Okay, so people who know me will laugh, giggle and shake their heads. “You shy?” They question. “Yes, me shy…” I answer while blushing. And terribly so, I can add – really. See, you haven't noticed either...
Growing up I was not assertive and so totally not your social butterfly (more so an anti-social cocoon). At the few parties I was mistakenly invited to as a youngster, I was not even a wall-flower - I was the blooming wall. I dreaded being around other people; socially I was always miserable. They would point at me and snicker: “Look at him.” At least that was what I thought they did all the time, but in reality they never even saw me. Of course I was the last selected in anything that involved selecting – actually none of the teams really wanted me. The final nail in my pre-adolescent coffin was a pair of black framed dorky-looking prescription glasses; I was the first and only one in the whole bloody school of 800 students – yes, why not me, duh? My life sucked due to this shyness thing and it didn’t comfort any when my sweet mother kept telling me that it would go away as I got older, like it was a zit or something. I was sure that I needed to hit the age of 132 before this awkward shyness would disappear; and I would probably still be wearing dorky glasses. But then a few things happened that changed a lot.
“You look like Buddy Holly with those glasses…” I could have died and gone to heaven. Not only did somebody speak to me (even though she obviously mistook me for Buddy Holly), but she was the girl of my illicit fantasies. It was at the time I had started an interest in the opposite gender (which of course was another hopeless issue), and that was all she said, you look like Buddy Holly - it was awesome. I raced home to tell my mother. She looked at me through teary eyes: “That’s wonderful Peter; that was so nice of her to say that… and by the way, who is Buddy Holly?”
Another thing that happened was that I had started to comment on a lot of stuff during classes; just sarcastic remarks from observations, just for my own entertainment, I thought. At times my comments were actually giggle material, but for the most they cost me trips to the principal’s office; we became very close over the years. But even though I felt “brave” enough to open up a bit in class, somewhat supported by positive reactions from my classmates, I was still the blushing, sweating-in-really-weird-places and shying-away-from-life dude; but then another Peter showed up. He was an academic genius, and I was not. He was smart beyond the academics, intimidating, though charming and really good looking (with me looking like nerdy Buddy Holly). I was never intimidated by him, by the way. Peter was grand with the girls and they all wanted his attention; they still didn’t know I existed. Peter came up to me one day and simply said: “You are funny; you wanna be friends?” (But in Danish, of course). I was stunned and could only nod: “yes, but why me?” as an answer. And we had a fantastic friendship for many years.
Peter introduced me to jazz, smoking the pipe (legal stuff), using Old Spice, playing the drums, drinking beer and how to operate successfully at parties. I began to feel much better about myself, as he always treated me as an equal. All of a sudden I didn’t fell so dorky, weird and insecure. I was still very shy, but started learning to live with it feeling more comfortable with whom I was; a lot of that came from the respect Peter showed me in our friendship. The funny thing was that my mother did NOT like Peter at all. He was too “advanced”, too charming, too smooth, too perfect, she said; but she was happy that I finally started bringing girls home.
The years Peter and I were friends taught me a lot about how to handle my shyness. Don't get me wrong, I’m still very shy, but you probably wouldn’t notice, but I notice – again and again. But I have gotten so good at handling my shyness that I can get passengers in any elevator laughing all the way up or down – really. By the way, I always thought it the weirdest thing that when we are in an elevator we are seemingly not allowed to speak, so we all keep busy trying to hold our breath while watching the floor-lights turn on and off, floor after floor (my breath-holding record is 11 floors including 4 stops; it happened in the Intercontinental Hotel on Michigan Avenue in Chicago, January 1997); elevators were the ultimate challenge for me and my shyness.
So besides my friendship with Peter, some parts of accepting and learning to live with my shyness have actually been achieved in various elevators around the world. Oh, a funny elevator story: I was in the elevator going down from a visit to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris back in 1974; I had the crowd of tourists laughing all the way down. As we were exiting the elevator, I heard this sweet Japanese man ask his wife: “Was that Buddy Holly?” So you see I have come a long way - or perhaps it was the glasses?
Growing up I was not assertive and so totally not your social butterfly (more so an anti-social cocoon). At the few parties I was mistakenly invited to as a youngster, I was not even a wall-flower - I was the blooming wall. I dreaded being around other people; socially I was always miserable. They would point at me and snicker: “Look at him.” At least that was what I thought they did all the time, but in reality they never even saw me. Of course I was the last selected in anything that involved selecting – actually none of the teams really wanted me. The final nail in my pre-adolescent coffin was a pair of black framed dorky-looking prescription glasses; I was the first and only one in the whole bloody school of 800 students – yes, why not me, duh? My life sucked due to this shyness thing and it didn’t comfort any when my sweet mother kept telling me that it would go away as I got older, like it was a zit or something. I was sure that I needed to hit the age of 132 before this awkward shyness would disappear; and I would probably still be wearing dorky glasses. But then a few things happened that changed a lot.
“You look like Buddy Holly with those glasses…” I could have died and gone to heaven. Not only did somebody speak to me (even though she obviously mistook me for Buddy Holly), but she was the girl of my illicit fantasies. It was at the time I had started an interest in the opposite gender (which of course was another hopeless issue), and that was all she said, you look like Buddy Holly - it was awesome. I raced home to tell my mother. She looked at me through teary eyes: “That’s wonderful Peter; that was so nice of her to say that… and by the way, who is Buddy Holly?”
Another thing that happened was that I had started to comment on a lot of stuff during classes; just sarcastic remarks from observations, just for my own entertainment, I thought. At times my comments were actually giggle material, but for the most they cost me trips to the principal’s office; we became very close over the years. But even though I felt “brave” enough to open up a bit in class, somewhat supported by positive reactions from my classmates, I was still the blushing, sweating-in-really-weird-places and shying-away-from-life dude; but then another Peter showed up. He was an academic genius, and I was not. He was smart beyond the academics, intimidating, though charming and really good looking (with me looking like nerdy Buddy Holly). I was never intimidated by him, by the way. Peter was grand with the girls and they all wanted his attention; they still didn’t know I existed. Peter came up to me one day and simply said: “You are funny; you wanna be friends?” (But in Danish, of course). I was stunned and could only nod: “yes, but why me?” as an answer. And we had a fantastic friendship for many years.
Peter introduced me to jazz, smoking the pipe (legal stuff), using Old Spice, playing the drums, drinking beer and how to operate successfully at parties. I began to feel much better about myself, as he always treated me as an equal. All of a sudden I didn’t fell so dorky, weird and insecure. I was still very shy, but started learning to live with it feeling more comfortable with whom I was; a lot of that came from the respect Peter showed me in our friendship. The funny thing was that my mother did NOT like Peter at all. He was too “advanced”, too charming, too smooth, too perfect, she said; but she was happy that I finally started bringing girls home.
The years Peter and I were friends taught me a lot about how to handle my shyness. Don't get me wrong, I’m still very shy, but you probably wouldn’t notice, but I notice – again and again. But I have gotten so good at handling my shyness that I can get passengers in any elevator laughing all the way up or down – really. By the way, I always thought it the weirdest thing that when we are in an elevator we are seemingly not allowed to speak, so we all keep busy trying to hold our breath while watching the floor-lights turn on and off, floor after floor (my breath-holding record is 11 floors including 4 stops; it happened in the Intercontinental Hotel on Michigan Avenue in Chicago, January 1997); elevators were the ultimate challenge for me and my shyness.
So besides my friendship with Peter, some parts of accepting and learning to live with my shyness have actually been achieved in various elevators around the world. Oh, a funny elevator story: I was in the elevator going down from a visit to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris back in 1974; I had the crowd of tourists laughing all the way down. As we were exiting the elevator, I heard this sweet Japanese man ask his wife: “Was that Buddy Holly?” So you see I have come a long way - or perhaps it was the glasses?
Make it a grand week...
PS. Buddy Holly (with glasses) and the Crickets had early rock n' roll hits like PEGGY SUE & THAT'LL BE THE DAY in the late 1950s. Buddy died in a plane crash Feb.3, 1959. He was only 22 years old. The Beatles were inspired by his music; they recorded and performed many of Buddy Holly's songs through the years. John Lennon and Paul McCartney were encouraged to compose their own songs because Buddy Holly did and had.
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