Invitation Season
“You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”
While most calendars track only the four seasons (and here in New England, we might get a taste of all four in a single day!), more even than my least favorite, winter, I dread the invitation seasons. I perceive two... one comprised of spring weddings graduations, and the like, while the other stretches from November through the year's end, when holidays create reasons to congregate and chit chat.
I loathe them all - holiday gatherings, social networking, weddings, bat mitzvahs, first communions, confirmations, baby showers, bridal showers, birthday celebrations, and graduations. For me, each one is a personal house of horrors, that I avoid entering at nearly any cost. I'd prefer an actual haunted house, the kind with the people dressed up and hidden, who pop out and scare the dickens out of me, because at least they don't require any small talk.
In the past, I've shared that I possess an introverted nature. My energy rejuvenates through time alone or with only a couple of intimates at a time. This has always been true, even when it may have appeared different to an onlooker.
When I first moved to Boston, in my late teens, I loved attending parties. My interest, though, was singular. "Where is the dance floor? No dance floor? Let's make one!" And while others drank, flirted, and discussed the latest series on television (I didn't own a television at the time), I danced to my own drummer in the most literal sense (because sometimes, I'd bring along the Talking Heads, Violent Femmes, or The Nails to get things movin').
Once I reached legal status, I gathered my friends, and our buns boogied on every flat, hard surface in the metro Boston area. From the Plough and Stars to Landsdown Street, with every club, that has since closed or been renamed, in between. I almost never drank alcohol. I rarely sat for more than a few moments of conversation. It was perfect!
Then, as I got older, the nature being invited to a party changed. The expectations included regular, boring conversations with people I didn't know or care about. The number of small talk topics that interest me amount to...oh, about zero. I used to believe I was incapable of small talk. It turns out, I can manage it, but I'm exhausted afterward. Why do people do this to themselves???
The obvious answer: they enjoy it! Other people truly find it fascinating to walk into a room full of strangers, and walk out having discussed all manner of where they work, how long they've lived in the area, how many children they have, and what aches and pains bother them at this age. Oh god, just hit me with the cast iron skillet at the start, please!
At this point, my true friends know NOT to invite me to any parties. They accept me as I am, and love me anyway. Every once in a while, though, even someone I'm close to will sneak an invitation through the cracks. I do wonder what they're thinking, and sometimes I ask exactly that, "Why did you invite me?"
Last summer, close friends invited us to their son's wedding celebration. Uggh! I love my friends, and their son and his wife are lovely, but seriously? I asked "With all of the other people invited, you won't miss me, right?" And my dear friend says, "But Joanne, I need you there." To which I responded, "That's really mean!"
So, my husband and I attended, and it was fine. I struck up a conversation with a tween-ager who sat alone at a nearby table. I figured, she'd be a safe enough bet, since she was doing exactly what I wanted to be doing. We spent about three minutes discussing politics, and since we were preaching to the converted, moved on to Harry Potter. With seven books, eight movies, and an actual world of all things Potter in Florida, at Universal Studios, the conversation flowed easily. In my mind, our table became a social respite. Folks came and left...her parents (who were delightful), fellow guests I'd met over the years, and my friends themselves stopped by, checked in, and moved on. As these things go, the pain quotient barely registered on the scale. Hooray!
The compilation of these experiences stirred my creativity. Here's what I've decided - Invitations should be customized and expanded to include these four options:
It is essential to me that you attend. No joke. It really, truly matters to me that you be there. Please come.
I'd really love for you to attend, but I know how much you hate these things, so, because I love you, I'll understand if you don't come.
I'm inviting you because I don't want you to feel left out, and social graces require it. Please don't feel obliged to attend, I just want you to know I was thinking of you.
This is happening - please send a gift.
Yes, I know this goes against all the conventional Miss Manners wisdom; however, I find this honest approach highly desirable! And, I think there should be rules. For example, no more than ten people receive a #1 invitation, because, in truth, not everyone is essential. That's okay. With my handy dandy system, there's no longer any need to pretend.
Maybe there should be other categories, too, such as..."I can't afford to host all of the people I'd like to, but I really want lots of celebratory gifts." Or, "Hoping you can contribute to the madness." You see what I'm saying? Isn't this a fun idea?
Okay, I suspect the only people cheering right now are my fellow introverts, but what would it be like if we committed to being this truthful with one another? Not just when it comes to invitations, but in general. I believe my friends and family would tell you they can count on me to offer my truth, even when it's uncomfortable.
Here's what it means, though, I almost NEVER do things I don't want to do, and they all know it. It's extraordinarily rare for me to operate from a space of obligation. Instead, I offer my honesty, and if that results in ruffled feathers, I accept that. Eliminating the mystery creates greater trust and intimacy. Definitely my preference!
My step-daughter says it's because I don't care what other people think of me. I used to agree with her, but it's not true. I care. I just care MORE about what I think of me, and if I'm not in integrity with myself, how do I trust me? Do I want to spend time with someone who lies in an effort to make me or others feel comfortable? No, because then I never know what's real. And more importantly, I absolutely do not want to be that person. Like the Velveteen Rabbit, I want to love myself enough to be "Real," and being authentic to who I am, even when others may perceive me as ugly, is, for me, as real as it gets.
With love and honesty,
Joanne Lutz