If I could pass one piece of advice to the younger me, it would be to practice being more interested than interesting.
For decades I attempted to be an interesting guy to both friends and acquaintances. I had jokes and stories relevant to any group. Didn’t people want to learn where I had been and what I had done? Often, I embellished the truth.
To my surprise, I didn’t attract a crowd, often not a single person.
Around my mid-30s, I began to have a legitimate interest in what others had to say more than my own blathering.
By my 50s, I searched for people smarter than me, which was an easy quest. They had wondrous things to share.
Now, in my 70s, I’m blessed with an insatiable curiosity with many friends to tap. This aging stuff has its advantages.