I’ve been thinking about “Clingers,” people who cling onto you like black tar on the soles of your feet. I went out last night and I was introduced to a clinger first thing upon walking into my favorite bar. Because I’ve been thinking about it, I didn’t let the clinger get to me. I shook his hand and said hello but quickly moved away. I know a clinger when I see one.
I think we’ve all been a clinger at one time or another. I found myself acting like a clinger at a party the other night. There’s a man named George who I like to talk to. We’ve talked before. He’s very creative. We've had good times together. We talked about interesting concepts and ideas and made things up on the fly. We'd ask stupid questions about the ordinary. It was a lot of fun.
The other night when I saw George, I thought we could continue with the same funny banter, but no, George was snubbing me.
There was something about the snub that turned me into a clinger. I wanted it to be the way it was, fun and interesting. I found myself standing near George waiting for a chance to talk to him. The snub had consumed me. I wasn’t thinking straight. I lost myself for a moment. I fought through it and finally came to my senses. You can’t force things. When you're clinging, you ain’t swinging, so stop your clinging and move away.
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