What I lacked in athleticism and arm strength, I made up for with a ferocious will that became legend on the schoolyard and basketball court. I barked orders, strategy and encouragement like a middle linebacker surveying the offense, setting everything up while I marked my prey. I was a dodgeball warrior.

But all that ended five years ago. Dodgeball became a fond adolescent memory from an otherwise pimply time. I had moved on. But to what?

With graduation approaching in December, I need to plant the seeds of some sort of adult life. Besides working (terrifying enough), what do I want spend my time doing? My social life, never robust to begin with, especially at Purchase, is wide open. All sorts of people and things can float in. Also, I live in a city of nearly 9 million possible friends. Yet, almost every fun activity seems to have an invisible stop sign dangling above it. The message is consistent, "Well, of course, you can't do this; you don't belong here."

With characteristic tentativeness, I’ve run through some of those invisible stop signs, and so far no cops have kicked my ass. After years of dithering about it, I finally heeded my mom’s advice (not always a bad idea) and went on Meetup.com. Well, near her apartment in Brooklyn, there was this one Meetup group for fellow social-anxiety sufferers. Sort of like the anarchist convention, you might snicker, but I figured, what better pool to jump into for the first time? I’ll be nervous and feel I don’t belong: Well hey buddy, join the club — literally.

And lo and behold, I felt like I belonged. We were all there for the same reason, which ironically freed us up from dwelling on it. I remember having a good, if not amazing time, but I especially remember the feeling afterward: relaxed, hopeful. Not inflated, not even confident, just oddly balanced. Rumination and worry took an overdue vacation.

But they came back, hot and heavy and eager to spread out on the couch. They’ll leave for good when I do. I couldn't find another convenient social-anxiety meetup for that week, so I rooted around Meetup for something else. This time, dodgeball.

Despite a thousand fears, the old middle linebacker made a comeback. These people — on the surface, intimidating 20 and 30-something jocks — were warm and encouraging, and soon I felt comfortable unleashing the beast. I got hit. I hit. I threw my usual mid-speed yet well-timed bombs. I took a licking and kept on kicking. Afterwards, we went to a bar and discussed dodgeball strategy and told dirty jokes. Politics and existential angst seemed irrelevant. With my bones aching and my skin ball branded, I left that bar with a big goofy grin no actor can fake.

Rent. Taxes. 9 to 5. Actual dating. Class consciousness and affiliation. Cholesterol. It all sounds scary because it is. But some socially anxious people and dodgeball have me beginning to believe that other neurotic mess Lou Reed when he sings in "Magic and Loss":

"When the past makes you laugh

And you can savor the magic

That let you survive your own war

You find that that fire is passion