Demystifying Sourdough

On the need to always talk...

So far, only a handful of real-life people know that I write a Substack journal on neurodivergence.

And two of those people couldn't care less.

I kid.

But to clarify, I’m referring to actual, animate bags of flesh humans, the kind I could physically run into at the grocery or at least connect with on Facebook.

The reason is simple.

I like to keep my circles small. Tight. Pretty much closed. In real life, I’m a vault. I’ll let you peek inside, but good luck going any further.

I’m also concerned with ego, or at least the trappings of it. It’s a topic I visit from time to time on Substack. I am now fully convinced, in both logical and spiritual terms, that excessive ego sends a negative energy into the world.

Through grace from above, I’ve discovered it’s much more rewarding to stay anonymous and humble. (Checking Substack numbers helps in this regard).

Therefore, writing is a truly strange endeavor for someone striving to grasp humility.

I at least justify my practice by not putting my real name on my posts. Of course, it’s not hard to find, given that I originally started my Substack with the intentions of selling a fiction novel that had my real name plastered on the cover.

Eventually, the plan is to publish more books, which could effectively end the illusion—at least for the ten people who might actually buy a copy.

Of course, writing anonymously has its advantages. I’m infinitely more open to expressing myself under the Daily Obsessive moniker. However, it will inevitably be challenging to bridge the gap between real life and Substack when the time comes.

It’s much safer to express opinions while hiding behind a name, although I’m not trying to attack people, either anonymously or in person.

But it does make it easier to shit talk people.

So while I still enjoy anonymity, let me tell you about a guy who bothers the piss out of me.

My brilliant nine-year-old takes music lessons once a week, one town over, in the “big city.” The experience is all positive. Great teacher. Nice kids. Excellent venue. She’s learned a lot in a short period of time, and we appreciate the opportunity.

The lessons take place in a downtown symphony office, which means two things: Limited parking and limited seats inside.

Making matters worse is the timing of the classes. The instructor teaches groups in half-hour increments, meaning the tiny lobby fills up five to ten minutes before a new lesson. It’s a swarm of instrument cases, hungry kids, and tired parents.

Being a true neurodivergent, I have to plan accordingly to avoid the crowd, yet also compete for one of the two “comfy” seats, located a good distance from a round table with four chairs, which, of course, is usually occupied by parents and assorted kids.

In other words, a place I will NEVER sit.

I have my timing down well. We usually arrive 15-20 minutes before class, park, and play songs until it’s time to make our my move.

My goal is to claim the chair furthest away from people, put in my earbuds, and work on my laptop.

I feel wearing earbuds in a public place signifies an unspoken social code:

Don’t bother me.

There’s only one parent that I socialize with, as our daughters have known each other since preschool. However, they also have neurodivergent tendencies and rarely come inside….a decision I greatly respect.

As for the other parents, I have my favorites. I have no idea what the guy’s name is, but he finds a quiet corner and reads. Most important, he doesn’t try to engage in conversation.

And then there’s the other guy.

He…never…shuts…the…f-…up.

I also have no idea what this guy’s name is but I know a LOT about him. First, second, and third, he’s a professor at a local community college.

WHY do I know he’s a professor?

Because he f-ing never stops talking about it.

To his credit, he’s a bit masterful when it comes to dropping in his boasts. It’s an effortless practice, where he bends the conversation towards a subject easily related to his job, which naturally leads to an inevitable follow-up question.

“I’m actually a professor at….”

“Oh. What do you teach?”

It’s such an annoying and efficient skill that I’ve debated for months whether to engage with him, with the SOLE desire being to get him to reveal that he’s a professor, which would prompt me to ignore his answer and then change the subject.

But instead, I’ll just sit like there like a weirdo with my earbuds in and pretend he doesn’t exist.

Which is difficult. Especially since my WiFi hotspot is erratic, occasionally leaving me without any Spotify or audio to play in my earbuds.

So, yes. Sometimes, I sit there with earbuds in, hearing every word he says.

When he traps someone in a conversation, it’s brutal. His listening is tuned to only detect openings where he can talk about himself. Thus, the 10 percent of the talking done by the other person is otherwise ignored.

Travel is a popular topic, since he recently took a summer vacation. He will detail every leg of the journey, name-dropping various airports as some exotic totems of culture. Then, he moves to food and landmarks, trying to pronounce Spanish words in an authentic accent he can never acquire.

Some nights, it’s only the two of us, along with one of his younger kids, who also produces a constant jabber, which can be adorable and perfectly characteristic for their age.

At times, the kid serves as another bridge leading back to him. If he can’t talk to anyone else, then he’ll follow the kid around the lobby, and comment on the kid’s observations, with the SOLE intent of baiting SOMEONE into a conversation.

Obviously, I stonewall him. I may grin at the kid, but it always ends there. And if he said anything to me, I can’t hear it over my earbuds.

However, the tactic ALWAYS works on any Mom’s waiting in the lobby. After all, kids are a great conversation starter between parents.

“Oh, how old is he?”

“Four. I’m on Dad duty tonight. I left work early to pick him up. We come from the other side of town.”

“Oh, what do you do for work?”

“I’m actually a professor at…”

And so it goes.

Occasionally, these conversations take on a creepy tone. Especially when the guy’s wife is not present.

It’s an odd sort of flirting that makes me squirm. It touches on arrogance, low self-esteem and some heightened sense of qualified intellect that barely conceals primal lust and leads to awkward moments.

Among my favorites is the time he flirted with a new Mom, using cooking as a way to boast about his travels and cultured tongue. Naturally, he redirected everything back to him until the topic shifted to making sourdough bread.

That’s when he tried to seal the deal.

He leaned in, adopting some bizarre intellectually provocative voice, and asked:

“I was hoping you could demystify the sourdough process for me.”

Well, then. I guess seduction takes on many forms.

I was so bewildered by the pick-up line that I don’t remember how the Mom responded. The rest of the conversation was typical. He just talked about his culinary skills and detailed every other obvious but inflated facet of his personality.

In short, this man just talks. And talks. And talks.

So, as both a neurodivergent and non-talker, I figured it was time to find the psychology behind why people never shut the f— up.

We’ll start with Gabbard's Treatments of Psychiatric Disorders, Fifth Edition (2014)

*The following is paraphrased:

"Narcissistic Personality Disorder" explores how excessive talking serves as a mechanism for maintaining grandiosity and seeking admiration, often tied to psychological defenses like projection and idealization. These defenses also link to interpersonal dynamics and underlying insecurities.

"Individuals with narcissistic personality disorder frequently engage in monopolizing conversations through excessive talking, using verbosity to assert superiority and elicit admiration from others. This behavior stems from a fragile self-esteem, where grandiosity masks underlying vulnerability, and therapeutic interventions must address these defenses to foster empathy."

There is no doubt an intellectual insecurity in the man I described above. His frequent boasts are layered in both grandiosity and plummeting self-esteem. He works at a community college, most of which are fine and more affordable institutions for learning, but not exactly the most prestigious choice for a professor.

Here, it’s worth describing more superficial features.

The man certainly has a unique look, resembling a more intellectually pompous version of Alan from The Hangover. He sports rolled up cargo pants in some odd blend of granola hippie and Euro chic. He’s balding, pudgy and exhibits a herky-jerky walking motion, reminiscent of a kid dealing with mobility issues.

Then, there’s the crossbody Fanny Pack strapped diagonally across his puffed chest, which I feel could represent both a utilitarian function and a desperate need for attention, primarily shaped by conscious and subconscious vulnerabilities.

Or, he just likes fanny packs.

"The narcissistic patient's talkativeness is not merely loquacious but strategically deployed to dominate interactions, reflecting an internal grandiosity that compensates for shame. Psychotherapy aims to dismantle this pattern by exploring the psychological mechanisms, such as idealization and devaluation, that fuel such verbal expansiveness."

Linking shame to excessive talking makes a lot of sense. Dominating conversations is both a sociopathic trait and a self-empathetic or at least self-absorbed practice. Either way, the goal is to bury shame under layers of ultimately meaningless babble.

Here’s a more focused study.

"The Social and Psychological Contexts of Excessive Talking" by Mark R. Leary and Robin M. Kowalski (Personality and Social Psychology Review, 1995)

"Excessive talking often serves as a strategy for impression management, where individuals dominate discourse to shape how others perceive them, particularly when they fear negative evaluation."

Here’s my imaginary response:

“I’m actually a professor at….”

“Oh. Isn’t that a community college? I didn’t know they had professors there.”

I’m quite the asshole in these imaginary scenarios.

"Social anxiety is thought to arise from the perception that one is unable to convey a desired impression of oneself to important others.”

After all, most of us experience some level of social anxiety. Of course, our reactions are different. One man talks endlessly. The other (me) completely shuts down.

"Talkative behavior can stem from a heightened need for approval, where individuals use verbosity to cope with insecurities or to maintain a facade of confidence in group settings."

I enjoy the use of “facade” here. As an observant introvert, I’m fascinated by the constructs people create to conceal their insecurities. It’s a weird, emotionally crippled form of world-building, something many people never notice.

And for its limited intent to “put on a show”, it can work flawlessly. That is, until someone injects authenticity or reality into the illusion, which can send the whole structure crashing down.

In this scenario, emotionally healthy people would engage in some self-reflection, analyzing or even rationalizing their shame and insecurities.

Or, if you’re emotionally crippled, you just build a bigger illusion.

And then talk about it.

And talk and talk and talk.