Introvert Rising

For as long as I can remember, I have been energized by people. Big groups, parties, and by God you should see me at weddings! I am like a headless chook (chicken for non-Aussies) when surrounded by a crowd. The urge to be a part of, interact with, and essentially feed off the energy people give is a lifelong life source for me. That is, until recently.

Since childhood, I craved attention. I know most kids do. But I was real stupid about it. I’d be willing to make a complete ass of myself for the entertainment of others. I love how I wrote that in past tense. Nothing’s changed there. Well, maybe the frequency of said behaviours has changed…a little. Now I need less. Less attention, less people, less noise.

If before I was 100% extrovert, today I am feeling like a crisp 69…Nice. So, here is my attempt at explaining this recent phenomenon: *cue Big Mouth intro* “I’m going through chaaaaaaaangezzzz”

At 36, I am officially middle aged. Yup, this elder millennial is willing to admit it. I’m half way through it folks, and I’m super chill about it. I recently started gardening. I’m currently drinking tea. But if I really had to pinpoint the moment where it became crystal clear that my Peter pan syndrome was beginning to run out, it would have to be March 11, 2023.

It was a footy mate’s birthday, and Pikey and I hadn’t seen these friends in a while. It began with pre-drinks that started at 8:30pm. We got there, and immediately felt like we were back in college. Jacks, and Aces, sixes and nines all spread out on the table, with a mystery cup in the middle. Fuck sake, these kids were playing King’s Cup! I don’t know about y’all but I don’t need a game to have a drink, but being a good sport got me pulling cards, and right off the bat, I pulled the best one. I got the King, and thus, the dirty cup. This cup had all sorts of booze mingling together in awful ways, and I necked it. A couple hours passed and we were starting to have a good time when everyone started putting on their shoes. “Where are we going?” I asked. “To The Dog and Bear Pub.” Now I’ve been there several times before, and liked the laid back old school pub vibe.

There was a lineup. That was my second sign of the night, that I’m just too old for this shit. But I urged Pikey to stay because there were friends inside already that I wanted to see. This is in Toronto by the way, so March is annoyingly cold. Nevertheless we waited for over 30 minutes. Once at the front, I was standing next to a 21 year old footy mate named Will who looks barely 16. The bouncer asked for ID. I pulled out my driver’s licence and he laughed in my face. “Lady, you old! Ain’t nobody asking for your ID.” I immediately took a liking to him. That man was hilarious and righteous. That’s hint number 3…GET OUT.

Nope. Two Jordan Peele references later I’m inside. And it’s absolute trash. The music is basic top 40 pop and it was borderline popping our ear drums. The temperature was opposite outside, disgustingly sweaty, and the best part is we were packed in like sardines. I immediately made a beeline for the bar and ordered two pints. While in wait, I felt an unusual rubbing motion behind me, a familiar annoyance from dusty memories. God dammit. It’s a punk ass twenty year old rubbing his genitalia on my buttocks. I immediately shove the child back and say, “I could be your mother!” And hey, if I got knocked up at 15, I could be! The expression on his face shows that he took that the wrong way, as he inched closer. By now the head on my beer was going flat, and I’m not getting paid to teach dumb kids on Friday nights, so I cut to the chase. “Fuck off, or I’ll kick your ass!”

Finally beers in hands and moving through the crowd like I’m at the front of a concert, I get to Pikey, hand him his beer that lost a couple inches to idiots that love to spill it. There is a special place in hell… I tell Pikey what happened, and he laughs. The beer helps. Finally close enough to the friends that brought us here, and we try to catch up, since it’s been ages and there’s so much to talk about. But nope, the DJ has other plans. We spend the next 30 minutes screaming into each other’s faces, unintentionally spitting into each other’s eyes and mouths, for the “WHAT?!” of it…it was great catching up.

Its been 45 horrid minutes in this damned place and I lock eyes with Pikey, and without needing words, we push through the TikTok influencers and meet outside. I thank the bouncer for the warning, and we laugh at how terrible that place is. He’s 40, I think.

On the walk home, Pikey and I look romantically into each other’s eyes and say, almost in unison, “I’m too old for this shit.”

Weeks later, it’s mid-afternoon and we’re having a casual stroll along Queen Street West, and want to catch the end to the Blue Jays ball game, so we pop into The Dog and Bear pub, and everything is as it should be. The vibe is chill, people are chatting, laughing and there’s room to breathe. We take two stools at the bar, order some pints, wings and watch the Jays win. Now this is more like it.

I’m sure there are other reasons why I prefer less and smaller socials, like that old pandy that took us all for a spin. But I’m gonna call it growing up. Quality over quantity also makes more and more sense when putting events on my calendar. What can I say, getting older makes you realize your time is ever more precious, and, to make it meaningful, I’m being a little more intentional.

So if you’re throwing a party, I’m still down to clown. But if I can’t hear you speak, and if some asshole is spilling my drink, its an Irish goodbye for me.