Victories in Disguise

Part 3: January 17, 2015 [2:00 PM]

I always hate this part.


There’s the sense I’ve made a terrible mistake while I endure the silence between pressing the button and the response.  It’s not just my worry surrounding everything I was dreading at the party.  It was a deep-seeded concern that I may have selected the wrong doorbell, despite the clear signs with “MHAI” in bold handwritten marker on the door. 


This anxiety is never logical.  It doesn’t care about evidence or facts I know to be true.  It makes quick, emotional assumptions and it sticks with them.  Those emotions usually reside on the edge of panic.  Before I learned to mentally step back from these sorts of situations, all the signs in the world, clearly posted address included, would not have dispelled enough doubt for me to ring that bell.  I wouldn’t have even approached the door right away.  I have often walked around the block a time or two, taking in the surroundings to be absolutely certain that the place with the clearly worded signs is, in fact, the place I need to go.


There are few things more embarrassing than being in the wrong place.  At least, that’s what my mind tries to tell me.  I know this is a foolish thought, yet it’s a pervasive one. 


Honestly, it’s so strong that, although I’ve learned to operate in crowds with greater calm, I still have a problem going to new places alone.  It’s hard for me to try new restaurants or shop in new stores.  I don’t go to movie theaters alone, despite my love of the cinema.  Travelling, on the whole, is generally stressful when I have the time to consider all of the unexpected situations in which I might find myself.  The sense that I’m always in the wrong place or unwelcome is still quite strong.  There are times, even to this day, where I fall back into the safe routine of pacing the block.  I still encounter situations when my brain convinces me the risk of embarrassment is too great and I never approach the door because I don’t have the strength to fight it.  I turn around, go home, and spend the evening in lonesome misery.


This was not one of those times. 


The familiar sound of the buzzer startled me and the door unlocked.  I took a deep breath and entered.  The space within was a shared foyer for this particular duplex.  The lower residence to my left was shrouded in darkness and silence.  I heard the muffled cacophony of a dozen simultaneous conversations flowing down the curved staircase from the second floor.  The door above had been left open.  These were all good signs I was in the right place.  None of them made the relatively simple climb any easier.


I was greeted by a man with a name tag and a clipboard who asked me to sign in and leave my shoes at the door.  I’m usually very self conscious about this sort of thing, but other anxieties were overriding this particular set of peculiarities within my personality.  I did as he asked while he double-checked my name, feeling a tinge of pride that I could announce myself as a writer amid the concealed concern I held for the very real possibility a clerical error had resulted in my name being omitted from the list.  I knew I wouldn’t have been turned away, but my brain loves to ask that one question that is as much a blessing as it is a curse.


What if?


There was no error and I gave a sigh as at least one worry was dispelled.  His pen dispensed a satisfactory check by my name and he moved aside to welcome me to the party.  I breathed deeply and stepped over the threshold.  There was no turning back now. 


I’m glad I wore clean socks.