June 8, 2017

I dislike a lot of things. So when I find something that brings me a glimmer of joy I overindulge, cramming in every morsel of information and slurping up every fact until I’m so full I never want to revisit it – much like the time in college I drank three bottles of strawberry wine in one night and was poisoned for three days. I will never touch it again.

I am not the slightest bit impressed by celebrities. I met my favorite red-haired Go-Go after a concert in New York and found her to be so vapid and uninteresting that I was literally beside myself for wasting years of my life crushing on her. But scholars, writers, socialites or anyone with a story to tell will get me every time.

If I’m moved by a book, I’ll reach out to the author – corresponding until I’m satisfied our acquaintance has developed into a personal relationship. If I’m impressed by the arc of a TV show, I’ll greedily binge every episode in one sitting then wipe away the crumbs with greasy fingers before anyone is on to my gluttony. 

If I’m enthralled by an estate, I will pull out all the stops until I wrangle a personal tour – and in one case, a role on staff –  just so I can get a taste of what’s really going down with the people who live there.

My hunger for expertise on the menial and knowledge of the useless is strong. I don’t want the pasteurized version being sold to the masses, though. I want a peek behind the curtain and won’t stop until I get it.

Living in the information age is the best thing that has happened to me. But my malady didn’t come with the Internet, it has plagued me my whole life.

When I was nine, I read every Reader’s Digest from 1968 to 1984, cover to cover, simply to increase my word power – my mom having graciously picked up the decades-old collection from a neighborhood yard sale. I learned everything I know about humanity from those books, and everything else I learned from Sassy magazine.

I got lost in stories then, and I’m still getting lost in them today.

There's a fine line between inquisitive and maniacal, and I always seem to be walking it. If I’m interested in anything, I inhale it – especially people. (Not in a Single White Female sort of way, but in a “how did you end up here?” way.) There is always an internal dialogue going on in my mind trying to figure out how someone came to be who they've become. The more real and raw their story is, the more I’m pulled in and inspired.

Everyone has a tale to tell, and I will always be a connoisseur. If I love it, I’ll hold on forever; otherwise, I'll discard it once I’ve had enough.

Just like that strawberry wine.

Obsession Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

by Cynthia Gunnells