Jack and I went to a party the other evening in town. We hardly ever go to parties because 1. I go to bed really early and 2. I find parties “difficult”. I love the thought of parties: happy people eating great food, laughter, fun, warmth, connection….the reality of parties (at least for me) sometimes doesn’t quite match up.
I’m not at all interested in “discussing” politics, religion (this always surprises people) or the crises of the world. I love stories …personal stories of hope, love, even struggle if there is a desire for a solution and growth….I love it when someone says, “The most wonderful thing happened to me the other day…can I tell you about it?” Yes! Or “I am really struggling with something, do you have a minute?” Yes!
I want to go back to being 5 years old and getting dressed up, going to my friend’s house with polished shoes and clean socks with no anticipation of who will be there….no concern if I have put on weight over the winter and someone will notice, no thought of what we will discuss. I want to eat cake and ice cream without guilt and play with new toys and laugh and come home tired and happy and be put to bed and sleep like a log without thought of who I might have offended by saying something or accidentally ignoring them.
Maybe it is not parties that I dislike, but who I have become…more worried about what others are thinking, more critical and judgemental myself….now that is something I can do something about!…