it would be easier

As an introvert, it would be easier to stay home. When social situations exhaust me, when I feel endlessly awkward and don't know what to say in the quiet moments, when I don't know what to do with my hands when I'm done with a meal, when I don't know exactly how I'll feel in the future (plans are the worst... how am I supposed to know if I'm going to feel like peopling on Sunday the 9th at 12pm?!) - it would be easier to say no.

As the daughter of a military man, it would be easier to stay home. When I've witnessed dozens of friendships dissolve due to cross-country moves, when I've learned how hard it is to integrate into existing circles, when I've said goodbye so many times the pain is a peculiar nostaglia, when I grew up moving every three years and can only count childhood friendships with three fingers, when starting something new isn't worth the emotion because emotion is fragile and I know I'll have to leave - it would be easier to say no.

When I've been discarded by people I would have never discarded - because of theological differences, lifestyle differences, age differences, political differences, priority differences, or maybe even just because I never felt freely and unconditionally accepted because of all of the above, and I hold people at arm's length as a result of my own trauma - it would be easier to say no. We pretend these petty problems exist only in high school, but as someone who never went to a brick and mortar high school, I can say I've mostly experienced them as an adult. Even acknowledged, we pretend it doesn't matter in adulthood, because we're strong and impervious, but it matters. And it still hurts, even when you're thirty-one and you're new to town and the table is full and they aren't interested enough to get to know you past that of which they don't approve - your vote, what you wear, where you live, how you raise your daughters. 

It would be so much easier to stay home. It would be so much easier to say no.

But I've held out. I've been okay with the loneliness, and then I've been very not okay with it, and then okay again. I've hoped for genuine connections, prayed for community, waited for someone to want a friendship as much as I do. It's hard, it's so hard. And especially when it's easy, I'm scared. And when it's new, I tread cautiously. I don't assume anything: loyalty or apathy or comfort or appreciation. But I'm trying to say yes. I'm trying to sit at the table. I'm so grateful for the people who choose to sit with me.