awkwardly awesome

It’s true. Well…the truth is that it’s not just coffee. Drinks in general are barriers. We see it all the time in groups in therapy. Every time I would speak up in class and say something that was far from black and white I would immediately say, “does that make sense?” and reach for my water bottle.

We use coffee cups, water bottles, and tea cups as a sort of shield or the adult version of believing if we cover our eyes and can’t see you then you can no longer see us. 

This was no less clearly demonstrated than last week when I attended the singles event at Buckhead church. 

I arrived right on time, parking my car and following the flopping slap of sandals and echoing voices of friends. I text a quick, “I made it. I’m solo. Pray.” to a friend right before I entered the door, sticking my phone in my purse, keeping my promise to myself to not escape on my phone for the evening.

Bee-lining for the bathroom you cannot possibly fathom my relief to run into a friend whom I went to Kenya with a few years ago in the bathroom.

I was overwhelmingly grateful when she asked if I wanted to sit with her and her friends…that way, when I made inappropriate comments and jokes throughout the evening–trying to assuage my nerves–she would be there.

Humor is an excellent coping mechanism. Jesus agrees. I’m positive.

When worship and the message were over I tried not to let my heaving sigh of anxiety escape more resoundingly than the music that was still trailing off.

I couldn’t help but think.

Eventually it dawned on me…maybe it’s just me. I am awkward.

Between the hundreds of single people mulling around, wondering who was trying to use this as a dating service, a hook up meet-up, who actually just wanted community, and my own neuroticism….I was overwhelmed. 

I said goodbye to my friend, desperately hoping that my eyes were not giving away how absolutely out of place I felt and I headed for the coffee table.

Did I mention…I don’t drink coffee? But there was something about that table and the draw of the Starbucks cup, the lure of relief from the social anxiety threatening to climax all around me was not something I could turn down.

I poured my cup and raised it as valiantly to my mid-section as the Statue of Liberty holding her tablet. Shield in place, I was ready to take a lap around the room.

I stayed away from the busy midstream of people moving and standing, making it unclear to know the rules of flow, and far enough from the wall so that no one made the incorrect assumption that I was alone and was looking to meet someone.

One lap to the end of the room and with a quick right turn I made my way back to the exit, making sure to look like I was still looking for my friends lest anyone think I was lost…and again…try to talk to me.

I prayed I wasn’t fronting any RBF [resting bitch face], it’s not a condition that I generally have, but I was so out of sorts that anything is possible. Then I exited, head held high, and finally began breathing again…immediately reaching for my lifesaver–my iPhone…

“Well…I survived. That’s enough for tonight.” was the first message sent out.

I couldn’t help but wonder…am I the only one? 

The next day I was having coffee with a friend who is divorced and telling him about my adventures in Singleville and he said, “it’s awkward for me and I’ve been here much longer.”

Maybe it’s true. Maybe we’re all just a bunch of awkwardly awesome people looking for the same awesome connection, but yet completely unsure of how to go about getting it in an appropriate and non-weird sort of way. 

Blurred lines…you know…not the Robin Thicke kind, but the kind that will still keep you lost and feeling all weird in your tummy kind.

Tomorrow I do it again.

If I see you there, maybe our eyes will meet, we will smile at each other, nod, and know that we’re not alone. You’re not alone. 

Just awesome…and maybe a little awkward.

Cheers, awkward side hugs, and smooches.