Last night found us where we often are on a summer Sunday evening – in front of the grandstand in the park in our historic downtown area, for a concert by our local civic band. Surrounded by a crowd composed of a wide span of generations, it’s a homey, cozy experience each week.
For the past couple of years, we’ve been visited by one particular type of butterfly every time we go – they hover around us (attracted by the weird colors on our favorite outdoor-event blanket?), land on us, and generally boost our enjoyment of the evening.
Okay, here comes the lesson part, and thank you to Mymidlifemayhem for clarifying it for me with her post from today. About halfway through the concert, I needed to visit the restroom, across the park and on the other side of the crowd. Seems like a simple enough thing, right?
Wrong. Because, I suppose, of my severely introverted personality, the thought of traversing a crowd people just about brought on complete paralysis. It took me a good ten minutes to give myself a strong enough pep talk to give myself the guts to stand up and allow people to SEE ME (gasp!) as I walked between and in front of them to reach the restroom buildng.
I am 50 years old, for #%$! sake.
It’s a personality thing. And I’m really into the importance of accepting who you are. But I am also sick of being so intimidated by groups of people (who in this case, were lovely families and people old enough to be my parents – certainly not frightening in any way).
And so, I’m going to work on taking a lesson from the dear, fragile butterflies who visit us on Sunday evenings. They have no qualms about fluttering in front of our line of vision, dropping in for a visit.
It’s time for me to try to be more like them.