I often have lucid fantasies about conversations with people in real life. Conversations featuring aspects from memory, people places experiences, all of which I am reiterating in my fictitious conversations with people close enough to me that I can imagine their reaction. It gives me a strange sense of comfort and fulfillment. Almost as if I can grasp that same comfort but if it were real. Sometimes I can drift off into these social fantasies, forgetting the reality that most of what I imagine will only be as that; a fantasy of what could have been, or at least what I wish were so.
As a human, that type of experience on a continuous level is a major contributor to loneliness and being antisocial. Because I can definitely say I've generated better mediums mentally based on real-life people than what I've experienced with those persons. However, to be fair it is the potential of their responses and reactions based on what I've experienced with them in real life that even gives me the ability to imagine them satisfying my social reaction and camaraderie needs in these made-up interactions.
It's like having a secret that's personal and its value is determined by shock, empathy, excitement, information, or any other experience the beholder can share with others.
That's the joy of storytelling, especially when it's personal.
In real life, at the golden corral, hundreds of miles away from the home I technically couldn't return to. I had a random conversation with an Aunt I always admired and almost lost myself in how excited I was to talk about AIs and Generative art technology while learning about her Career plus two jobs, near retirement and post-career plans, and her comprehension for this storm of information she set right into.
It meant the world to me, and I of course have to analyze it from several perspectives, which all lead back to How happy that made me, despite my disposition.
It was also totally unexpected which was refreshing as an all-new reality.
If I have to identify a couple of key factors, I would say that it boils down to being mutually heard and sincere attempts at understanding that meet in the middle enough to be fulfilling.
(Also, because she saw me sitting alone, surrounded by family, and fixed that. This would be the Human appreciation for this occasion, which I humbly accept.)
Moments like these are what social fantasies build from. It has a way of overly satisfying introverts, thus checking off metaphorical meters and boxes for social engagement.
I have plenty of references from different types of social circles, yet the quality or likely hood of fulfillment from those individuals or not has dimensions on par with my own evolution. Despite my aunt being family, she isn't someone I've grown up with as much as the real friends I imagine talking to. Yet that conversation, notably, was more personally satisfying than the many I've had in the last few years.
That's no surprise being that part of my self-isolation is inspired by withdrawals across multiple circles whose awakenings are counterintuitive to my own. Say what we will, not everyone sees the same light, albeit from similar spectrums.