Rambling Post That Doesn't Necessarily Make Sense

Games that require clapping and saying something about oneself in front of strangers is my least favorite thing in the world. For those that might know me, this is rarefied company. I don't handle forced socialization very well. There is something about it that I loathe. Somewhere amongst the fake smiles and the feigned interest there is something ___. For as long as I can recall it has been this way for me. I hated camp as a child and dreaded the required functions parents press upon their offspring. By the time I finished high school I naively felt that I finally escaped the onus of forced socialization.

This naivety was shattered by Camp Longhorn. I was gently forced by my mother into attending this camp just before beginning my freshman year of college. Though orientation with its required meetings and info sessions wasn't entirely bad, I despised the camp. It was everything I hated about camp as a child, even the clapping games, but transplanted onto incoming freshman.

Now that I've entered adulthood, this social dread that has survived my childhood and my adolescence continues to exist. The only change has been my own outlook. It seems I have finally realized that forced socialization is one of the inevitabilities of life. It's not exactly death and taxes but it's damn close. This weekend was proof.

My presence was required this past weekend at a lodge atop a beautiful mountain for my step brother's wedding. To say that I was less than excited about this is perhaps an understatement (my attendance this weekend came at the cost of seeing MMJ in Dallas). As gauche and egocentric as it might be to admit this, it's the truth. Of course my problem isn't with weddings themselves but with these sort of pseudo family wedding where you know virtually no one—immediate family excluded—and are expected to carry on with fellow attendees as if you do know them.

Perhaps I am just a true contrarian, always in rebellion with what is expected. From petulant refusals to go to Sixth Street in college to my own youthful adoration of teams I wasn't supposed to like, a line of contrary behavior can be found in my life. This streak seems to have taken on a life of its own at times—a preternatural instinct almost. What other explanation can be reached for my fits of temper, silence, despair or my unfair humor even in the face of people for whom I deeply care? Or is it just the easy one?