I’ve always been an extreme physical coward. Downhill skiing and bungee jumping are not for me—in fact, I get a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach if I have to ride a bicycle down even a fairly gentle slope and my sweaty right hand will be squeezing the brake all the way. Riding on the back of someone’s motorbike was an experience of abject terror that I hope never to repeat. And I’m an emotional coward, too. I can’t deal with in-person conflict: I won’t debate (except in writing); I could never be a politician—if I ever had to face a barrage of hostile questions from insistent journalists I would surely burst into snotty sobs. I remember every single occasion on which a personal friend has expressed anger or disappointment with me and the memories still make my face flush and my heart race.
That was relatable and entertaining.