UNBEKNOWNST to many, I’m actually a pretty shy person. And, for those of you who don’t know, shy people tend to use looking busy as a strategy to deflect any form of attention from themselves.
Those (such as I) who have never been to a wine-tasting event before, would probably be intimidated walking into a room full of suit-clad, wine-holding, extroverts who have seemingly known each other since the dawn of time. Or maybe that’s just me.
There I was, wielding my weapon of choice (a phone with the Messenger app open), as I retreated to a lonely table at the far corner of the room with my eyes staring at an empty inbox and fingers scrolling down the app in an attempt to “look busy” and shelter myself from the war zone of small talk and socializing. I was safe.
As I nibbled on a chicken and mushroom skewer, I scanned the room, trying to absorb the little things that were happening and jotting down notes. No, I’m not a creep nor a stalker, I’m a writer. This is what pays the bills.
The dreaded moments came when I had to refill my plate of refreshments and try out more wines. In those moments, I found myself having to squeeze through the crowd of older and fancy-talking people who were a little intoxicated and too engaged in their own different conversations to see my bowed head. They couldn’t feel me trying so hard to fit in the impossible space, or hear my meek expressions of “excuse me.”
The biggest casualty happened at the end of the night, when there were just enough people left for everyone to see everything happening. I was in the most crowded area of the almost-empty venue, standing in front of the spirits section to get my last drink to cap off the night—a sweet and spicy gin and tonic.
As I walked back to my table, I slipped on an invisible-but-definitely-there puddle. It felt like a slow-mo fail clip. My drink (and a couple of cubes of ice) flew up and out of my glass. I was wearing a dress and my bag was also pretty heavy, so my feet were scrambling to catch the weight of my existence on stable ground before the situation got any worse.
With my life flashing before my eyes, I couldn’t help but let out a small yelp. A resonating “Eep!” was the soundtrack of my clumsy little one-second stunt. I was in the area between no people and all the people—a perfect stage for them to see the whole mortifying performance. After that, I teleported to my lonely table with my phone and an open Facebook app on hand—trying my best to make no eye contact whatsoever as my ears burned from the embarrassment.
Sometimes it gets difficult doing a job that shoves you into situations where you have to reach out and talk to people. The extroverted introvert (or social introvert) in me savors those little pockets of solitary moments before and after a huge social event or group encounter. I like being with people enough but there are times that I just need to be alone. I need a moment to sit there and get lost in my overthink-y thoughts sprinkled with bouts of anxiety before I can get up and exist in the outside world again.
“That’s not normal. That’s weird. You’re weird,” others might say. Well, maybe I am. But I know that I’m not alone in this. And, if you’re reading this and you feel the same way—whoever you are, wherever you are—know that you’re not alone. I know exactly how you feel. And, if quite a bunch of us feel this way, maybe it’s not weird. Maybe it’s normal.