“Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Doesn’t that bother you?”
I was on a train traveling somewhere in the Boston-Washington corridor (many of the details are lost in a brain that struggles to recognize what is pertinent). I shifted my attention away from the book I was absorbed in. “That” turned out to be two young children bickering with one another a few seats in front of us. While the bickering had apparently been underway for some time, I hadn’t noticed and my failure to notice surprised the girl sitting across the aisle from me.
“I grew up with six younger brothers and sisters. I can ignore pretty much anything.”
This is one of those stories I tell about myself from time to time; often as a way to reveal something about me that I think is important.
What I think is important has evolved over time. I did indeed grow up in a noisy home environment and thought this story said something about my ability to concentrate. Many years later, when I began to suspect that ADD was a factor in understanding things I did well and things I struggled with, it became a story about hyperfocus.
Today, I wonder whether this was also a missed opportunity. Was this a bid for a bit of conversation and possible connection? I’m pretty sure I went back to my book. Actual humans are unpredictable. Books are safe. They can also be lonely.