I plead guilty to wanting to be interesting. I’m making a big mistake.

I’m at my worst when you’re talking. That’s when I’m really focused on how I can be interesting. I’m not listening to you at all. I’m thinking about what I’m going to say next.

I want my next comment to be a good one. I want it so badly that I’m only hearing my thoughts. I’m not hearing you at all.

You’re over there telling me good stuff about yourself. I’m nodding. It looks like I’m listening. Yet, I’m not. I’d like to be listening, but I’m way too busy thinking.

What’s going to come out of my mouth next? Is my next line going to be a question? Maybe a comment? Maybe something funny or snarky? I’m asking myself all those questions. That’s what I’m doing when I’m supposed to be listening. I’m thinking—about me.

I’ve got it. I know what I’m going to say when you stop talking.

I’ve locked it in. I’ve answered my questions of myself. Now, instead of listening, I’m wondering whether the funny line I have planned is too funny. So funny, in fact, that you won’t think it’s funny. Maybe it’s funny in a way that only certain people think is funny. Now, I’m wondering whether I should say it at all. I’m second-guessing myself instead of listening to you.

What are you talking about? I have literally no idea at all.

God, I hope you don’t end this paragraph with a question. If you do, I’m going to have to ask you say it all over again, because I’ve totally zoned out.

What I need to do is stop. I need to stop thinking. I need to stop talking to myself. I need to stop trying to be interesting.

You don’t care whether I say something smart. You don’t care whether I say something clever. You don’t care whether the next thing is the funniest thing you’ve ever heard.

What you care about is whether I’m listening to you. What you care about is what you’re saying. What you care about is whether I’m interested in what you have to say.

I’d be much better off if I’d stop trying to be interesting. I’d be much better off if I’d start getting interested—in you.