My foot was braced against the wall, my head titled back and eyes closed as I leaned fully into the cool surface, sighing as my body relaxed, if only a bit.
A moment later, a moment all too soon, a heavy object rammed into my side, knocking me off balance. My eyes flashed open as I caught myself, coming hazily back to the world around me, the world I had escaped oh so briefly.
My surroundings came into focus, hitting me all at once: the unbalanced girl swaying in front of me whose mouth was moving but whose words were lost within the music reverberating through my chest, the stench of the punch (Lord knows what was in it) mixed with a cocktail of perfumes and colognes, and how difficult it was to breathe, the air stagnant, having no room to flow among the bodies packed wall-to-wall.
I stood there, unmoving, my gaze zoned in on the untouched drink in my hand, at this point just something to hold.
What am I doing here?
Thoughts repeated on a loop in my mind, over and over:
Why? Why did I come—or, more importantly, why did I stay?
This isn’t me. This isn’t where I want to be, what I want to be doing.
So why? Why do I keep on doing this?
These thoughts were not new, not brought on all of a sudden by a specific incident that was off-putting, not part of a momentary reaction. I was familiar with them; they appeared every time.
But this time, a new one emerged, stopping the incessant flow:
I’m done.
Here.
Now.
This is it.
I’m. Done.
The night went on, the parties continued, everything going pretty much the same as it always does. But it wasn’t exactly the same. Something was different.
***
The next day, I told my friends I was taking a step back, that it wasn’t really my scene. For the most part, their responses were understanding, reiterating that our friendship was more than just going out together on the weekends.
However, there was one response in particular that stood out:
“Wait, you mean you’re just not going to go out anymore…?” Her eyebrows cocked, her nose crinkling and her lips pursing as her chin rose just enough to be noticeable.
I waited for my body to do what it typically did, for my chest to tighten as my heart fluttered, for my palms to get clammy as my face visibly flushed, for my foot to start tapping uncontrollably, matching the rapid hammering against my temples.
It never happened, though.
Instead, I turned, fully facing her. My shoulders were back, relaxed, and a soft smile played at my lips as I looked her directly in the eyes and spoke without hesitation, my voice steady, strong.
“Yeah, I realized that’s not what I want. I’m not going to do things simply because that’s what everyone else is doing. I like hanging out with everyone, but if they are only my friends because I go out on the weekends with them, then those aren’t the people or relationships I want to invest in, anyway.”
***
Nothing else really happened after that, there was no huge revelation for everyone around me who heard my perspective, no response other than a curt nod and her eyes darting around the room, looking anywhere but at me.
Everyone simply went back to what they were doing, studying, looking at Facebook, not really impacted by our exchange.
For me, though, that small, seemingly insignificant moment was pivotal.
Those few words weren’t necessarily steps in a new direction, but rather the start of a shift in the one doing the directing.
I had finally chosen to be me, fully me, instead of morphing myself and basing my decisions on what I was afraid others would think of me, on what they valued and deemed as significant.
I’m investing my time and energy into those who are different than me, yes, but who have similar priorities, who place importance on the same things as I, who value connection and relationship.
And you know what?
I’m happier than I have been in a long time, more excited for the future and what it holds, for the possibilities that I never gave thought to because they didn’t fit in the world I had created around me.
I’m learning what it is to be me, to be different than most of the people around me.
More importantly, I’m learning not only to be okay with those differences, but also to hold onto to them, to love them for making who I am.
I’m learning to love me again, every unique part, every oddball quirk.
The best part?
This weekend, when most people are gearing up for the next frat party, I’ll be sitting across from a few friends, talking about life and laughing at ridiculously corny jokes until we fall on the floor, while we sip sweet strawberry moscato and do a puzzle like the 21-year-old grandmas that we are.
And I’ll be loving every minute of it.