Folks, I recently made real progress in my 70/30 commitment to be more social. I am not fully dedicated to this goal because I recognize my limits both as an introvert and an early-to-bed hater of evenings. But my husband Doo doesn’t want me to become an agoraphobic cat lady once he passes, which will almost certainly be before me, so he’s been pushing me to make friends and “get out there” on a more regular basis. And though I absolutely loathe the idea, I recognize he probably has a point about me becoming a curmudgeonly hermit. Read on for the details of my small personal triumph.
The school where I teach organized a series of trivia nights to encourage faculty to get to know each other better. I chose one where the venue and date played into my well-orchestrated work-day routine: It was close to my house and would be over by 9 p.m. But as the big moment approached, I could feel my anxiety kick in and looked for excuses to bail. “I’m too tired!” “This lady who also signed up is in a different department.” “I don’t wanna! Wah!” Doo and my daughter did little to hide their disgust and eventually shamed me into going.
And I’m so glad they did. We discovered a new place, enjoyed time together and took home third place (we headed into the final question in first, but mixed up the number of Elvis’ Grammys with Shaq’s NBA career 3-pointers. Stupid!). My colleague never showed, so I didn’t technically socialize, but I did spend two hours at a bar on a Thursday! Yay, me!
Peace out.
