I've Never Been a People Person

If you were to ask me what’s my pass-time of choice, interacting with people would be nowhere on that list.

Networking events drain me. Small talk feels like a chore. And if I'm asked, "So, what do you do?" one more time, there's a very good chance I'll internally curse myself for leaving my Kindle at home—AGAIN! 

For the longest time, I thought this meant I simply don’t like people. But that’s not true.

I don’t dislike people. I just don’t have the knack to pretend I am enjoying a particularly dull effort at making conversation—the one that never moves beyond the surface. The polite dance of exchanging job titles, commenting on the weather, and pretending we're all fascinated by the same networking event buffet—you didn’t see me yawn, did you? 

So socialising and talking to people is a hard pass, but don’t mind me if I spend a ridiculous amount of time watching people. No, I am not creepy, I just listen and pay attention to things that might normally go unnoticed.

The elderly couple I gave my spot to, because I could see they were tired waiting in the snail-paced immigration queue at the airport. 

The man seated next to me on a flight to Karachi, who kept anxiously fiddling his fingers and looking at the shut window. He told me he felt claustrophobic in airplanes, when I asked if he’s ok. Keeping the windows open helped! 

The man who animatedly kept a one-sided conversation going at the restaurant table next to ours, because his wife would only respond in sign language and his toddler would only giggle. 

I don't know any of their names. I doubt they noticed me. Yet they've stayed with me far longer than some conversations I've spent hours having.

That's when it dawned on me. Perhaps I've been measuring "being a people person" by the wrong standard. Maybe it isn't about how many conversations you have, or how many people you interact with. It’s about how deeply you pay attention to the things that matter, to the things people don’t say, to the lives that move around you without directly impacting you. 

I've realised I don't enjoy conversations simply because they're expected. I enjoy conversations that couldn't have happened with anyone else—the ones where someone forgets they're trying to impress you, where curiosity replaces rehearsed answers, and where people accidentally reveal who they really are.

Those conversations don't happen often. But when they do, they're worth every single moment spent indulging in them. Looking back, I think that's probably why I ended up in communications.

People assume it's a profession for extroverts—confident presenters—the loudest voice in the room. I've found the opposite to be true.

Some of the best communication happens long before anyone starts speaking. It begins by paying attention, listening carefully, watching patterns emerge, noticing the question nobody is asking and understanding why people behave the way they do before deciding what to say next.

For me, a simple “do you need help?”, “what book are you reading?”, “where are you headed?” have proven to be far better conversation starters than any business cards or social introductions could have been. They allow me to naturally lean into my curiosity, get answers without prodding, understand before assuming and listen to the things said in silence. 

So no, I'll probably never become the person who works a room with effortless charm or leaves a networking event with twenty new LinkedIn connections. 

But if we happen to find ourselves talking about the book you're reading, the city you can't wait to revisit, the idea that's changed your mind recently, or the thing you're quietly obsessed with at the moment...

I'll happily miss my next meeting for it.