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Ann Handley

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Scavenged

We set off on foot, the six of us, under an azure sky as big as the ocean. The breeze off the water smelled of salt and September, and the dune grasses bent toward each other, whispering the news that fall was coming.

It was a picture-perfect, precious August day, the kind of day that a talented someone with a camera might photograph and print onto a postcard, which someone else might then buy to send to a friend, to show how big the Maine sky can look over an endless sea; and how the line from the midday crowd snakes lazily out of the soda fountain, through a squeaky screen door propped open all day, in turn, by the backside of whoever happens to be waiting for service next; and the way the wild beach roses that grow straight out of sand (impossibly) cascade over a split-rail fence, tumbling like curls over a toddler’s forehead.

The idea was simple: Each of the three teams of two was armed with a single list of two-dozen things to scavenge from around the tiny seaside village of cottages and a few public buildings.

Things as in things: a shard of beach glass ground smooth in the surf; or a bit of clothing abandoned on the beach, stiff with sand and salt; or a ripe rose hip, red as a miniature candy apple.

And also things as in information: the year the Curtis Guest House opened for business, or the color of the roof at 18 Maine Street, or the first name of the formidable guy behind the tall oak counter at the post office.

Each team paired a grownup with a teenager (or near-teen), and so Rachel and I became partners.

Fitting Pair

In some ways, Rachel, who is almost 13, and I, some 30 years older, we were a fitting pair. She and I approached the list seriously—and, I thought, intelligently: Scrounging the more common facts in a guidebook that we found on a bookshelf. There was an efficient economy to finding the name of the present village Association president as it was printed in the book, rather than, for example, having to step into the association office and actually asking.

And that was the downside, too, of Rachel and me as partners: Neither of us really likes to talk to people we don’t know. Yet here we were in a game that required us to stride into the town gift shop and ask the shopkeeper where she went to high school. I know that sounds simple enough, but when you are prone to avoiding conversation with strangers, it’s embarrassing.

I don’t know much about psychology, but I would guess that because Rachel and I are both the youngest in our families, we have been trained to hang back and let others do the talking for us. Of course, Rachel is still a girl, and she has plenty of time to change, I hope.

While there are times as a grownup when you can’t live that way—when you have to, for the sake of ordering Chinese food or arranging for cable TV or mailing a package first-class—I’d still prefer to avoid the whole business.

Which is why, when I found myself standing in the gift shop in front of the shopkeeper, who turned and looked at me expectantly, it occurred to me that I’d much rather send her an email or, at that moment, perhaps pass her a note across the glass counter. She could write down the name of her high school, and pass it back, and then Rachel and I could be on our way.

When I was a kid, I couldn’t wait to be a grownup so I wouldn’t have to do things I’d rather not do. But then you become a grownup, and you realize you have to do more of those things than ever. So I, and not Rachel, had to ask the shopkeeper where she went to high school. Then I had to ask the postmaster his first name. And I was the one who had to ask the blond-haired cashier at the variety store where she bought the T-shirt she was wearing. (“Right over here,” she said, kindly, leading the way. “Third shelf.”)

At one point, Rachel voiced something I, too, had silently been considering, “Oh let’s just make it up!” she said. “How will they know?”

It was tempting.

But as the grownup in this partnership, it seemed my duty to lead her on the less complicated path of truth. Except for one small allowance: I used an application on my iPhone to sniff out a nearby Twitter user, rather than polling passers-by in town, randomly and excruciatingly painfully. It was to be the coup de grâce: the thing that ended it for the others and clinched the game for Rachel and me. I have thousands of followers there; the others weren’t even on Twitter… how could they possibly find the answer to that challenge?

It turns out we weren’t the only ones who cheated: Rachel’s sister Amanda confessed that the soaked and sandy sock she presented as her team’s found bit of clothing was actually peeled off her partner’s foot, dipped in the surf and then rolled in the sand, like a breaded cutlet.

Only the third group—our friend Beccy and my girl Caroline—hadn’t cheated, so that made them both the winners.

In the game, certainly, but also maybe in a larger sense: Beccy conversed with the postmaster long enough to uncover that his first name, Win, was actually short for Winthrop, and, when her bit of small talk with the gift shop owner was overheard by a browser in the store, she uncovered—impossibly!—a local Twitter user, too.

I’m competitive enough to covet her win. But more than that, I envy her easy way with people.

Later, it was hard not to look at everything in town as a possible challenge in the scavenger hunt. Here was a woman walking down the sidewalk, and yet all I could see was the possible solution to “Find someone wearing a fanny pack!” Here comes a child on a scooter: “Find someone with ketchup dripped on her shirt!”

And then here was a one-armed girl in a bikini, talking and laughing with her boyfriend in an easy manner as they picked their way past the soda fountain on a sidewalk strewn with bicycles, and through middle-aged Moms wearing beach cover-ups, and small children holding teetering ice cream cones.

I tried to view the one-armed girl with only humanity and compassion. But it was hard not to view her as something else entirely: the clincher in some future game, perhaps, an answer that required no conversation of any kind—only simple observation.

Now that, I can do.

Filed Under: Family History, Pop Culture, Travel Tagged With: Maine, Ocean Park, scavenge, scavenger hunt, social networks, summer, summer games

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Reader Interactions

Comments

  1. Alan Wolk says

    September 3, 2009 at 1:01 am

    First!

    So glad you’ve picked this up again. I’ve really been missing it and this was a great way back.

    I suspect there are many more people who dislike talking to random strangers than you realize – I was surprised to see that listed as one of the “Stuff White People Like” (or dislike, in this instance)

    But your Maine inn sounds like a blast- what a great idea.

    Reply
  2. Alan Wolk says

    September 2, 2009 at 5:01 pm

    First!

    So glad you’ve picked this up again. I’ve really been missing it and this was a great way back.

    I suspect there are many more people who dislike talking to random strangers than you realize – I was surprised to see that listed as one of the “Stuff White People Like” (or dislike, in this instance)

    But your Maine inn sounds like a blast- what a great idea.

    Reply
  3. Tim Jackson says

    September 3, 2009 at 2:14 am

    Believe it or not, I’m shy too. It’s worst with parents of other children at my daughter’s school. I tend to hate other parents- their perfect jobs, perfect houses, perfect lives, better cars, better educations… so on and so on. I sometimes worry that I’ll cheat her out of experiencing things she loves because she’s so social and wants to do all the other social activities at her school, but I’m just not interested in staring at my shoes listening to Dr. Niceguy talk about how great his business is doing and the family’s Christmas vacation in the Swiss Alps… “the kids just love to ski, don’t they?” (Shoot me, please.)

    From what I can tell Handley, you’re high functioning. I probably wouldn’t have been able to finish the scavenger hunt. (Probably would’ve been standing on the beach instead, looking for shells.)

    So does this mean you’re trying to say you’re better than me, again?

    I KNEW IT!!

    Reply
  4. Tim Jackson says

    September 2, 2009 at 6:14 pm

    Believe it or not, I’m shy too. It’s worst with parents of other children at my daughter’s school. I tend to hate other parents- their perfect jobs, perfect houses, perfect lives, better cars, better educations… so on and so on. I sometimes worry that I’ll cheat her out of experiencing things she loves because she’s so social and wants to do all the other social activities at her school, but I’m just not interested in staring at my shoes listening to Dr. Niceguy talk about how great his business is doing and the family’s Christmas vacation in the Swiss Alps… “the kids just love to ski, don’t they?” (Shoot me, please.)

    From what I can tell Handley, you’re high functioning. I probably wouldn’t have been able to finish the scavenger hunt. (Probably would’ve been standing on the beach instead, looking for shells.)

    So does this mean you’re trying to say you’re better than me, again?

    I KNEW IT!!

    Reply
  5. Ann Handley says

    September 3, 2009 at 2:20 am

    Oh lordy Tim – that deserves a tshirt: “Some of my best friends are high functioning.”

    Anyway – you’re clearly a better weirdo than me! That’s something, right? 🙂

    Reply
  6. Ann Handley says

    September 2, 2009 at 6:20 pm

    Oh lordy Tim – that deserves a tshirt: “Some of my best friends are high functioning.”

    Anyway – you’re clearly a better weirdo than me! That’s something, right? 🙂

    Reply
  7. Tim Jackson says

    September 3, 2009 at 2:28 am

    I’ve got a gift for words Ann. It’s what I do. That’s why I’m a writer, sorta. I mean… I *have* written. Nonetheless, I’ve been told I have a way with words. Though that coulda been “get away from the words!” I mean, it coulda.

    Reply
  8. Tim Jackson says

    September 2, 2009 at 6:28 pm

    I’ve got a gift for words Ann. It’s what I do. That’s why I’m a writer, sorta. I mean… I *have* written. Nonetheless, I’ve been told I have a way with words. Though that coulda been “get away from the words!” I mean, it coulda.

    Reply
  9. Tim Jackson says

    September 3, 2009 at 2:34 am

    Oh yeah, and I am totally a better weirdo.

    Reply
  10. Tim Jackson says

    September 2, 2009 at 6:34 pm

    Oh yeah, and I am totally a better weirdo.

    Reply
  11. Joel Libava says

    September 3, 2009 at 3:00 am

    Ann,
    You know, I really didn’t want to read anything that made me sappy tonight.

    But, there I was, scrolling down the Facebook page, and Wella! You. A new post from Ann. Damn. Heaviness. Life stuff. Childhood stuff. BLECH!

    Thank you.

    The Franchise King
    Joel Libava

    Reply
  12. Joel Libava says

    September 2, 2009 at 7:00 pm

    Ann,
    You know, I really didn’t want to read anything that made me sappy tonight.

    But, there I was, scrolling down the Facebook page, and Wella! You. A new post from Ann. Damn. Heaviness. Life stuff. Childhood stuff. BLECH!

    Thank you.

    The Franchise King
    Joel Libava

    Reply
  13. Len Edgerly says

    September 3, 2009 at 3:22 am

    Delightful story, all the more so since I’ve known every place you mentioned for decades. I also love your poignant descriptions of not wanting to talk to people. I tend the same way and marvel at my wife’s ability to naturally engage strangers as if she’s simply breathing, and how they respond. But then she’s not so natural at writing, so we each have our worlds that come naturally and our ones we sort of have to fake.

    Reply
  14. Len Edgerly says

    September 2, 2009 at 7:22 pm

    Delightful story, all the more so since I’ve known every place you mentioned for decades. I also love your poignant descriptions of not wanting to talk to people. I tend the same way and marvel at my wife’s ability to naturally engage strangers as if she’s simply breathing, and how they respond. But then she’s not so natural at writing, so we each have our worlds that come naturally and our ones we sort of have to fake.

    Reply
  15. C.C. Chapman says

    September 3, 2009 at 1:40 pm

    As always, your writing is amazing and gives me pause from the hectic world we live in.

    It is funny because in that same situation in the candy store I would have been nervous as well. I hate those sorts of situations. Actually, the more I think about it I don’t mind them when they are face to face, but I HATE them when they are over the phone. Weird?

    Please keep telling your stories. I love reading them.

    Reply
  16. C.C. Chapman says

    September 3, 2009 at 5:40 am

    As always, your writing is amazing and gives me pause from the hectic world we live in.

    It is funny because in that same situation in the candy store I would have been nervous as well. I hate those sorts of situations. Actually, the more I think about it I don’t mind them when they are face to face, but I HATE them when they are over the phone. Weird?

    Please keep telling your stories. I love reading them.

    Reply
  17. swoodruff (Steve Woodruff) says

    September 3, 2009 at 2:33 pm

    Twitter Comment


    RT @MarketingProfs: An Annarchy end-of-summer post: “Scavenged” [link to post] Nice stuff -SW – Posted using Chat Catcher

    Reply
  18. swoodruff (Steve Woodruff) says

    September 3, 2009 at 6:33 am

    Twitter Comment


    RT @MarketingProfs: An Annarchy end-of-summer post: “Scavenged” [link to post] Nice stuff -SW

    – Posted using Chat Catcher

    Reply
  19. Carrie Mc says

    September 3, 2009 at 2:46 pm

    Wonderful writing and a great story.

    I was also struck with a surprising self-realization as I read this — I love talking with strangers, but have found myself to be incredibly shy when it comes to social media… commenting on blogs (this is actually my first ever comment on a website), tweeting, updating my facebook page, etc.

    I think it’s because live conversations have so many more dimensions beyond words — tone of voice, body language, etc. — that not only aid in expressing a point of view, but also provide a better way to “listen” beyond just the words being spoken. Without those other communication tools… with just words… I feel uneasy, unsure of myself… and downright shy.

    Reply
  20. Carrie Mc says

    September 3, 2009 at 6:46 am

    Wonderful writing and a great story.

    I was also struck with a surprising self-realization as I read this — I love talking with strangers, but have found myself to be incredibly shy when it comes to social media… commenting on blogs (this is actually my first ever comment on a website), tweeting, updating my facebook page, etc.

    I think it’s because live conversations have so many more dimensions beyond words — tone of voice, body language, etc. — that not only aid in expressing a point of view, but also provide a better way to “listen” beyond just the words being spoken. Without those other communication tools… with just words… I feel uneasy, unsure of myself… and downright shy.

    Reply
  21. SaraKate says

    September 3, 2009 at 3:07 pm

    What a fabulous idea. I love the idea and it sounds like something I’d love to be a part of. However, I am a “people person”. I love talking to and meeting new people and have no problems making conversation with people I don’t know. I do, sadly, often have the opposite problem. Sometimes I talk too much, too fast, too excitedly… it drives people away just as often. Funnily enough, I hate talking to people on the phone if I don’t know them in person already – I’d rather email – or even more preferably see them face to face. I think it may have something to do with the fact that I’m a visual and kinesthetic learner and do best when I can see something (or someone) rather than just hear it (or him or her).

    Reply
  22. SaraKate says

    September 3, 2009 at 7:07 am

    What a fabulous idea. I love the idea and it sounds like something I’d love to be a part of. However, I am a “people person”. I love talking to and meeting new people and have no problems making conversation with people I don’t know. I do, sadly, often have the opposite problem. Sometimes I talk too much, too fast, too excitedly… it drives people away just as often. Funnily enough, I hate talking to people on the phone if I don’t know them in person already – I’d rather email – or even more preferably see them face to face. I think it may have something to do with the fact that I’m a visual and kinesthetic learner and do best when I can see something (or someone) rather than just hear it (or him or her).

    Reply
  23. Teresa Basich says

    September 3, 2009 at 3:10 pm

    Ann, you write in a way I don’t know how to respond to (it’s taken me at least 5 minutes just to think of this). As odd as it may sound, I *love* that about your writing. 🙂

    Reply
  24. Teresa Basich says

    September 3, 2009 at 7:10 am

    Ann, you write in a way I don’t know how to respond to (it’s taken me at least 5 minutes just to think of this). As odd as it may sound, I *love* that about your writing. 🙂

    Reply
  25. Michelle says

    September 3, 2009 at 3:26 pm

    I love the way you can not only beautifully describe your sensory observations, but also clearly express what went on in your mind. It is so hard for most of us to slow down our thoughts enough to recognize and describe them. Yes, this is what talking to strangers and actually attempting to listen to them really feels like. Another great post!

    Reply
  26. Michelle says

    September 3, 2009 at 7:26 am

    I love the way you can not only beautifully describe your sensory observations, but also clearly express what went on in your mind. It is so hard for most of us to slow down our thoughts enough to recognize and describe them. Yes, this is what talking to strangers and actually attempting to listen to them really feels like. Another great post!

    Reply
  27. npreston (Nancy Preston) says

    September 3, 2009 at 3:33 pm

    Twitter Comment


    lovely little story. – made me homesick RT @MarketingProfs: An Annarchy end-of-summer post: “Scavenged” [link to post] – Posted using Chat Catcher

    Reply
  28. npreston (Nancy Preston) says

    September 3, 2009 at 7:33 am

    Twitter Comment


    lovely little story. – made me homesick RT @MarketingProfs: An Annarchy end-of-summer post: “Scavenged” [link to post]

    – Posted using Chat Catcher

    Reply
  29. Tabitha Dunn says

    September 3, 2009 at 3:47 pm

    Ann – so lovely and evocative. I felt transported for a moment – I could almost smell the ocean. As for talking to strangers, I feel the same way. I struggle with how to connect to strangers, like the parents in my daughter’s class and envy the ease of those more social. I’m thankful my daughter doesn’t seem to be the introvert that I am.

    Reply
  30. Tabitha Dunn says

    September 3, 2009 at 7:47 am

    Ann – so lovely and evocative. I felt transported for a moment – I could almost smell the ocean. As for talking to strangers, I feel the same way. I struggle with how to connect to strangers, like the parents in my daughter’s class and envy the ease of those more social. I’m thankful my daughter doesn’t seem to be the introvert that I am.

    Reply
  31. Kat Jaibur says

    September 3, 2009 at 4:12 pm

    Ann, you write beautifully. And what a wonderful way to share who you are with us.

    I grew up with a mom who was very shy but hid it under an air of “why should I be the first to reach out?” My dad, on the other hand, was a total people person, engaging extrovert. I learned from both of them. I was very shy until college, and then decided I hated it and wanted to overcome it. So I focused on making other people feel at ease. Pretending to be confident. That little trick still works — online and in real life. (And believe me, I have to use it at every tweetup or conference. Ssssh! )

    I also was struck by your line, “Of course, Rachel is still a girl, and she has plenty of time to change, I hope.” Hahaha. My grandmother quit smoking at 75. The guy who played the dad on Frasier sold insurance until he was in his 50’s. Novelist Raymond Chandler’s first book wasn’t published until he was 51. Andrea Bocelli didn’t start singing opera seriously until age 34. And Grandma Moses didn’t get into art until her 90’s. If we want change, all it takes is desire and willingness. And sometimes that change is about accepting that your gifts lie elsewhere… like you wiht your observations and gorgeous writing. As the song goes, “Everybody’s Got Their Something.” Thanks, Ann!

    Reply
  32. Kat Jaibur says

    September 3, 2009 at 8:12 am

    Ann, you write beautifully. And what a wonderful way to share who you are with us.

    I grew up with a mom who was very shy but hid it under an air of “why should I be the first to reach out?” My dad, on the other hand, was a total people person, engaging extrovert. I learned from both of them. I was very shy until college, and then decided I hated it and wanted to overcome it. So I focused on making other people feel at ease. Pretending to be confident. That little trick still works — online and in real life. (And believe me, I have to use it at every tweetup or conference. Ssssh! )

    I also was struck by your line, “Of course, Rachel is still a girl, and she has plenty of time to change, I hope.” Hahaha. My grandmother quit smoking at 75. The guy who played the dad on Frasier sold insurance until he was in his 50’s. Novelist Raymond Chandler’s first book wasn’t published until he was 51. Andrea Bocelli didn’t start singing opera seriously until age 34. And Grandma Moses didn’t get into art until her 90’s. If we want change, all it takes is desire and willingness. And sometimes that change is about accepting that your gifts lie elsewhere… like you wiht your observations and gorgeous writing. As the song goes, “Everybody’s Got Their Something.” Thanks, Ann!

    Reply
  33. lynnelle (Lynnelle Wilson) says

    September 3, 2009 at 4:34 pm

    Twitter Comment


    …and sometimes it is the truth that is more complicated… Nice post Ann. (from @MarketingProfs fame) [link to post] – Posted using Chat Catcher

    Reply
  34. lynnelle (Lynnelle Wilson) says

    September 3, 2009 at 8:34 am

    Twitter Comment


    …and sometimes it is the truth that is more complicated… Nice post Ann. (from @MarketingProfs fame) [link to post]

    – Posted using Chat Catcher

    Reply
  35. craigpl (Craig Landes) says

    September 3, 2009 at 4:35 pm

    Twitter Comment


    3 cheers for damn fine prose! @marketingprofs (Anne Handley) writes an end of summer ode- Scavenged: [link to post] – Posted using Chat Catcher

    Reply
  36. craigpl (Craig Landes) says

    September 3, 2009 at 8:35 am

    Twitter Comment


    3 cheers for damn fine prose! @marketingprofs (Anne Handley) writes an end of summer ode- Scavenged: [link to post]

    – Posted using Chat Catcher

    Reply
  37. Paul Chaney says

    September 3, 2009 at 6:32 pm

    Ann, there is a possibility that, if you were the gregarious, outgoing type, you might not be such a thoughtful writer and wordsmith. If that were the case, what a tragedy it would be.

    So, fellow introvert (I’m an INFP btw. How about you?), it’s okay to be a tad shy so long as you keep writing tomes that evoke such imagery and emotion. The world has enough blooming extroverts in it already. Too many for that matter! You’re perfect just the way you are.

    PS: “The breeze off the water smelled of salt and September…” — breathtaking!

    Reply
  38. Paul Chaney says

    September 3, 2009 at 10:32 am

    Ann, there is a possibility that, if you were the gregarious, outgoing type, you might not be such a thoughtful writer and wordsmith. If that were the case, what a tragedy it would be.

    So, fellow introvert (I’m an INFP btw. How about you?), it’s okay to be a tad shy so long as you keep writing tomes that evoke such imagery and emotion. The world has enough blooming extroverts in it already. Too many for that matter! You’re perfect just the way you are.

    PS: “The breeze off the water smelled of salt and September…” — breathtaking!

    Reply
  39. pchaney (Paul Chaney) says

    September 3, 2009 at 6:34 pm

    Twitter Comment


    ” The breeze off the water smelled of salt and September…” Good writing is such a turn-on and that’s sm good writing. [link to post] – Posted using Chat Catcher

    Reply
  40. pchaney (Paul Chaney) says

    September 3, 2009 at 10:34 am

    Twitter Comment


    ” The breeze off the water smelled of salt and September…” Good writing is such a turn-on and that’s sm good writing. [link to post]

    – Posted using Chat Catcher

    Reply
  41. leigh durst says

    September 3, 2009 at 7:01 pm

    Finally, another piece of delectible writing for us to savor! We’ve all just been chomping at the bit for more!!! Thanks for taking us on vacation with you again.

    It’s really too bad you have a day job. You were meant for this! XO. – L

    Reply
  42. leigh durst says

    September 3, 2009 at 11:01 am

    Finally, another piece of delectible writing for us to savor! We’ve all just been chomping at the bit for more!!! Thanks for taking us on vacation with you again.

    It’s really too bad you have a day job. You were meant for this! XO. – L

    Reply
  43. Elaine Fogel says

    September 3, 2009 at 8:54 pm

    Like I’ve said before…there’s a book inside you, Ann. Of course, add that to the gazillion other things you do! 🙂

    Reply
  44. Elaine Fogel says

    September 3, 2009 at 12:54 pm

    Like I’ve said before…there’s a book inside you, Ann. Of course, add that to the gazillion other things you do! 🙂

    Reply
  45. Caroline says

    September 3, 2009 at 9:39 pm

    Hi Mommy! Great Post! 🙂

    Reply
  46. Caroline says

    September 3, 2009 at 1:39 pm

    Hi Mommy! Great Post! 🙂

    Reply
  47. elizabethsosnow (Elizabeth Sos says

    September 4, 2009 at 1:12 am

    Twitter Comment


    Would you like to read a beautiful post by a lyrical writer? Read @marketingprofs’ beautiful post on a scavenger hunt [link to post] – Posted using Chat Catcher

    Reply
  48. elizabethsosnow (Elizabeth Sosnow) says

    September 3, 2009 at 5:12 pm

    Twitter Comment


    Would you like to read a beautiful post by a lyrical writer? Read @marketingprofs’ beautiful post on a scavenger hunt [link to post]

    – Posted using Chat Catcher

    Reply
  49. Christian Gulliksen says

    September 4, 2009 at 1:13 am

    I love summertime scavenger hunts in New England beach towns. You’re making me way nostalgic, Handley 🙂

    Reply
  50. Christian Gulliksen says

    September 3, 2009 at 5:13 pm

    I love summertime scavenger hunts in New England beach towns. You’re making me way nostalgic, Handley 🙂

    Reply
  51. Jen DelMonaco says

    September 4, 2009 at 1:29 am

    Can’t believe you agreed to do something like this! Not the Scavenger Hunt part– those are fun, but the having to talk to total strangers, your idea of a perfect hell! Great writing, sister. And I’m proud of you for outing yourself as a total techno-wuss who’d rather surf for answers than do what your Grandma woulda done and just spoke up. Assuming your Grandma was a no-nonsense kinda gal, that is!

    Reply
  52. Jen DelMonaco says

    September 3, 2009 at 5:29 pm

    Can’t believe you agreed to do something like this! Not the Scavenger Hunt part– those are fun, but the having to talk to total strangers, your idea of a perfect hell! Great writing, sister. And I’m proud of you for outing yourself as a total techno-wuss who’d rather surf for answers than do what your Grandma woulda done and just spoke up. Assuming your Grandma was a no-nonsense kinda gal, that is!

    Reply
  53. Ann Handley says

    September 4, 2009 at 11:32 am

    Well, my grandma spoke only French. So she would have been useless in this game. Just sayin’. But I get your point!

    Reply
  54. Ann Handley says

    September 4, 2009 at 3:32 am

    Well, my grandma spoke only French. So she would have been useless in this game. Just sayin’. But I get your point!

    Reply
  55. Anonymous says

    September 5, 2009 at 5:51 pm

    I enjoyed this post so much, for its lyrical beauty, and also for the glimpse into how social interactions, which are more routine for extroverted folks, take on such challenging dimensions for those less comfortable interacting with strangers.

    For folks with an intrapersonal intelligence (as opposed to interpersonal intelligence), we are always talking to ourselves first to perceive and make sense of reality. In other words, we’re always talking (or in lots of cases, writing) to ourselves–to make sense of things–before we can begin sharing those impressions with others.

    I’m not sure this is really shyness or the insecurity that it may appear to be, to some–it’s really a way of processing information by taking it inward and assimilating that information first, before we take the next step with others. It’s a learning style.

    Reply
  56. Peg Mulligan says

    September 5, 2009 at 9:51 am

    I enjoyed this post so much, for its lyrical beauty, and also for the glimpse into how social interactions, which are more routine for extroverted folks, take on such challenging dimensions for those less comfortable interacting with strangers.

    For folks with an intrapersonal intelligence (as opposed to interpersonal intelligence), we are always talking to ourselves first to perceive and make sense of reality. In other words, we’re always talking (or in lots of cases, writing) to ourselves–to make sense of things–before we can begin sharing those impressions with others.

    I’m not sure this is really shyness or the insecurity that it may appear to be, to some–it’s really a way of processing information by taking it inward and assimilating that information first, before we take the next step with others. It’s a learning style.

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  57. Katybeth Jensen says

    September 7, 2009 at 5:56 pm

    I was off line for a bit and when I was ready to catch up with my reader and saw your name at the top. I popped open a small bottle of coke, sat right down and enjoyed every word!

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    I was off line for a bit and when I was ready to catch up with my reader and saw your name at the top. I popped open a small bottle of coke, sat right down and enjoyed every word!

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    Hi Ann. This is a generic comment. I'm just testing the Disqus comment system.

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