Stepping Out

I was sitting in my truck, door open, writing a note for the door of my family's beach house in Oregon. There are no connected phone lines so we check in with torn pieces of envelope adhered to the window with duct tape.

The neighbor, an older gentleman working on the dividing fence is being pestered by the woman who lives across the street.

"I really am anti-social," she says, sitting way too close.

"You are, huh?"

"Yes!" she insists, her shoulder now touching his.

"When are you anti-social?"

"At night."

"And when at night does this anti-social behavior begin?"

"At 5:00."

He drops his hammer and grabs his knees before he falls over in disbelief and laughter.

My friend takes me to a wine bar and bistro called Yummy! in Seaside Oregon. She introduces me to the owners and they sit her at her favorite spot on the corner couch where she can watch her friends and the activity in the kitchen. I too am watching. There is a pleasant energy about the place, coworkers and patrons alike. It's clean, open, relaxing and inviting. I am comfortable here. Yummy! attracts a population that I am familiar with, folks I 'know' with out knowing.

"I could work here. This is what I'm looking for," I tell my friend.

When the tall slender woman returns with our wine my friend asks if they are still looking to hire someone.

"On the busy nights, yes. Are you interested?"

"Deb is."

The waitress leaves to get me an application.

"Wow. Just like that," I say, excited about the opportunity of being a part of an establishment like this.

Three days later, that application is still sitting on the table at home. Where is the confidence I was feeling then, after 5:00, in the company of wine and a friend. My anti-social behavior is most evident when I'm alone in my quiet zone. It's hard to step out of it at times. Intimidating, almost. I'll take a walk and discuss this behavior of mine, encourage myself to get out and participate in a climate I was once excited about. But the odds are, as much as I want to be that person who can walk up to new people with a friendly smile and make them feel warmly included, I probably won't be.

Call it introvert, shy, or anti-social, it all means the same thing; difficult, awkward, sometimes painful social interactions. But that is what this adventure of mine is all about. Stepping out of what has been my comfortable norm for the last 30 years and doing something different. Even something that I'm afraid of.

Before I left Southeast Alaska, I bought an inflatable kayak. Inflatable because I want to be able to carry it solo and store it in my van during my travels. I love the ocean the same time I fear it. I saw Jaws way too young and not being able to see that giant sea creature surface at the very spot I am presently occupying terrifies me. Because I know it can happen. No. I know it will happen. So, I practice. I take out my kayak and hugging the shoreline, I tell myself I'm not being rational. I force myself to work on this silly fear of sharing the Pacific with orcas, humpbacks, and sea lions. Every time I go out it gets a little easier. At least that's what I tell myself. It's actually not any easier, I just remind myself I didn't get eaten the last time I went out so go enjoy the beauty of it all.

I should go get that anti-social neighbor lady at 4:45 and tell her we're going out and it's going to be fun. Even if we only stay until 5:30. And then, I will turn in that application and meet new people and learn new skills and have a new job in a new atmosphere. Maybe tomorrow.