I am not an interesting person.
My life doesn’t revolve around dedicating my time to sports, pursuing significant others, draining the hours in front of the screen of a video game, or staying out all night with friends.
Instead, I choose to encompass myself with less superficial concepts.
I choose to wonder why I haven’t occupied myself with a job yet; I choose to wonder why it took me so long to obtain a secure and compatible friendship with someone; I choose to wonder why I’m not in the same place as everyone else seems to be; why I’m not progressing in the way I should be. Why am I behind?
Oftentimes, I try to be interesting. I try to give the impression that I have stories to tell and words that are worth saying. But it’s exhausting. It’s fatiguing, being entertaining.
However, there are a few people who have the power to find those properties in me. I’ve never quite understood what keeps them coming back—or vice versa. Maybe the fact that I only see them once a week, that they give me something to look forward to, really does have an influence on my mentality.
I try to give the impression that I have stories to tell and words that are worth saying. But it’s exhausting. It’s fatiguing, being entertaining.
It’s only Wednesday nights that I see those people. It’s only Wednesday nights that I like being interesting. Culver’s cruises have become a tradition since my early childhood years. In the process, friends have become family. Yes, it’s true that I have a whole week to live differently in between visits; to live in a way that makes those engaging thoughts come unforced to the forefront of my mind. But on Wednesday nights, everything seems to come naturally.
After a drawn-out day of school—a day of constant struggle to feel connected to my peers in a way that a teenager should—my intellectual capacity, power to reason, and empathetic capabilities become clouded and dim over my enthusiasm to associate myself with the people that I can be effortlessly interesting around.
After a drawn-out day of school, every Wednesday I can return to them.
After sitting through lectures about things I won’t ever remember or use again, and willing the clock to tick just a little bit faster, I can finally return to people I look forward to listening to. I get something out of our conversations.
I want to listen. I want to learn. I want them to feel heard.
I need to feel interesting and entertaining and enjoyable to be around—especially amongst them.
Wednesday Night Wisdom is the name I’ve labeled that emotion. That feeling of excitement, gratitude, and pleasure I experience around those people. The way I don’t have to think of stories to tell, or even speak at all. It is a luxury to just listen.
I owe my entertaining, compelling, and humorous side to them. Wednesday nights have given me peace, they have given me pride, and they have given me purpose.
