To Be Shy: A Cursed Blessing
By ARYAN AGARWAL ‘27
Google defines the word nonchalant as an adjective, meaning to appear “casually calm and relaxed; not displaying anxiety, interest, or enthusiasm.” Apparently, to be nonchalant is to have no care. In a bittersweet way though, they’ve gotten it all wrong; what we often mistake as nonchalance is actually quite the opposite. To be nonchalant is very different than to be simply shy.
For centuries, the idea of nonchalance has been romanticized. It’s the classic love story: an energetic young woman meets an attractive fellow, his character transient and personality mystifying. She becomes engrossed, searching for answers, tracing a path into his deeper past. She does this all to learn the true man, finding something beautiful underneath a rough exterior. A man who speaks too much has too many friends, and is too “loud,” is shamed. To society, nobody wants to be around someone like that.
Why exactly is nonchalance so idealized? Here, we make the distinction between true calmness, and what in today’s society has been characterized by the “sigma male.”
The pure and respected form of nonchalance is a product of complete confidence. When someone’s self-worth is completely internalized — as if their value is not a function of their surroundings — they have no reason to take an interest in what the world thinks about them. I’m sure you have experienced something of the sort: in the way someone walks and speaks, their entire energy, it all projects a unique and sometimes off-putting feeling. They seem incredibly poised and that is because they are — without any fear, they can be their unfettered self. Less obvious is the fact that they usually don’t really care about others.
On the other side of the coin is what has been popularized by the younger generation. A “sigma male” is traditionally thought of as a lone wolf, someone who operates outside of typical societal norms — on the outside, they exhibit similar qualities to someone who is truly confident. Practically though, the term is actually derogatory. It’s designed to describe someone who is attempting to act “tough” by refusing to socialize. It’s the kid in your friend group who never laughs at the jokes, always walks behind the pack when you are together, and doesn’t seem to care very much. They refuse to make eye contact or wave on the paths, even when you know them. Naturally, people dislike these types. From my personal experience though, the reality behind their character is surprisingly interesting, and, in fact, saddening.
Growing up in an Indian American family, I’ll say that my childhood was more sheltered than most. As immigrants, my parents themselves had trouble making friends and fitting in, and I felt the same way. I was a lonely kid, to say the least.
Speaking to my parents felt pressured because I knew the standards that they had for me. I could never talk to them about the fights I had with my friends, the girls that I found cute, or anything of the “soft” type. For them, Aryan was the kid that they expected to always bring home perfect grades and shining trophies; I was the reason that they had left behind their country, and to speak about these apparently worthless emotions seemed like I was wasting their time. So I kept it in. My feelings didn’t matter anyway.
Every day, I would take the bus. Looking to my left, the seat next to me sat empty. Every day, I would eat lunch at school. Searching around my table, I found no friends. Every day, I would come back home, only to hear the voice of my mother telling me to take out the trash. Every day, I would eat dinner, the dining room quiet as my parents sat and watched their Hindi movies together, without me. I would find myself awake late at night, staring at the ceiling, even as young as eight years old. Looking back on my years before Exeter I find much regret. There is no question that my social growth was stunted, and it has set my life on a trajectory that sometimes feels inescapable.
Funnily enough, I had never really reflected on my past in such a way, and for some weird reason, there is currently some kind of liquid coming out of my eyes, falling onto my keyboard. My friend told me that it might be tears, but I don’t cry.
I often describe my personality as “reserved,” and I know that my character does hurt my image. See, I am the kid who won’t say hello even to my closest friends on the paths, the kid who will sit alone at Elm even if I see someone I know, and the kid who is hesitant to reveal his strongest thoughts at the Harkness table. So, I now posit this to the reader: these people are this way not because they don’t care, but rather because of how much they DO care. The dilemma of the shy is a fear of revealing one’s emotions because of the risk of judgment. And so finally, we have arrived. The “sigma male” is not trying to act tough, but is merely afraid of being themselves.
On the outside, they don’t approach people, watching from afar in a mysterious sort of way. They resemble someone who doesn’t care, but they don’t carry the same powerful energy. Thus, they are shunned.
Truthfully, these people are some of the sweetest personalities that you will ever meet. Those who have never been able to use their heart, who have always bottled up their most caring emotions, are the ones who have the most to give. Someone who has never felt loved is the type to know the true value of having another person by their side. So I encourage you now for their sake: though they are hard to approach, though they may seem bland on the outside, they will care for you more than you could ever imagine.
Approach a person who seems “nonchalant,” no matter how intimidating or indifferent they seem. They may very well be one of the warmest, kindest, and most caring people you will ever encounter. After all, those who are the hardest to crack often have the most to give; those who seem not to care are the ones who will take a bullet for you.