Every time I walk into a room, I constantly have an eye out for the quickest and easiest way out. I wish I could claim it was born of my self defense training, that it was merely a part of my situational awareness and protecting myself. I wish I could say it was a result of a bad experience, that one time I’d needed to get out and fast and now I always make sure I can. I’m not sure what makes me so mindful and so needful of knowing that I can escape, but it’s there, heedless of motivation.
B is sitting at his computer, playing a video game or working on homework or chatting with a friend. I sit curled up on the couch with my laptop, scouring the internet for connections to be made. Our conversations are sporadic, flitting in and out of silences as comfortable as we are with each other. Then it comes, “run away with me,” I plead. “Where?” is his classic response. I always want to escape when things aren’t what I want them to be. Or when they are too much the same as they always are. Run away with me. Where shall we go? Germany. Prague. Ireland. Belgium. Texas. Michigan. Somewhere new and exotic. Somewhere old and comforting. Anywhere but where I am. Run. Run. Run.
I’ve always been a bit of a lurker. I want to be the social butterfly, the life of the party. But the truth is, that’s not me. I’m more likely to be the one left standing outside the group as it closes in, rather than the one they’re gathering around. It seems to not matter where or the focus of the group or anything. I sit on the edges, ready to take flight. Parties can be my arch nemesis. I sit awkwardly at the edge and wait to find someone to talk to. Wishing for the bravery to just go make myself a part of it, but always feeling like I can’t quite overcome that hurdle. It takes me ages, and oodles of courage to post a comment on any blog. I want to be the blogging butterfly too, but even here I still feel safer not giving you too much of a chance to reject me.
I hate that I’m always looking for a way out. That I’m always searching for an escape. So I won’t do it anymore. I’m going to stay here. I’m going to struggle to find the right words. I’m going to hang around the edges. But I’m going to stick around. I’m going to keep putting my words out there and hope that it helps me feel connected. Hope to find a place I don’t want to run from anymore.