I Like to Connect With Lots of People

….so why is it that most flee like a jackrabbit?

I’ve always had a strange effect on people. They approach with curiosity, often drawn in by my openness, my willingness to dive deep, and my unique constellation of interests. 

But then, just as quickly, they flee. Not physically, at least not always, but emotionally, energetically—they retreat like a jackrabbit sensing a predator in the tall grass.

It’s taken me years to understand this pattern, and if I’m honest, I still don’t fully get it. At first, I thought there was something wrong with me. Too intense, too curious, too…different. 

I ask questions that most people aren’t prepared to answer. Not because I’m trying to expose anything, but because I genuinely want to know: 

What are you discovering about life? 

What excites you the most, scares you about the future? 

What keeps you up thinking at night? 

What books have you read lately that you’ve found intriguing? 

Questions like these aren’t meant to wound, but they often feel like a mirror. ANd let’s be real—most of us aren’t ready to see our own reflection staring back at us.

The thing is, I’m not trying to provoke vulnerability in others intentionally. I’m just simply being me. But “just being me” isn’t something most people seem equipped to handle. 

According to the system of Human Design, I’m a Manifestor—a trailblazer, a catalyst, a force of nature that’s often misunderstood and rejected. Manifestors aren’t meant to fit in, and maybe that’s my problem: I keep forgetting that.

When I tell people about my life—how I skate through life literally (on ice), how I visit random coffeehouses like a wandering Taoist seeking the perfect cup of espresso, how I strike up conversations with strangers as if I’ve known them for years—they smile, maybe even laugh. But underneath their surface reaction, I often sense discomfort. 

Could it be that my nomadic lifestyle, my obsession with books, and my penchant for deep conversations doesn’t exactly scream “relatable.”

I have tons of acquaintances. People I can chat with over coffee or banter with at a party. But deep friendships? Those are rare. 

And as much as I value my solo experience, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t sometimes crave more connection. But here’s the kicker: connection, for me, isn’t small talk. It’s not the weather or the latest Netflix series. It’s depth. And going deep with others I believe scares most people.

As an ambivert, I’m a shape-shifter, balancing between two worlds. I can work a room with charm and energy when needed, but I’m equally content sitting in solitude, journaling, meditating, or just thinking. 

My success in life isn’t predicated on collaboration or teamwork with the outside world. Instead, it’s built from within. 

Maybe that’s part of the issue. We live in a world that celebrates extroversion, surface-level connection, and collective progress. My path is none of those things.

If the Taoist thinker Zhuangzi were here, I imagine he’d have a lot to say about this. He might remind me that the fish in the river don’t understand the bird in the sky, and that’s okay. Each follows their own Tao or natural path. 

So perhaps my solitude isn’t a curse but a reflection of my true nature—a Manifestor meant to move through life freely, unfettered, and without seeking approval.

Still, there’s a rawness to my journey, a longing that sometimes gnaws at the edges of my spirit. When people flee, it’s hard not to feel the sting of rejection, even when I know it’s not about me. 

In the end, my odd collection of interests—ice skating, bibliophilia, Taoism, nomadic wandering—makes me a fascinating anomaly to some, but to most, I’m just…too much.

And yet, I wouldn’t trade it. The freedom to be uniquely who I am, to embrace my own path, to ask questions that others are afraid to answer—that’s worth the isolation. Zhuangzi would likely smile at my predicament, chuckling as he drifts away in his butterfly dream.

Perhaps this life, with its jackrabbit encounters and solo wanderings, is simply the price of authenticity. And if that’s true, then I’ll keep asking questions, skating through life, and sipping my coffee alone in some forgotten café, content in the knowledge that my Tao is mine alone to follow.

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Much Love,

Diamond Michael Scott — aka The Chocolate Taoist