrong.

I always think about that when I see men sitting when women should be allowed to sit. I marvel at the insensitivity and at the same time realize that those men are not even there. They are some place else, as I was while waiting in the doctor’s waiting area.

When I’m in a crowd I begin to think--and that is not always a good thing. I wonder what everyone around me must be thinking about me. I know in my mind that no one cares to watch my every move. There is just no reason to imagine they would look twice at me. Perhaps I have delusions of self-importance. Some people have suggested as much in the past. All I know is that if I were so “self-important” why would I get so flustered with the idea that people are looking at me and judging what they see? There is an important reason that I stand in corners and against walls while in public, and the reason certainly is not because I have delusions of grandeur!

Now I find myself in middle of a room, surrounded by people I have never met, and because of the nature of the situation, I’m at the center of the hallway. There is no room in the corner or against the walls. I had a great spot leaning against a pillar, but just a few minutes ago I started to feel bad because the ladies around me standing up must surely also be tired. Perhaps it was my turn to stand somewhere else and let one of them lean against the pillar. That sounds chauvinistic to many, I’m sure, but it actually comes from a place of deep respect. I don’t think women are weak and inferior or cannot stand for an hour or two. I just believe in showing honor to them. This was part of my process of thinking. I do this thinking a lot while in crowds. Now I find myself in middle of the hallways, surrounded by people along the walls and leaning against the pillars. (There are probably ten of us who don’t have a place along a wall or pillar.)

As I stand here, I can’t decide what to do with my hands. For some strange reason I am very concerned with what people think of me folding my arms at my chest. I remember hearing someone say that this is a sign that I have something to hide. I don’t want people to think I am closed off. I also heard someone once say that folding the arms can be a sign of anger. So I put my hands in the pockets of my slacks. 

The pose I now hold is also saying something to the people around me. Do I want them to see me as afraid to be in front of a group? Wouldn’t I rather want them to see me as strong and confident? After all, hands in the pockets are a sure sign of insecurity. Or does it say I am unsure of what to do with my hands? Maybe it says I am too casual.

I took my hands from my pockets and am now fidgeting with my fingers. But this is a sign of nervousness. What do I have to be nervous about? As I look around to my right I see a man staring at me. He is likely staring past me, or maybe does not realize what he is doing, but his eye-contact does not break when we look at each other. I look back and wonder if my body language somehow made him think I was a threat. I looked to the other side and a woman’s eyes made contact with mine and she quickly looked away. Was she also thinking I was a threat? Surely not. But it certainly made me rethink my pose. At this point that is the only word for it: “pose”. There is nothing natural about my body language anymore--and this point does not escape my thoughts.

I put my hands to my sides outside the pockets in a position that I can only define as neutral. This makes me aware that I am the only person in the room standing that way. “Why am I standing at attention as if I were military?” I’m obviously not military. I’m fat and old. But as I stand with equal weight on my feet and hands to my side, I remember that I was taught that this is the right way to stand. It shows that I am ready and confident. But ready for what?

Now people must be seeing me as a person ready to strike. This pose is too assertive. Maybe if I keep my hands to my side but lean my weight onto one leg...

Why do I care what others think about my “pose”? Why am I concerned with what my body language says to fellow jurors? I don’t know, but this is the way things are. 

And now I realize something important. I had been thinking about ways I can keep people from looking at me as nervous or looking at me in other negative ways. I realize now that I have a choice to make. I can hold myself in a way that makes me look closed to others, or I can hold myself in a way that makes me look open to others. I imagined what that would be like. Maybe instead of putting my hands to my side I could hold them out to others in a handshake, or put one on someone’s shoulder while greeting him. This seems to be a much better use of my hands!

I can show myself to be self-centered or people-centered. 

I want to be a people person, but my habits make me less than that--including this habit of wondering what my body language says to others. So I asked myself, “In this situation, with all these people around, what would Jesus do?”

That is a dangerous question to ask. It is dangerous for me because I know at least part of the answer was that Jesus would at least try to get to know some people so He might have the opportunity to teach them later. For a man who has difficulty meeting others, this is a scary thought.

I put aside my paranoid feelings and my normal self-criticism and critiquing and leaned toward a man standing next to me and made a comment to break the ice. When I did that, the criticism fell away and for the rest of the day I did not think about my body language except for a few very brief moments when it was appropriate. I stopped worrying about what people were thinking about me and started to consider their own lives and feelings.

Jesus can make you what you ought to be. His life shows us the way. If we live like Him, we will be much better people. He can make you whole. He can make you normal. In fact, when you begin to follow His example and put others before yourself, you will notice a lot of your problems do not seem like problems anymore. 

I made a few friends while spending a day at the court building. I helped people get out of their own shells. I even got to talk to people about church. The self-criticism, the paranoia, the endless chatter about myself melted away because I took the time to think about someone besides me.

Maybe I’m becoming a “people-person” after all. Maybe you can become one too.