Socially Awkward

"I can't wait to read what you write about tonight on your blog," said a friend at my 30 year high school reunion. I was delighted, but it also gives me performance anxiety.

I didn't attend my 10 year high school reunion; a good friend was getting married that weekend, hundreds of miles away, and it was important that I be there. I attended one event and was with a group that crashed one event for my 20th. I'm not sure if there was an event for the 25th.

When my 30th approached, I thought about sitting it out.

There were a number of reasons for that. My husband was working, and none of my closest school friends were going. The venue was described as "upscale," and frankly, I don't do upscale. (If you have to announce, "We are a classy establishment," I doubt you. Wouldn't it just be obvious if you were? Also, I spend 90% of my life in sneakers, because comfort is paramount to me. If there was a serious dress code, I wouldn't meet it. Trendiness of any kind also annoys me, because it means that something will be outdated soon.) I don't drink, but I'd be arriving two hours late due to other events in my schedule, and I didn't feel like walking into a room full of people who might have been doing some serious drinking by then. Of course, I also wondered how many attendees remembered me or wanted to see me.

When I say stuff like that, inevitably one of two things happens. Either someone will rush to assure me that only shallow showoffs attend reunions, and there'd be no one there worth seeing, or they'll start trying to console me, as though I were upset, telling me how much "everyone" was likely to "love" me. I don't understand either reaction.

Did I attend school with some shallow, judgmental, superficial or dull people? Undoubtedly; there were over 500 people in our graduating class. A simple numbers analysis would tell you that not everyone was going to be delightful. Do I fear being judged by former classmates? No, I really don't. Some will like me; some will not. That's life. A negative appraisal from anyone, much less someone I haven't seen for decades, won't impact my life in any real way. I'm not worried because I've gained weight, or because my life isn't impressive enough.

But, too, neither will a positive appraisal change things. I don't need anyone to love me any more than I fear them disliking me. It's nice if they like me, but totally OK if they don't. Impressing people is just not on my radar.

I once completely freaked out a friend and coworker. I was having a rough time in my life, and he knew it. He tried very hard to assure me that work should be a sanctuary of some kind, "because everyone here really loves you." I know that he meant well, but it was silly.

"No, they don't," I told him. "They think I'm fairly pleasant to be around, and reasonably good at my job. When I leave - and some day, I will - some of them might miss me for a few days or weeks, but  I won't see many of them ever again. Soon, most of them won't even remember my name or my face, and that's OK. That's how it should be."

He could not imagine why I felt that way, and worse, why I was OK feeling that way. When his wife is upset, she wants to hear how universally adored she is, and how, if anyone dares not to adore her, they're a tiny, insignificant minority, one that should be soundly denounced and then ignored. He assumed, therefore, that other women wanted to hear those same things. Like I said, nice but silly.

Sometimes, even my close friends don't understand me. For instance, I'm an introvert. When I started dating my husband, he truly believed that introverts were a myth. He simply could not imagine anyone having such a mindset. A friend recently informed me, "I know you think you're an introvert, but you're not." Um - pardon?

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're not. I've asked other people, and they agree with me."

"I assure you, I am the world's foremost authority on me."

"Nope. You're mistaken."

Anyway. It should surprise no one that I'm awkward in groups.

It's not a matter of not liking people, or being afraid that they don't like me. And I can, and sometimes do, have a great deal of fun in group settings. As a teen, I often went on vacation with a dozen or so other kids. It's just that being with people, even having fun, is exhausting. It's like people who love to work out, or enjoy running marathons. Just because they enjoy it and do it voluntarily doesn't mean that they don't get tired. Extroverts don't understand introverts, because they are energized by groups, activity, noise and action, whereas those things drain introverts, who are energized by quiet and solitude.

"But you're an actor and public speaker!" people say to me. "You can't do that and be an introvert!" Of course I can. Performing or speaking does not entail actual interaction with the audience. I do my thing, they do theirs, and we go home alone. Plus, I'm often speaking someone else's words, so I don't even have to decide what to say.

So - walking into a room full of people that I may or may not know, who may or may not want to see me, doesn't sound fabulous. I've learned to do it, but I've also learned that I can sit out the opportunity without guilt.

There were some friends coming in from out of town, people I hadn't seen in years, that tipped the scale. I have great fun "talking" to them on the computer, so doing it in person should be even more fun.

And so, the Mormon walks into a bar.

I learned fairly early in adulthood that a significant portion of people socialize in bars. Many years ago, it felt odd to be in a bar (and caused me to worry that I'd have to relive some of the worst caretaking memories of my youth, when I had to clean up vomit, console the weeping and other less than fabulous moments). It feels fairly ordinary now, but I still wonder why there aren't an equal number of alcohol free places to hang out. I mean, if you want to be around people, but you don't necessarily want to phone your friends and make formal plans, shouldn't there be someplace where you could just show up, and there will be comfy chairs and snacks and TVs, maybe showing something science fictiony?

I was actually surprised when the first person I saw remembered me. Since the invitation to the reunion had gone out on Facebook, we'd all had the chance to look up some classmates before the reunion, too. "I've been looking at pictures of your family; you have great kids," she said. I felt so invisible in school - in truth, I wanted to be invisible - so the idea that people remembered me was a surprise.

I paid, picked up the nametag with my high school senior portrait and my maiden name on it, and looked for a security blanket - someone I was comfortable with. This is a must in any social setting.

Success! Michele has been my friend since we were in 5th grade. I've known her husband Mark since I was 19 or 20. Our kids grew up together. And they were talking to Stacy - I've known her since elementary school. I made a beeline for their table.

There were hugs and pleasantries. Stacy reminded me that the last time I saw her, it was at the wedding of a mutual friend. Then, Michele and Stacy decided to go mingle - "You want to come?"

"No, not yet. I'm not ready. I'll stay here for a few minutes." The ladies went off to schmooze, while I stayed with Mark and Stacy's husband - in the back of the room, with my back to the wall; my comfort zone.

(When I told this to a friend later, the friend said, "I would have been right there with you; Vietnam vet, back to the wall, eye on the exit." Amen.)

You know how, when your friends get married, you hope that you like the spouse, because otherwise your life will be awkward? Now let me give you an example of why Mark and I are friends, why I would like him even if he weren't married to my elementary school best friend.

He sat next to me, making normal conversation, not wondering why I hadn't gone off with the ladies. After a few minutes, he said, "Are you ready to go mingle yet?" No; I was not. I was more anxious by the moment, unable to see the friends I'd come to see, and terrified almost to tears by the idea of circulating the room. Truth be told, I would have fled right then had I not been too far from the door. I knew that if I tried to leave, I'd be in tears in just a few steps, and then I'd either have to barrel through to the door, or, horror of horrors, have someone stop me to ask what was wrong. No, I was not yet capable of mingling.

"No. If I tried to mingle right now, I'd burst into tears."

"OK. We'll sit here for a while," he said, and went back to an ordinary conversation about our kids.

He did NOT: 1. look at me like I was crazy, 2. think that I was exaggerating, 3. leave me so that he could mingle, or 4. try to console or comfort me in any way. He just GOT IT. I cannot tell you how rare that it. Mark is a godsend. He just sat there and held a normal conversation.

A few minutes later, he checked again. Would I like to go with him while he went to find his wife? Yes; yes, I would. Security blanket in place, we went to find Michele and Stacy.

As luck would have it, they were right next to the group I'd been looking for, some debate team and AP English buddies. I had a great time, and stayed much longer than I thought I would, both talking to this group and actually mingling. I had a genuinely good time, and laughed a lot.

I've decided that those conversations are a separate post. I know some very witty, articulate people.

Since the event, though, I've been dissecting it and wondering. The conventions of behavior still seem so puzzling that I wonder if the evening looked the same to me as it did to everyone else.

I discovered that a large percentage of the attendees remembered me. That seemed very odd, especially when I'd mention other schoolmates and get blank looks. I'm not sure why people remember me. I remembered them, and I like them, but I just didn't feel memorable in high school. And while I am proud of the life I have, and would make most of my life choices again, I don't think that my life looks very impressive by most people's yardsticks. I wondered what to say, beyond, "How are you?" and recitations of facts about my kids. Now I worry - did I come off as standoffish? "Odd" I expect, but I hope that nobody felt that I didn't like them or enjoy seeing them.

Conversely, I worry that I was too - what's the word? - affectionate. As long as I live, I will never really understand, for instance, how to treat the genders differently, or even if I should. I once experienced an exceedingly painful time because wires were getting crossed, communication-wise, with someone (actually, several someones) who thought that I was flirting. (See the essay "Gender Blindness.") Truth be told, I do not know how to flirt.

I do not understand, for instance, how eye contact, smiles or ordinary physical contact is supposed to be flirting. I do not know how to live my life without doing these things. At the reunion, what if I made eye contact across the room and smiled at someone who then thought that I was hitting on them? I know that I reached out and touched people's arms, and at least one man's leg, while I was laughing about something he said. What if that was misconstrued as flirting? How many people did I pay compliments to? Oh, my gosh! What if the wrong signals were going out left and right? That would just be extremely awkward! And I can't ask people. "Hey, did you think that I was hitting on you? Because I wasn't." Yeah, that's appropriate behavior, I'm sure.

See, this is why I avoid groups. And casual contact. And small talk.

So, I've decided to do something I'm pretty good at, and to refuse to worry about it. Perception doesn't alter reality, and I can't do much about altering perception. It is what it is. If I start worrying about what people think, I will be wrong a significant amount of the time, and I will make myself crazy. This is an undesirable outcome.

So, I will simply be happy that I went. Class of '84, it was good to see you. I enjoy watching your lives scroll by on Facebook, as well.