So first off, what does it mean to be interesting? Interesting, as a person, is when other people are curious about and pay attention to you. It may be because you’re, richer than them, or smarter than them, or are nice to talk to, or are good-looking, or are just …fascinating. (But the people I find interesting are usually not very “popular”.)
Interesting as a book, is thought provoking, or entertaining, or memorable. (But the books I like are never the newest best sellers.)
Interesting as a place, a small asphalt spot in the shadow of a sky scraper, or a small spot in the woods beneath some trees where some sunlight comes shining through.
I doubt I’m alone in this thinking.
The most interesting people (to me) are the ones who seem to be thinking differently than me; they don’t run around slathering their beliefs and personal lives, and business in my face. They have a different sense of reason than me, whole other experiences and memories, and morals and I wish to know what they are!
I have some memories, of things like that, you know? Snippets of conversations, and small actions that tell me how little I know about the people I see in school every day, but they are such small and odd memories, I can’t really type them out to do them justice.
“What a wee little part of a person’s life are his acts and his words! His real life is led in his head, and is known to none but himself.” – Mark Twain