I know I’m painfully shy and awkward as an adult, but I haven’t always been that way. Sure, I was a shy kid when I was growing up, but I had a few close friends and my family life was good. We lived in a small town and I remember being able to leave the back of our house, walk across one street, and wander around in the middle of a huge forest with streams and frog ponds and rock quarries. We got excited about anything, whether it was a 4th of July parade or the new Walmart, which made us feel like we were hitting the big time. During the grand opening, we were amazed at how much stuff the store had — books and furniture and groceries and toys and anything you could find in the stores in our little downtown square. And the prices were lower.

Then we had to move.

My father ended up selling the hardware store that he’d taken over from my grandfather, and we moved to a city so that my Dad could work in a department store. My Mom took a job as a librarian. I don’t know how many of you are parents out there, but let me give you two pieces of advice. First, if your kids are happy, don’t move. Second, if you do move, make sure at least one of you is home when your children come home from school. Enough advice.

That first move crushed me. I left all my friends, including my best friend (Kevin Ellstrom, are you out there?). I remember trying to find new friends, but it just didn’t work. It also seemed like I jumped ahead in time. The new school had gangs and initiation rituals and I hated everything about it. The next time we moved, I thought it would get better, but it never did. It just got worse. In some ways, I feel like I’m still recovering from that first move away from home.

My father never recovered either. He was never close anymore. Whenever he looked at me, he forced a smile and appeared to be hiding frustration and anger. I thought he was ashamed of me.

To this day, going in to a Walmart is thrilling for me. It takes me back to the grand opening with my Mom and brother and sister. I feel a nostalgic feeling, and my senses open up. One odd thing is that I always feel a strong urge to void my bowels. And there’s always a sense of loss combined with memories of happier times. I’ll react differently depending on the circumstances. Sometimes, I’ll become filled with emotion and buy something I have no use for, like the time I bought eight patio chairs. I told the sales lady that we were expecting lots of company, so we needed lots of extra chairs. Even though I had no room for the chairs in my condo, I’m telling you it was worth every penny. The next day I went back to Walmart and stole a patio table. I figure it all evens out. 

Isolation score: 5