Carolers

On a cool Wednesday evening, four days before Christmas, a group of carolers – riding on a vintage fire truck – stopped in front of my house. I answered the door and there stood two of my husband’s friends and a firetruck full of people decked out in Santa hats and other Christmas gear and my first reaction was, well, not a great one.

It went something like this: “Really? Out of all the houses on the street, you had to stop at mine?” There were some expletives thrown in there too, and I’m pretty sure I used a couple of religious names in a very non-religious way. And then I followed it up with, “You know I hate people.” And then one of the guys had to pee and asked to use my bathroom, and I was all, “Of course! C’mon in and grab a cup of hot chocolate too!” Coarse and welcoming. That should be my coat of arms.

I had a house full of my daughter’s middle school friends and two close friends over for hot chocolate and cookie decorating and thankfully, they are a more gracious group and loved carolers. So they stood and clapped while the carolers sang another song. And I stood there feeling exposed and embarrassed by my behavior.

Needless to say, I woke up the next morning in a shame spiral of guilt.

I called my sister and told her what happened.

“You said what?”

“Yup.”

“To carolers??? Like the ones who bring Christmas cheer by SINGING?!?!”

“Yes.”

“Ouch. Well. I mean. It’s not your worst Wednesday.”

My sister gets me. Bumps and all. And I’m thankful for her and the few very close friends I have in my life. And she’s right. I have had many more awkward moments, but this one stung a little bit because my words were rude to a group of people who I really like. And who were only trying to be nice. And I really didn’t want to be rude. I really don’t hate people. I hate the vulnerability that groups of people bring. I dislike that much attention on me. It makes me feel raw and exposed and scared. And when I get scared, I build a wall of protection. And that wall is usually coated in a slew of defensive words (and expletives). Am I proud of that? Nope. Did it happen. Yep.

People are very surprised when I tell them that I’m an introvert. I make a living by interviewing and writing about people. I tell people’s stories. I am very good at connecting with people. I thrive in authenticity and honesty. I can talk about hard things. But my shield is my pen and paper. What I’m terrible at is sharing my story and answering questions about myself. Parties scare the shit out of me. Small talk makes me shudder. I was excited about my marriage to my husband. I dreaded the actual wedding. I am refueled and ignited by meaningful conversation with a few people but put me in a large group and it’s rough. I’m rough.

So when our family was invited to a large New Year’s Eve party a couple of weeks ago, my first reaction was “Why? No. Really?” That’s a ton of people. And kids. And people. And small talk. And all of the things that make me feel what I don’t like to feel: vulnerable. But this time, I put our family before my fear. And I asked my husband – who loves large groups of people – if he wanted to go. And he kind of did. And our son did. So we did.

And you know what? I survived.

I had awkward conversations. I ate a piece of cheese before talking to another mom and I’m sure breathed nasty cheese breath in her face when responding to her. I itched my nose, afraid there was a boogie hanging loose. I asked about people’s Christmas. I watched fireworks and met some nice people and avoided some not-so-nice-people. But the most important lesson I learned from that night was that most people said they felt awkward and just wanted to be home on the couch, watching Netflix, ditching their bras and sparkly clothes for loose PJs and warm blankets. The fear I carried with me was feeling like I was the only awkward, non-party-loving-introvert out there. But I’m not. The world is full of people like me. So next year, if the firetruck of carolers decides to stop at my house again, I will be ready and open to spreading the joy and cheer.

And maybe, just maybe, I will even sing along.

January 2, 2022